Pushing myself up onto my elbows, I grip the carpet and yank it back, blindly feeling beneath for anything of use. My hand closes around a cold, metallic can, the thin tube on the side telling me its expanding foam for emergency puncture repairs. I can think of at least two ways to use this, so I push the carpet back into place and shove the can through the empty sleeve of my sweater, making sure only the tube is protruding from the opening.
On a loud screech, I’m thrown sideways and the blare of car horns sound all around me. Realising we’ve come to a stop, I start screaming and kicking, trying to catch anyone’s attention. “Let me out of here!” I yell time and again, the sides of my fists aching from repeatedly throwing them against the lid of the trunk. My throat is raw like sandpaper, not enough saliva in my mouth to swallow, but still I continue. The headache that had dulled slightly comes back with a vengeance, a vice-like grip crushing my skull on the inside.
“Where’d you get your license, dickwad?! You nearly ran me off the ledge!” Wyatt’s voice catches my attention, ceasing my movements. That motherfucker! I remember now, the way he fought and goaded me, pinned me down just before everything went black. I’d like to see him beat me in a fair fight, although it seems like Wyatt prefers cowardly ways out, rather than get his ass handed to him by a girl.
“I need to take a piss,” a rough voice replies, slamming what I imagine is a meaty fist onto the trunk and making me flinch. “And she’s awake, which makes her your problem now.” If I ever saw Wyatt’s face again, it would be too soon. However, I know I will be able to overpower and escape him since he felt the need to drug me, so I brace myself for a fight at the sound of the trunk’s lock being released. The lid lifts quickly, the orange glow of a streetlamp burning my retinas. Three shadows loom over me, my hand tightening around the concealed can in my sweater.
“Where’s the other one?” Wyatt says slowly, his voice laced with dread. My eyes adjust enough to tell he’s standing in the middle, the huge frames either side of him large enough to stunt double for Dwayne Johnson.
“What do you mean? You gave us this one, we thought you had the blonde.” My mind reels with their words. Does this mean Avery is safe? Wyatt’s bunched shoulders sag on a horrified gasp, cursing under his breath.
“You expected me to capture both of them?! What the fuck were you three doing if not trying to find Avery?”
“Your boys kept us busy enough, that bald one was a savage.” The brute on Wyatt’s left running a hand over his head and signing dramatically, his shaded eyes fixed on me. “The boss isn’t going to be happy about this, he wants both. You’d better go back and fetch the other.” Wyatt flies into a rage, his fists clenched and square jaw tight as the three of them argue about who should drive back to the safe house. I bite my lip, praying Avery has got as far away from California possible in the last few hours. judging by the fact it’s still night and Wyatt’s still in the cargo trousers he fought me in. Wyatt begins to walk away, the two thugs turning to suggest a game of rock, paper, scissors to decide for them and I see my opportunity.
Boosting myself up on weak legs, an assault of pins and needles spiking through me, I leap from the trunk and hit the ground on my knees heavily. Clutching my limp sweater in my fist, I force myself up and start to run without being able to properly see what’s in front of me. My blurred vision clears up enough to notice the ground disappearing up ahead, my sneakers skidding to a halt before I tip over the edge of a steep cliff. Double shit.
My stomach rolls and plummets as if I were already falling, a smoker’s choked laugh sounds further along the ridge. The biggest of the thugs is smirking at me, his fat dick hanging limply through his fly as he continues to pee whilst holding my eyesight. The potent smell of his urine suddenly fills my nostrils, making me gag. Jesus fuck, what does that guy eat?! Scuffling behind has me whirling around, Brutie and Brutelina grinning because they have me cornered. I glance over my shoulder, the drop not seeming as awful as the alternative, but I’m not done fighting yet.
Feeling for the cap through the material in my hand, I wait for the pair to take one more menacing step closer before lifting the lifeless sleeve and unleashing streams of white foam directly into their eyes. My heel almost slips on the rocky ledge as they make a grab for me, quickly darting to the side to avoid being thrown backwards by their sightless staggers. Spraying all the while, they fall to the ground like two sacks of shit and thrash around bellowing. A psychotic smile graces my lips, as I use the side of my sneaker to kick small stones and dust over them. The nozzle spurts a few last pathetic puffs of foam, the contents emptying faster than I’ve have liked.
Wyatt steps towards me cockily on the edge of my vision, his shoulders peeled back and long strides confident. Without looking his way, I spin the sleeve around me like a lasso and release an unexpected laugh as it connects with his head and knocks him back onto his ass. Not giving him time
