Sarah wrangled the Chevelle under submission and pulled away from the SUV. The driver and passenger argued, pointing at her with angry faces. She had to lose the hitmen, but how?
The gas gauge hugged empty. The more octane she fed the thirsty beast, the closer it got to running out of fuel. If she could get back to her folks’ place, perhaps she could syphon out some gas from her father’s truck and add it to the Chevelle.
The two cars raced through Dover at breakneck speeds, plowing through blind intersections and skirting sharp corners that tested the vehicle’s handling and tires. The driver of the SUV was more experienced with such antics, gaining on Sarah when taking the corners or when she had to navigate any sort of obstacle. Despite how hard she tried to lose them on any straightaways, they always caught up to her.
Sarah pumped the brake, then wrenched the steering wheel. The Chevelle drifted sideways into the entrance of a narrow alley that ran behind long rows of homes. The front end bottomed out. The tortured sound of metal grinding against the pavement crawled over her. The back end swung wide, missing the cedar privacy fence by a hair.
The SUV maintained pursuit. The front wheels lifted off the ground and the vehicle went airborne as it entered the alley. It slammed hard, then swerved.
The smoothness of the road changed to that of ruts and rock. The tread of the Chevelle slung the hardened chunks of stone from its rear tires. The uneven ground jostled Sarah in the seat.
A slew of corners tested her nerves and resolve. She scanned the numerous driveways and fences for any movement, fearful that she’d plow through a car—or a person for that matter.
The SUV surged forward and rammed the bumper of the muscle car. The back of Sarah’s head slammed against the headrest. She jerked the steering wheel from the impact, then brought the vintage car back under submission.
A small cloud of dust loomed behind the Chevelle like a smoke screen, casting the black vehicle in white. She took her eyes off the road ahead for a second, peered in the rearview mirror at the trailing truck, then back again.
The alley ended in forty feet or so. She couldn’t continue this pace and had to lose them before they overtook her.
Sarah focused on the street ahead, keeping the gas pedal mashed to the floor. She covered the distance in a blink and didn’t hit the brake.
The SUV matched her speed, flying past the driveways and fences toward the road. It tried to overtake her, surging forward to ram her again. Small beads of gravel pelted the grill and hood of the SUV as it closed in on the back end of the car.
Sarah eyed the street for any cars, but couldn’t see past the corners of the fences. She tapped the brake enough to take the sharp turn out of the alley.
The front end dragged over the concrete. The tires squealed, fighting to keep the Chevelle from going straight. It made a wide arch in the road, heading for the curb on the far side of the street.
An approaching red truck flashed out of the corner of her eye through the passenger side window. Sarah gritted her teeth and spun the steering wheel to keep from hitting the curb.
The SUV bounced over the dip in the alley to the street and rammed the front driver’s side at full tilt. The sound of groaning metal played at her back.
Sarah worked the wheel back and forth to straighten the Chevelle out. She peered in the rearview mirror at the wreckage. Smoke lifted from the crumpled hood of the truck. Pieces of both vehicles laid in the middle of the road.
The driver’s side door of the SUV flew open. A large man with slicked back black hair stumbled from the cab. He deflated against the back driver’s side door, palming the side of his head.
A pistol dangled at his side. He lifted it up and trained it at the Chevelle. Sarah took the next street, skirting past the curb and vanishing from their sight. She had to get back to her folks’ home fast, gather what she could, and move on before it was too late.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
RUSSELL
Cathy stormed up to the three men in front of Lincoln Heights determined to find her daughter, Amber. They stopped laughing and conversing, then looked her way.
“And what do we have here?” the dark-skinned man said, turning to face them. He flashed a set of gold teeth, then took another drag from the joint. “I think you three might be lost or something.”
“Yeah. This fool has a rifle slung off his shoulder like it’s hunting season,” his smaller, plumper white friend said with a boisterous laugh.
Max growled at the men. He bore his fangs and stayed glued at Cathy’s side.
Gold teeth pointed at the dog, then up to her. “You better keep that dog in check, or something could happen to it.”
Cathy snapped her fingers. “Max, stop it.”
The German shepherd growled a moment more before stopping and sitting on his haunches.
“Hot damn. She’s got that dog trained well,” their friend wearing a red Philadelphia 76ers jersey said. “Maybe I need to have her show my old lady how to train our mutt.”
Russell stood behind Max with Clyde flanking Cathy. He watched the men’s movements, making sure they didn’t draw the pieces he’d spotted tucked in their waistbands.
“We’re looking for the Sandman,” Cathy said, ignoring their jokes and snickering.
“The Sandman?” Gold Teeth asked with eyes wide. He nudged the plump white guy’s arm with his elbow. “Did you hear
