Mountain Man Bad Boy Read Online Natasha L. Black

Categories Genre: Alpha Male Tags Authors: Natasha L. Black Advertisement

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I fit my fingers together like a prayer, pleading with him. He ignored me, grabbing my arm and shoving me back inside. He slammed the door shut and leaned against it, still muttering to himself. I looked at the driver’s seat. The keys were still in the ignition. Could I vault over the seat and reach the pedals before he reacted? It was worth a try.

I pitched myself forward, folding myself across the back of the seat. I got stuck with my butt against the ceiling, my arms and legs dangling on both sides. George saw what I was doing, ripped the driver’s-side door open, and pointed the gun at me again. I came down into the front seat with a thump, landing on the same arm I had injured before. My head fell out of the vehicle, and my hip hit the parking brake.

He grabbed me by the hair and pulled me into a sitting position, thrusting me onto the passenger’s seat. “Stop. I will shoot you.”

“Then do it!” I spat.

“Don’t tempt me!” he screamed, stabbing me in the neck with the muzzle of the gun.

I choked back tears, not believing that my own brother could be doing this to me. Where was the protective big brother that Lincoln and I had followed around when we were younger? The one that let us play with his friends even though they were “too mature” for us? Where was the kid who had stayed up late to study for his science test and ended up getting the best grade in the class? Where was the person who had helped me clean up after Mom’s tantrums, who had helped Lincoln and me hide the liquor, who had lied to the social workers to keep our family together?

He swung the door shut and slammed the car into gear, tearing off underneath the highway. I was pinned for a moment from the force of the acceleration, squished against the back of the seat. He peeled around the city, throwing me back and forth with every start and stop. I couldn’t fathom what was going on. He had roughed me up, kidnapped me, and was taking me on some kind of satanic joy ride around Nashville. I could only hope the police would catch on and they would stop him.

“Where are we going?” I asked as he came to a sudden halt at a traffic light.

“Have to waste time,” he muttered.

“Why?” I felt a throbbing in my temple and raised both hands to touch my head. There was no blood, so that was something.

“Shift change,” he said, barely coherent. He thrust the car into motion again, wreaking havoc on my transmission.

“Slow down!” I complained.

“We can sit somewhere until the shift change if you promise not to try to escape.” He split his attention between me and the road, introducing a new fear that we would be T-boned by a distracted driver.

“I promise,” I relented.

He pulled into a 7-Eleven parking lot, driving around back and parking beside the dumpster.

I exhaled in temporary relief. I didn’t understand what was happening, but at least in this moment, I wasn’t going to die in a traffic accident. I closed my eyes, finding my center and regulating my breathing. I could hear his voice pick up softly as he began to repeat nonsense words and phrases. Trying to fit together the pieces of information I had collected, I developed a narrative. He wanted to wait until the shift change at the treatment center, and then he wanted me to go into the pharmacy and get as many narcotics as I could. He had a gun, and he was not thinking clearly. The drugs had done permanent damage to his thought process. What kind of drugs, how long he had been using and in what quantities, I didn’t know. But he was exhibiting both symptoms of being stoned and having lost his mind, so whatever he had taken had been chipping away at him for a long time.

I decided to keep quiet. The treatment center had its own experience with violence, and George was not the first druggie to imagine the pharmacy held a jackpot. If I could get George through the doors and make it obvious to all that it was a hostage situation, then maybe one of my coworkers would trigger the silent alarm. The police took any emergency at the hospital seriously and would arrive within minutes.

Finally, George turned the engine on and crept backward out of his parking spot. It was game time. I arranged myself in my seat, fastening the seat belt just to make sure I didn’t die on my way to my own funeral. The tension level in the car bottomed out, and we drove in silence, each focused on our own mission.

I wondered how Porter was doing.

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