Total pages in book: 217
Estimated words: 207224 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1036(@200wpm)___ 829(@250wpm)___ 691(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 207224 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1036(@200wpm)___ 829(@250wpm)___ 691(@300wpm)
Laughing could get us both killed. My cheeks balloon. I snort through my nose. It’s no good. I catch Beau’s eye and burst into fits of giggles, clenching my belly, my eyes streaming, my breathing ragged. “I’m sorry!” I blurt, hearing Beau snickering too. “I’m so sorry.”
Otto mumbles and grunts, shooing Doc’s dabbing hand away and forcing himself up to his feet, still a bit wobbly, and stomps off as best as his unstable body will allow. Oh no. “But we need help getting Dolly started,” I call, getting a dismissive wave of his hand in return.
“We don’t need him,” Beau says, chuckling over a few words as she dips and collects the cables, taking them and fixing them to something under the hood of Dolly so both cars are connected by the cables. Then she starts the Mercedes and gets behind the wheel of Dolly. “He’ll be back soon, anyway.”
“Why?” I ask. He looked about done with us.
“He forgot his car,” she says, just as Dolly roars to life and something under the hood of the Mercedes sparks. “Shit,” Beau yelps, flying back in her seat.
“What happened?”
She gets out of Dolly and into the Mercedes. “I think I blew the electrics.” She looks around the inside of the car. “Nothing’s working.” She tries to start the engine. Completely dead.
“Well,” I chime. “At least Dolly’s alive.”
“An eye for an eye,” Beau says, grinning as she hops out and joins me. “I remember Reg telling me once that you should never jump start an old car with a new, flashy car.”
“Who’s Reg?”
“An old boy with five teeth who used to rescue me whenever Dolly quit. Reg the Rescue Truck.”
Otto stomps back around the corner, his face like thunder, and we both wisely keep our mouths shut and our laughter under control as he yanks the cables out from the Mercedes, tosses them aside, slams the hood down, and throws himself into the driver’s seat.
“Does James know you’re driving that death trap again?” he asks, a definite curl to his lip.
“I’m not driving it, Otto,” Beau retorts, eyebrows high. “Because where the fuck will I go?”
“He’s not driving anything either,” I whisper, and Beau snorts as Otto flashes another snarl. “God, he’s a miserable bastard today.” Beau knows as well as I do that James won’t give a fuck if she’s driving Dolly again. He’ll just be glad she’s out of bed.
Otto tries to start the Mercedes. Obviously, nothing happens. “God damn it!” He smacks the wheel.
“I think Dolly killed it.” Beau rests a delicate hand on Dolly’s rusty paintwork, and I’m forced to turn away to hide my tears of laughter. I hear a door slam and the unmistakable pound of Otto’s boots stomping away as he yells for Bud at the gate.
“Get in,” Beau calls, shuffling across to the passenger seat. A wicked shiver courses through me. Excitement? I bite my lip and hurry over, putting myself behind the wheel, casting my eye over the buttons and switches. Dolly looks far more complicated than any of the Mercedes I’ve been in.
Bang!
“Shit!” I yelp, jumping in my seat. “What the hell was that?” I look across the car to Beau. She’s smiling.
“That, Rose, is Dolly.” She reaches for her seatbelt and pulls it on, prompting me to do the same. “Let’s go.”
Yes, let’s go. Not far, granted, but let’s go. I take the lever by the wheel, pull it, and put my foot on a pedal.
And jerk forward, bunny-hopping my way up the driveway at the side of the house. “She’s not very smooth, is she?”
Beau chuckles, stroking across Dolly’s center console with a palm delicate enough to stroke a butterfly. “Easy on the gas, Rose.”
“I’m being easy,” I insist, picking up speed gradually, feeling relatively calm.
“You need to shift gears.”
“It has gears?” I ask, looking around the wheel. “None of the cars the boys drive have ge—”
“Watch Cindy!” Beau yells, just as a black and tan blob flies across my path.
“Shit!”
“And Barbie! Shit, Rose, hit the brake.”
“Which one’s the brake?” I yank the steering wheel to the left, adrenaline charging through me fast.
And plough straight into a bush.
11
DANNY
I’m merciless on the throttle, flying across the water like a bullet, out of my seat, James flanking me. The salt spray hits my face, making my skin tight, the roar of the engine and pound of the water filling my ears, drowning out the voices telling me to go on a killing spree. But I’m still strung. Still tense. Still edgy.
As the corner of the cove comes closer, I slow so I can loop without being thrown off. I’d love to yank on the handlebars. Being rag-dolled across the water might distract some of my muscles from being infinitely tight. I slow until I’m barely moving and look down at my wetsuit, considering the bandages and Dermabond beneath.