Chapter 15 Desperate
Chapter fifteen
Desperate
Jenna had enough time to wonder who in the hell “PJ” was before she realized that the group of concerning males was swarming the truck—and they all had something sharp in their hands.
“Shit!” She scurried backward, instinctively pulling her feet up and reaching for the tailgate as if securing the open bed of the truck would protect either one of them.
Keys landed in her lap before she registered Lynnette’s movement. “As soon as you get the chance, get behind the wheel and force your way through.”
Jenna’s mouth dropped open, but Lynnette had already launched herself over the side of the truck. “Lynnette!”
Male snickering and something that sounded like a taunt, but was spoken in Spanish, carried to Jenna’s ears as she watched three of the men circle her best friend. There was a good amount of space between her SUV and Lynnette’s truck, and all of that room gave them plenty of space to maneuver.
Jenna gathered the keys in her free hand and used her other thumb to swipe through her contacts.
She had no idea what to do. She barely knew how to make a fist, let alone fight off armed assailants, and she wasn’t about to abandon the friend she was responsible for putting in danger.
But she was also well aware she couldn’t call the authorities for help.
She’d be laughed right off the line. That really only left her one option, as much as she hated to do it.
“Put the phone down, bitch,” a male voice snarled from behind her even as the line began to ring.
Jenna froze.
Someone else, in Lynnette’s direction, let out a grunt of discomfort.
Tattooed skin stretched over darkly inked fingers extended into her line of sight.
Those fingers curled around the handle of a wicked-looking hunting knife, which she only caught a glimpse of as the arm in her periphery wound around her shoulders and the blade was brought to her throat.
At her opposite ear, the voice spoke again, each exhaled syllable washing over her with the aftertaste of tobacco. “I said put. The fucking phone. Down.”
Jenna drew as shallow a breath as she could, trying not to gag on the stench of his breath.
“O-okay,” she said. She pulled the phone carefully from her ear, angling it away as naturally as she could and simultaneously moving her thumb over the screen as she normally would to disconnect a call.
She stretched out her arm and lowered the device to the floor of the truck.
“Now push it away.”
Jenna swallowed hard, resisting the urge to nod, and gave the phone a shove. “Okay,” she said again. “I can’t reach it anymore. Please … please don’t hurt us. I don’t know anyone named PJ, maybe you have us confused—”
“Shut up.” He pressed the blade tighter to her throat. “PJ knows you, bitch. That’s all that matters.”
No, it really is not. But she had a feeling arguing that sort of detail would get her killed much faster, so she kept the thought to herself.
The truck rocked as someone slammed into it, and Jenna felt the tip of the blade bite into her throat when her assailant tightened his grip.
Beyond her vantage, another male shouted something in Spanish that carried an urgent tone.
Jenna thought she heard the sound of a weapon clattering to the ground.
Emboldened and more than a little desperate, Jenna threaded her fingers through the keys Lynnette had tossed her and threw an awkward, backwards punch up at the face still hovering over her shoulder.
She moved as fast as she was able in an effort to make up for her skill, but she was still surprised—and a little mortified—when the keys made contact with his face and blood arched through the air in her peripheral vision.
“Fuck!” He jerked back, the blade tearing a bit more at her neck as it came away. He kept spewing what she was sure were curses, but she didn’t know a whole lot of Spanish and in the moment, she suspected that was for the best.
Jenna threw herself forward, away from her attacker as well as away from the fight still going on beside the truck.
She snatched up her phone as she scrambled quickly over the tailgate she’d oh-so-helpfully closed as her attacker lunged for her.
She let out a cry as she hit the ground—half in pain from the awkward impact and half in startled fear at the knife that had nearly gone through her hand—but managed not to drop anything.
“Goddamn bitch!” he roared, the words not quite as clear as before. Blood covered nearly a quarter of his face. There was a jagged, nasty tear in the flesh of his cheek just past his lip that stretched to within an inch of his eye.
Nausea rolled in her stomach and Jenna shoved again to her feet, backing away from the truck. I did that. It had been self-defense, and it wasn’t fatal, but it would sure as shit leave a scar. The problem was, she would have to do worse to make him stop.
Jenna swallowed hard, holding the keys so tightly she could feel them biting into her palm. “Just leave us alone,” she pleaded, though she knew it was futile.
He made a mangled scoffing sound and hooked a leg over the tailgate with the obvious intent to pursue her.
The instant she saw he was committed to the move, Jenna sprang to the side, running full-tilt for the driver’s door. It wasn’t exactly far, and she didn’t know off-hand which key she would need if she managed to get inside. Please be obvious!
“Bitch!”
Please, please be obvious! She yanked the metal door open and did her best to leap inside, simultaneously trying to eye the logos on the keys.
She spotted the motor company insignia at the base of the bloodied key, because of course it was the bloody key, at the same moment her assailant grabbed hold of her ankle.
Jenna let out a scream and kicked wildly. “Let go! Get off!”
Her assailant had resorted to cussing her out in Spanish as he attempted to catch and keep hold of her legs in a very messed up version of whack-a-mole.
Jenna jammed an elbow into the horn of the steering wheel as she fought to keep herself from his reach, managed to clip him pretty well in one shoulder, and in the process gained herself a couple more inches of leverage.
She finally dropped her phone into the belted-in makeshift center console and latched her freed-up hand onto the back of the bench seat for a better grip.
He caught hold of her pant leg.
Lynnette’s purse, forgotten in the passenger seat, toppled over.
Jenna cried out again, nearly cracking her chin on the console when the bastard tugged.
She swung both legs with blind, reckless abandon and was pretty sure it wasn’t her imagination when something sharp bit the back of her calf.
But he released her again, and she put her all into diving for the purse.
There was no way in hell she’d be able to get the truck started and moving before the asshole could hurt her, but she might not need to.
Lynnette had told her, a while back, that the crazy hours and dark roads and sometimes sketchy people she met had all prompted her to start keeping bear spray handy.
She’d shrugged it off with the rationale that a girl could never be too safe, especially on isolated roads.
When Jenna’s fingers closed around the canister, she breathed a wordless thank you to her friend’s learned sense of caution.
Then she twisted in place, already feeling fingers at her ankle again, and locked eyes with the enraged asshole whose face she’d mangled.
“Fuck you,” she said, throwing herself upright enough to be sure she didn’t miss when she depressed the trigger.
She watched his eyes widen. Felt his grip go lax. Saw his bloodied lips part with what she assumed was another crude remark. But it was already too late.
The bear spray shot outward, colliding directly with his wide-eyed, gaping, bleeding face.
Jenna kept squeezing as he dropped his knife and stumbled backward, until he’d hit his knees and turned entirely out of range.
Then she let go, lips clamped shut, and hurried to snap the door closed.
Her eyes stung, there was no way around it, and she could feel her throat burning.
But she’d only gotten the backspray, or backlash, whatever.
She slammed the lock on her door and finally reached for the keys again.
It took her a moment to hear the disconnected, garbled voice shouting her name.
“Jenna!”
Jon. She hadn’t even checked to see if the call was still active, she’d just hoped.
Taking the largest breath she dared, Jenna rolled the engine over, dropped the bear spray into a cupholder, and quickly put the call on speaker. “Jon,” she said. Her voice came out choked. Shit.
She still managed to scream when the passenger door swung open and nearly fumbled the spray right onto the floorboard in her haste to pick it up.
“Whoa! It’s me!” Lynnette said, half in the cab. “I just beat the shit out of two guys and have like ten seconds before the third gets back around, please don’t spray me. Nice thinking, though.”
Jenna blew out a breath and lowered the spray.
Lynnette dropped into her seat, shoving her purse to the floor and slamming her door shut.
“Jenna, fucking answer me,” Jon said, his voice clearer on speaker.
Lynnette jumped before her whole head angled down to the phone. “Is that your boyfriend?”
Jenna gave her the best mortified look she could manage with her rapidly watering eyes and forced herself to squeak out, “I kind of sprayed myself.”
Lynnette cringed. “Yeah, you shouldn’t be driving. Switch with me.”
“What the fuck is going on? Lynnette, right? Is she hurt?”