Chapter 15 Desperate #2
Lynnette was already climbing onto the bench seat and motioning for Jenna to do an awkward, squeezing shuffle past the dash that no full-size woman should ever try and Jenna was suddenly very glad Jon wasn’t actually there.
It was embarrassing enough that she thought she could see a man with a knife running toward them, probably with enough of a view to see what they were doing.
As they moved, Lynnette said, “We got accosted by some gangster looking assholes. No idea why. Jenna took out one with the bear spray I keep in my purse, but it looks like she got some of it in the process.” She cut her eyes to Jenna as she dropped into the driver’s seat. “Are you okay otherwise?”
Jenna practically fell into her new seat, and though it was her intention to nod because she was pretty sure she was, she wasn’t actually sure her face cooperated.
“I’ll take that as a no,” Lynnette said.
“Where are you exactly?”
Lynnette’s eyes snapped up and narrowed. “Jenna, think you can drop him a pin or something? I gotta drive.”
The words were barely past her lips before a body collided with the door now at Jenna’s shoulder. A muffled exclamation came through the window and a different kind of clink compelled Jenna to twist around despite that she didn’t want to and, really, her vision was rather blurry.
Not so blurry she didn’t recognize the man with the neck tattoo. His face was twisted in rage and he was stabbing at the window with a bladed weapon.
“Theater,” she croaked, forcing the word out. “Theater. Under the big trees.”
Lynnette through the truck into gear. “And now we’re leaving. Adiós, asshole.” The pickup surged forward, throwing the guy off before he could strike the window again and almost immediately careening into the front end of one of their attacker’s vehicles.
Guilt slammed into Jenna’s heart as the truck jolted with the impact. She knew how much Lynnette loved her old truck. It was an outdated, gas-guzzling beast that was nearly as old as they were and cost more money to maintain than it would ever sell for. But Lynnette wouldn’t sell it. “Lynn—”
Jenna cut herself off when a different impact sounded behind them.
Horror flooding her system, she twisted in her seat and gaped at what she was pretty sure was the sight of the man with the neck tattoo carefully rising to his feet in the truck bed.
Her vision wasn’t clear enough for her to see his expression, but he had to be either fully enraged or dead-set on seeing his mission through, for reasons she could not comprehend.
Lynnette cursed, eased off the gas, and threw her truck into reverse before promptly stomping down on the pedal again.
The sharp movement rocked them in their seats and knocked their attacker off his feet, but not out of the truck.
The loud clang of his weapon hitting the truck bed was undeniable, though, and it brought a momentary relief.
Lynnette brought them to a stop and reached for her seatbelt. “Buckle up. One more good hit and we can clear that car.”
Jenna reached for her seatbelt, already feeling lightheaded between the spray and the jarring movement. “But,” she tried, her voice still more of a croak, “your truck—”
“Yeah, I know. I’m not happy about it. But your SUV wouldn’t cut it for this.”
“Stay where you are,” Jon said, projecting his voice through the still-open phoneline. “I’m about ninety seconds out.”
Lynnette balked. “Ninety—”
“How?” Jenna asked, before promptly falling into a coughing fit.
“I’m not doing the speed limit, baby. Just stay alive for one more minute.”
If she had the voice, and if they had the time, she would have argued that there had to be more to it than that he was merely speeding.
She also should not be flattered that he was breaking the law for her.
But she did not have the voice, or the time, and in truth …
if it kept her alive, who the hell cared about a speeding ticket? As long as he didn’t crash, of course.
Lynnette turned a raised brow to her, silently asking whether Jenna wanted to heed the strategy of the man on the phone or not.
Jenna dipped her chin in a nod right as the man in the truck bed slammed himself against the rear window.
“I’ll bleed both you whores and string you up by the roadside for everyone to see,” he hollered. He raised his fist—curled around the weapon he’d retrieved—and pressed it against the glass. “You never should’ve pissed me off.”
Lynnette, who had never taken kindly to harsh words in all the time Jenna had known her, rested an elbow on the back of the bench seat as if she were relaxing and called back, “I’m gonna send your friend PJ the bill for my truck repair. Think he’ll have the balls to sue me over that?”
Jenna was pretty sure she saw the man’s lips move, but whatever he said wasn’t loud enough to come through.
He followed it up with an angry swing of his blade that stabbed into the glass and nearly nicked her shoulder, causing her to shriek. The glass cracked, quickly spiderwebbing outward.
Lynnette released her seatbelt. “Son of a—”
The unmistakable sound of tires squealing carried through the air, and echoed over the open call, drawing everyone’s attention outward.
Jenna’s vision was blurry, but she was sure she recognized the green boxy shape moving closer at a rapid rate of speed. “Jon,” she breathed.
“Stay in the truck,” he said, as if in response. Then the line went dead and the other truck screeched to a halt, parked behind both of the vehicles that had blocked them in.
Glass creaked, more pieces breaking off as the guy behind them ripped his knife free and took a step to the side to see what was happening.
Jon swung out from his truck and raised a gun.
“Holy shit,” Lynnette said at the same time as the guy behind them twisted as if to run away.
Jon squeezed the trigger and he must have done it multiple times in quick succession, because Jenna distinctly heard multiple explosions but she was fairly sure he was holding some type of pistol.
Jenna and Lynnette let out reflexive shrieks and twisted toward the middle of the cab, ducking down as if he were shooting at them.
It was the smart thing to do, though Jenna told herself surely Jon knew how to aim.
She almost didn’t register the heavy thud in the truck bed that followed, not until she heard the quieter, metallic clink of the knife falling free again.
“Did he just—” Lynnette’s question was cut off by more bursts of gunfire.
Jenna had the perfect angle to see the flicker of agitation that crossed her face.
Seconds later, someone tapped politely on the window at Jenna’s back and both women jumped.
Lynnette cursed again.
Jenna uncurled and turned, and finally exhaled at the sight of Jon’s fuzzy but nonetheless welcome face.
She hurried to pop the door open as tears added to the burning in her eyes, making it worse.
“Is it over?” She sounded like she’d lived twice as many years and spent each one of them smoking three packs a day.
Jon scowled, his hands flexing over her knees. “Almost.” He took hold of her wrists, pulling her hands to her lap, then cupped her cheeks. “Hold still, baby. This’ll sting for a second.”
Jenna opened her mouth to ask what he meant—her face already stung—and then cool water rushed into her eyes as if she had stuck her face between two opposing fountains.
It did sting, but it only took a few seconds to feel the relief that followed.
Then Jon lowered one hand and trailed his fingers slowly down the length of her throat.
She blinked, clearing her vision as the water dripped from her lashes, and it was like compulsive swallowing only …
more refreshing, somehow. It was incredibly strange, but she wasn’t going to complain.
Finally, he met her gaze as he cupped her hands between his and rinsed those, too. She didn’t remember rubbing her eyes, but it was a good idea, regardless. “You scared the shit out of me,” he said softly.
“Says the man who came in shooting,” Lynnette quipped from behind them. “I’d compliment your aim, but I’m fairly certain you dropped a dead body in my truck, and I don’t know how the hell I’m supposed to explain that.”
Jon pulled Jenna from the truck as if she weighed nothing, lifting her completely into his arms. “Then don’t. We’ll get rid of it and wash out the evidence. But first, she’s bleeding. I need to patch her up.”
Jenna blinked, everything else she’d been thinking to say dying on her tongue. “I am?”
Jon aimed his frown at her as he stepped away from the truck.
Lynnette muttered a curse somewhere behind them.
“You are,” he said, turning them toward his truck as if there weren’t bodies strewn around them.
Jenna tried not to consider that that might not be so abnormal for him. Which forced her to briefly reflect on what might have happened if he hadn’t gotten there when he did, or if she hadn’t found that bear spray. And only then did she process the continued ache from her calf.
“Do you have supplies?” Lynnette asked, definitely not lagging behind.
“Enough,” Jon replied.
“Respectfully,” Lynnette said, “I actually patch people up for a living, so she might be in better hands with me for this part. And while I work, maybe you can explain that nonsense you just said?”
Jenna watched Jon jerk his chin toward the closed back driver’s side door and caught sight of Lynnette as her friend moved forward to pull it open.
In the moment she’d looked away, Jon said, “It’s nonsense to prioritize my woman’s health?”
The air rushed out of Jenna’s lungs. She wasn’t an idiot. She knew they’d fallen back into … something, however undefined. But to hear him just say it like that. So casually. So easily. It made her chest light and her heart beat faster and her eyes burn all over again.
“No,” Lynnette said almost awkwardly. “That’s not— I wasn’t”—she blew out a breath—“Set her down here, Romeo. And bring me your kit, unless you want me digging through your truck.”
Jon angled forward, setting Jenna so she was sitting sideways on the seat. He caught her chin in his hands as he straightened and brushed a lingering kiss over her lips before stepping back. “Right leg,” he said before he turned and disappeared from view.
Jenna released a breath.
Lynnette offered her a grin and wiggled her brows.