Page 54 of Rolling Thunder
“Trust me. A little sugar never hurts.” And amazingly, she was right. Kayla indulged in a buttery, sugary bite of cheap calories, and to her shock, she actually did feel a little better already.
“I went to the cops to keep my boyfriend from having to kill a guy who hurt me,” Kayla blurted. “It’s the biggest clusterfuck in the world.”
“When I got sober, I was living in a battered women’s shelter,” Annie said calmly, the serene expression never leaving her face. “That was a pretty big clusterfuck too.”
Hearing the F-bomb from such a classy lady shocked Kayla and made her giggle. Now, between the sugar, the company, and the camaraderie, she was truly feeling less like she needed to feed herself to the gators.
Annie patted her arm. “Everybody here’s trying to leave behind some clusterfuck or another. The first thing is, don’t drink over it and make it worse than it already is.” Another woman passed by that Kayla barely knew. She sent her a sympathetic smile and murmured: “keep coming, honey,” as she passed.
A row of motorcycles leaning on their kickstands in the Daniels Ranch driveway were prominently visible as Annie and Kayla pulled up to the gate after the AA meeting. Now that Kayla was home, she wanted to run away again. For so long, all she’d ever wanted was safety, but it eluded her. Now these men promised it, but could she really trust them to deliver? And what price might they pay for protecting her?
Evan had been recorded leaving the police station with her. What would that do to his reputation? She always knew that either she would ruin him or he would ruin her. As the truth slowly came out, she began to think it was she who would ruin him.
She got out of the Jimmy, unlocked the gate, and lit a cigarette. She glanced back to Annie, who was waiting in the driveway to make sure everything was okay.
“You gonna be all right?” Annie asked her through the open window. Kayla nodded toward the bikes.
“Well, I have a restraining order and a posse, so…”
Annie laughed nervously, but still looked worried.
Kayla dug into her pocket and produced a business card. “Worst case, if I disappear or wind up dead, call this lady cop and tell her it was Trent Becker.” She handed Annie the business card.
“That’s not funny,” Annie said, contemplating the card. “Call me if you need anything at all, okay?”
Kayla nodded, then waved as Annie pulled away up the road. She stood at her open gate for a long moment, watching Annie drive out of sight, smoking and gathering herself to go inside. Just stealing a peaceful moment in the din of her life before going in to see the guys.
Her musing was interrupted by the distinctive and recognizable sounds of screeching tires and a roaring engine in the distance. The hair on her arms stood up. Gripped by panic, she froze in her driveway, paralyzed, unable to think. Trent’s El Camino screamed toward her up the arrow-straight road as she watched, transfixed. She was every small animal in the road waiting to be flattened. He would be upon her in just a second. She needed to close and lock the gate now. But her body simply wouldn’t work.
Run!
Still, she stood hopelessly rooted to the spot like an ancient oak.
She could see Trent’s face twisted with rage. He accelerated. At the very last second, giving one last herculean burst of sheer willpower, she sprang from her stupor, spun, and ran toward the house.
Too late.
Trent barreled into the driveway, swerved around her, and skidded to a violent, rocky halt in front of her, cutting her off.
She tried to dodge around the front of his car.
He leapt out, wild-eyed, and bore down on her. She tried to back away from him, the loose gravel beneath her feet gave so that she practically skidded in place. Choked with pure panic, she couldn’t make a sound.
She wheeled and tried to run, but he caught her, mercilessly knocking her down face-first into the stones. She crumpled to the ground with Trent on top of her. Grit and stones filled her mouth, and sharp fragments of shell slashed at her face. She was too stunned to respond, to save herself.
Next, she heard footsteps pounding. A yell. Suddenly, the weight of Trent lifted off her back. She looked up through stinging, dusty eyes to see Evan running across the yard to her aid, radiating fury.
She watched in horror, stunned. Trent was halfway back to his car when Jake and Evan achieved target lock. Their intent was unmistakable, and Trent knew it. He leapt back into his still-running car, jammed it into gear, and peeled out, pulling a wiry leg into the still half-open door. Fishtailing out of control, he bounced the car off the front gate, spraying a shower of jagged projectiles. Metal screeched against metal. Reaching the pavement at last, he laid a fifty-foot patch of smoky, burnt rubber as he shot back down the road faster than he had come.
Bill appeared out of the dusty confusion and helped Kayla get to her feet.
Evan and Jake spun toward their bikes without a word. As they swung on, Kayla finally found her voice.
“Evan, no!” she choked out.
But her scratchy voice was no match for the deafening roar of the motorcycles. She tried to run toward them, but Bill held her back. Excruciating tears came hot and fast as the motorcycles stormed off in hot pursuit. They’d become wild dogs who wouldn’t be denied their quarry.
Canyon Bill and Roadkill were left on the farm with her. Roadkill stood at the ready, watching the driveway in case Trent had backup. Bill dusted her off, assessing the physical damage. Her face stung, and not just from emotion. Bill moved to touch her face and then seemed to think better of it. Cut, filthy, and bleeding, she’d have another shiner courtesy of Trent.