Page 41 of A Seed Of Peril
“No problem,” Anthony said.
Just then, we sped up and shifted into the left lane. My internal red flags flew all around like a referee throwing flags in a game. I sat up so I could see, and in the southbound lane up ahead, I noticed a fancy sports car with those damn blinding blue headlights. Its windows were dark like ours. I couldn’t make out any kind of driver. Something about this vehicle unnerved me. Studying our surroundings like a vulture on a mission, there was a flimsy, rusting guardrail along our side of the interstate. Scattered trees and bushy acreage stretched along both sides of the interstate.
As our Escalade and the sports car came closer to each other, my heart pounded, nearly leaping into my throat. My chest tightened. The driver of the sports car lowered their windows. I tried to keep my breathing steady for Katrina as I witnessed something long and black peek through the opened back passenger window.
“Shit,” I whispered. I hurried and fixed my seat so I was sitting up good enough to open the glovebox for my gun. After the prior incidents, I remembered to bring it with me on this trip. “Anthony?” My voice shook.
“Shit!” Anthony shouted, slamming on the brakes as another car cut in front of us, coming to a dead stop. I held onto Katrina as tight as I could.
Katrina woke up, jolted by the impact of us rushing to come to a stop. “Lulu?” She rubbed her eyes.
My heart raced. Like the sports car, the driver of the car in front of us rolled down their windows. Horns blared. Time froze. Barrels pointed at us from both cars. Long black barrels. I saw people. Men. Their eyes were hidden behind sunglasses, and the people in the car in front of us wore bandanas to cover their noses and mouths. Everyone in both cars had rifles. Assault rifles.
“Angelo!” I shrieked, practically throwing Katrina to him as he reached for her and dragged her into the backseat and settled her onto the floor.
Another vehicle was behind us—a black SUV. They, too, had guns.
Anthony pulled out his .38 from inside his suit jacket and cocked it in preparation.
“Lulu!” Katrina cried out, scared, reaching for me.
“Get down!” Anthony ordered.
I hunched over in my seat the best I could, my pregnant belly in the way.
Our assailants fired off their rifles.
Bullets struck our car, the noise resembling hail. Anthony slammed his foot on the gas and rammed into the car in front of us. He backed up, then sped forward in his attempt to go around and escape, once again running into the obstructing vehicle.
Because of our vehicles being made bulletproof, including the windows, none of the bullets made it through. Yet.
Katrina screamed, crying hysterically.
My son was going wild, as was my adrenaline and anxiety. Without thinking, I opened the glovebox and grabbed my gun, pulling back its slide as I sat up. A fire stirred in my veins that I hadn’t experienced since I savagely massacred Fabio Pucinni.
My family taught me how to hold, aim, and fire a gun. They helped me strengthen my hand-eye coordination. I knew how to fight back, and I had the confidence to turn whatever I could get my hands on into a weapon. I was taught to kill or be killed.
No one messed with my babies. No one!
Anthony swerved sharply and quickly to the left and then the right, and I momentarily feared we’d roll over, but we didn’t. Horns continued to blare around us. I held onto the headrest of Anthony’s seat. With traffic impeding us, Anthony had no choice but to slide all the way out to our right and crash into the guard rail, ripping through it. The force sent some of my back and shoulder against my door, the pain radiating. We sped along the grass, branches scraping the Escalade, eventually getting back on the road.
“Lulu,” Katrina whined.
“It’s okay, it’s okay,” I reassured her, shushing her as tenderly as I could’ve mustered. I rolled my shoulder, wincing at the pain. Only then did it register that Angelo was on the phone.
“We don’t know,” Angelo told whoever he was talking to. My gut told me it was Dominic.
The gunfire tapered off the further we rode the interstate. Stray bullets pelted our back window and bumper.
“Dominic said to just get off at the next exit, and he’ll meet us.”
That was exactly what Anthony did as he jerked the wheel at the last second and got us onto the latest exit ramp. A hand grabbed my arm.
“Are you hurt?” Angelo asked.
I blinked rapidly, staring at him, getting my bearings. “No.” I shook my head. “I’m good.” My breaths were heavy and fast. I looked at my gun, tears blurring my vision as my adrenaline wore off. “Katrina,” I thought out loud. There were scarce cracks in the windshield. I whipped my head around to look in the back seat, shaking like I never had before. “Is?—”
“She’s unharmed,” Angelo answered, taking my gun from me and putting it inside his jacket.