tire. He pushed to his feet and started straight for her. “You fucking bitch. This is all your fault.”
“Back off.” Teague smacked a hand against Taz’s chest and stepped between him and Hannah. “We’ve got more important things to think about.”
Taz’s edgy eyes cut into Teague. “Yeah, like how the fuck we’re getting out of the hell hole that bitch got us into now that those niggers jacked our ride.”
Teague’s gaze fell to the rear tire. Flat. Then it jumped to the front. Flat. Taz pushed against Teague’s hand as he reached for Hannah again. “I’m going to fuck the living shit out of this slant-eyed cunt.”
Teague had heard enough racial slurs for a lifetime. He shoved Taz so hard the other man stumbled back and hit the trunk of the car.
Taz’s dark eyes narrowed on Teague. “What’s wrong with you, man? Why is this bitch so important?”
“Not your business.”
“It is if she gets our asses thrown back in the hole.”
“That won’t happen.”
Taz leaned forward and pointed a rigid finger in Teague’s face. “If it does, you’re mine .”
A dark film inked Teague’s stomach. The threat reminded him of exactly why he would die before he went back to prison. It was the fear he’d lived with day in and day out at Quentin—the fear of being gutted, strangled, stabbed, beaten, raped or worse. He was convinced the twisted severity of his crime had kept the other animals at bay so far. That and the fact he benched more than three of them put together. Teague didn’t work out obsessively to kill time. He did it to stay safe. To stay alive.
“Where the fuck we getting another car?” Taz’s arms flew as they typically did when he was on the edge of “throwing a nutty.” Bad things always happened when Taz wigged, things like death and dismemberment. “Look around you, Creek. We’re in the middle of fucking mud country.”
Teague scanned the surrounding industrial area, devoid of pedestrians and traffic. He doubted there was civilization within two miles. Besides, Hannah couldn’t walk that far. He might have stopped the bleeding for now, but too much movement, too much pressure could break open the wound.
“There.” He tightened his grip on Hannah’s cuffs and started for a parking lot two blocks away where three U-Haul vans sat alongside a building. “Come on.”
Hannah resisted when he pulled her forward. He swung toward her without any effort to hide his annoyance, but she didn’t cower.
“Take these off me.” She lifted her hands and the cuffs shone in the low light. “I need to put pressure on my side.”
“Fucking A.” If it wasn’t one thing, it was another. He unlocked the cuff on her right hand and, much to his own distaste, secured it to his left wrist. “Sooner we get to the truck, the sooner you can sit.”
Taz fumed under his breath, muttering a rash of racist, cursing comments with each step toward the yard. When Teague had made the deal in prison to take Taz on as an escape partner, he’d rationalized the desperate move by telling himself he’d be rid of the jackass within hours. Unfortunately, Teague’s plans hadn’t panned out as expected, and now he was ready to ram Taz’s head into the chipped stucco wall on his right. The only reason he didn’t was because he didn’t want to burn Hannah’s wrist again.
When they reached the lot, Teague realized the trucks weren’t out in the open, but behind a twelve-foot, chain-link fence with razor wire spiraling upward another two feet at the top.
Teague ran his hand over the stubble of hair on his head. “Aw, fuck me.”
Taz picked up the padlock secured by a thick chain and slammed it back into place. “How is this going to help us?”
Teague dragged Hannah fifty feet from the entrance and pointed at the pavement. “Sit.”
He released the cuff on his wrist and fastened it to the chain link, then surveyed the barrier. A familiar sense of impotence nagged at him. If he could just
“Back off.” Teague smacked a hand against Taz’s chest and stepped between him and Hannah. “We’ve got more important things to think about.”
Taz’s edgy eyes cut into Teague. “Yeah, like how the fuck we’re getting out of the hell hole that bitch got us into now that those niggers jacked our ride.”
Teague’s gaze fell to the rear tire. Flat. Then it jumped to the front. Flat. Taz pushed against Teague’s hand as he reached for Hannah again. “I’m going to fuck the living shit out of this slant-eyed cunt.”
Teague had heard enough racial slurs for a lifetime. He shoved Taz so hard the other man stumbled back and hit the trunk of the car.
Taz’s dark eyes narrowed on Teague. “What’s wrong with you, man? Why is this bitch so important?”
“Not your business.”
“It is if she gets our asses thrown back in the hole.”
“That won’t happen.”
Taz leaned forward and pointed a rigid finger in Teague’s face. “If it does, you’re mine .”
A dark film inked Teague’s stomach. The threat reminded him of exactly why he would die before he went back to prison. It was the fear he’d lived with day in and day out at Quentin—the fear of being gutted, strangled, stabbed, beaten, raped or worse. He was convinced the twisted severity of his crime had kept the other animals at bay so far. That and the fact he benched more than three of them put together. Teague didn’t work out obsessively to kill time. He did it to stay safe. To stay alive.
“Where the fuck we getting another car?” Taz’s arms flew as they typically did when he was on the edge of “throwing a nutty.” Bad things always happened when Taz wigged, things like death and dismemberment. “Look around you, Creek. We’re in the middle of fucking mud country.”
Teague scanned the surrounding industrial area, devoid of pedestrians and traffic. He doubted there was civilization within two miles. Besides, Hannah couldn’t walk that far. He might have stopped the bleeding for now, but too much movement, too much pressure could break open the wound.
“There.” He tightened his grip on Hannah’s cuffs and started for a parking lot two blocks away where three U-Haul vans sat alongside a building. “Come on.”
Hannah resisted when he pulled her forward. He swung toward her without any effort to hide his annoyance, but she didn’t cower.
“Take these off me.” She lifted her hands and the cuffs shone in the low light. “I need to put pressure on my side.”
“Fucking A.” If it wasn’t one thing, it was another. He unlocked the cuff on her right hand and, much to his own distaste, secured it to his left wrist. “Sooner we get to the truck, the sooner you can sit.”
Taz fumed under his breath, muttering a rash of racist, cursing comments with each step toward the yard. When Teague had made the deal in prison to take Taz on as an escape partner, he’d rationalized the desperate move by telling himself he’d be rid of the jackass within hours. Unfortunately, Teague’s plans hadn’t panned out as expected, and now he was ready to ram Taz’s head into the chipped stucco wall on his right. The only reason he didn’t was because he didn’t want to burn Hannah’s wrist again.
When they reached the lot, Teague realized the trucks weren’t out in the open, but behind a twelve-foot, chain-link fence with razor wire spiraling upward another two feet at the top.
Teague ran his hand over the stubble of hair on his head. “Aw, fuck me.”
Taz picked up the padlock secured by a thick chain and slammed it back into place. “How is this going to help us?”
Teague dragged Hannah fifty feet from the entrance and pointed at the pavement. “Sit.”
He released the cuff on his wrist and fastened it to the chain link, then surveyed the barrier. A familiar sense of impotence nagged at him. If he could just
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