Read Online Off the Wagon (Users #2) by Stacy, Jennifer Buck - Free Book Online
Authors: Stacy, Jennifer Buck
Ads: Link
broken driver side window with both hands, grabbed the man by the hair, and pulled him right out through the open portal.
“What’s in the back of your van?” Carter asked. “And where’s it going?”
Carter still had a firm hold on the man’s hair. The door on the passenger side clicked as the door handle was pulled and the door swung open.
“Where do you think you’re going?” Carter dragged the driver, who tripped and fell, by his greasy hair toward the passenger side of the van and the man screamed in pain.
The man who was no longer in the passenger seat turned to run, but Carter fired a warning shot. The fireball sailed right over the man’s head and off into the distance, stopping him in his tracks.
“Okay, okay; don’t shoot,” the man said, not fully understanding who he was dealing with.
“Turn around,” Carter said.
The man raised his hands and turned around slowly.
“You look like you’ve done this before,” Carter said.
“The keys are in the ignition. Just take the van and go.”
“This isn’t a robbery,” Carter said.
“Then what is it?” the driver, still on the ground, growled.
Carter let go of his hair finally.
“Get up and open up the back of the van,” Carter said.
The driver, a heavy set man with thick wrinkles on his forehead, rose to his feet and joined his companion.
“Both of you stay where I can see you.”
The pair made a slow shuffle to the back of the van with Carter following right behind them.
“Now open the doors,” Carter said as they reach the rear of the van. “Slowly.”
The pair, one on each door, pulled on the handles, and slowly crept the doors wide to each side. They stood there not moving, blocking Carter’s view.
“Now move out of the way,” Carter said.
“You asked for it,” one of them said.
Carter wasn’t really sure which, and at that moment he didn’t care, he had more pressing matters at hand. A third man, carrying a shotgun, popped up out of the back of the van, and he had the barrel pointed right in Carter’s face.
“Well, looks like I got the right van,” Carter said.
Chapter 9
Carter froze. He knew without a doubt, he was fucked. He had been in sticky situations before, but this time he was wide open with a shotgun in his face. Even if he managed to get a fireball shot off, the shotgun used a scattergun approach, and he was bound to get hit by at least some of the bee-bees. Worse still he was outnumbered three to one.
“You so much as move and I’ll paint the road red with your brains,” the man with the shotgun said as he stepped down out of the van.
The man with the gun was little, barely five foot. It was always the little ones you had to worry about. They had an ax to grind, and this one wanted to grind it right on Carter’s face.
“What do we do?” the driver asked.
“You let me take care of him. You’re hired to drive, that’s all.”
“You’re not going to kill him are you?” the third man asked.
“What’s the matter? You’re a drug smuggler with a conscious all of a sudden,” the man with the shotgun teased. “You, over to the side of the road.”
He pointed with the barrel of the gun toward a dark thicket of trees and underbrush sprouting up right next to the side of the road. Carter did as he was told. He had little choice in the matter. He was going to die, and there was no fighting it this time. He had failed. He would not stop the Pow from infecting his city, and worse still, he would not be there to take Barber to the meeting tomorrow, or the week after, or the week after that.
“Get down on your knees,” the man said.
Carter dropped down on his knees next to a large fern bush. The fern’s sprouting swords were taller than he was when on his knees.
“Kiss your ass goodbye.”
“You first.” A voice Carter recognized well whispered from the darkness.
Barber burst up, out from behind the fern, spikes leading the way.
“What the-” Was all the man with the
“What’s in the back of your van?” Carter asked. “And where’s it going?”
Carter still had a firm hold on the man’s hair. The door on the passenger side clicked as the door handle was pulled and the door swung open.
“Where do you think you’re going?” Carter dragged the driver, who tripped and fell, by his greasy hair toward the passenger side of the van and the man screamed in pain.
The man who was no longer in the passenger seat turned to run, but Carter fired a warning shot. The fireball sailed right over the man’s head and off into the distance, stopping him in his tracks.
“Okay, okay; don’t shoot,” the man said, not fully understanding who he was dealing with.
“Turn around,” Carter said.
The man raised his hands and turned around slowly.
“You look like you’ve done this before,” Carter said.
“The keys are in the ignition. Just take the van and go.”
“This isn’t a robbery,” Carter said.
“Then what is it?” the driver, still on the ground, growled.
Carter let go of his hair finally.
“Get up and open up the back of the van,” Carter said.
The driver, a heavy set man with thick wrinkles on his forehead, rose to his feet and joined his companion.
“Both of you stay where I can see you.”
The pair made a slow shuffle to the back of the van with Carter following right behind them.
“Now open the doors,” Carter said as they reach the rear of the van. “Slowly.”
The pair, one on each door, pulled on the handles, and slowly crept the doors wide to each side. They stood there not moving, blocking Carter’s view.
“Now move out of the way,” Carter said.
“You asked for it,” one of them said.
Carter wasn’t really sure which, and at that moment he didn’t care, he had more pressing matters at hand. A third man, carrying a shotgun, popped up out of the back of the van, and he had the barrel pointed right in Carter’s face.
“Well, looks like I got the right van,” Carter said.
Chapter 9
Carter froze. He knew without a doubt, he was fucked. He had been in sticky situations before, but this time he was wide open with a shotgun in his face. Even if he managed to get a fireball shot off, the shotgun used a scattergun approach, and he was bound to get hit by at least some of the bee-bees. Worse still he was outnumbered three to one.
“You so much as move and I’ll paint the road red with your brains,” the man with the shotgun said as he stepped down out of the van.
The man with the gun was little, barely five foot. It was always the little ones you had to worry about. They had an ax to grind, and this one wanted to grind it right on Carter’s face.
“What do we do?” the driver asked.
“You let me take care of him. You’re hired to drive, that’s all.”
“You’re not going to kill him are you?” the third man asked.
“What’s the matter? You’re a drug smuggler with a conscious all of a sudden,” the man with the shotgun teased. “You, over to the side of the road.”
He pointed with the barrel of the gun toward a dark thicket of trees and underbrush sprouting up right next to the side of the road. Carter did as he was told. He had little choice in the matter. He was going to die, and there was no fighting it this time. He had failed. He would not stop the Pow from infecting his city, and worse still, he would not be there to take Barber to the meeting tomorrow, or the week after, or the week after that.
“Get down on your knees,” the man said.
Carter dropped down on his knees next to a large fern bush. The fern’s sprouting swords were taller than he was when on his knees.
“Kiss your ass goodbye.”
“You first.” A voice Carter recognized well whispered from the darkness.
Barber burst up, out from behind the fern, spikes leading the way.
“What the-” Was all the man with the
Similar Books
