chapter twenty

word count: 488

"So who is he, Vic? Huh? Who is he? Someone you sent to tail me?" Stan grabbed the other man by the collar and shook him with a deadly violence.

Vic struggled to keep his footing. "Stan, take it easy. Let's talk, man! I think Ruben there is dead."

"I killed him. I oughta kill you, too." Stan's breath came in quick heaves, his eyes darting like bullets. He saw her. Jessa, in the car. His eyes lingered. He licked his lips hungrily before returning his attention to his beleaguered friend. "You son of a bitch, you had me tailed. What for, Vic? Do I make you afraid?"

He shoved the other man and sent him flying. Vic faltered, glared at Stan, then ran. His shirt billowing behind his heaving chest as he disappeared around the corner.

He was gone. Jessa cracked the window and called after him. "Vic, come back! What are you doing? Baby, come back! I'll do whatever you want!" Falling back in the seat in dismay, she turned to see Stan glaring at her from the driver side.

"Open the door, bitch!" He pounded his big fist on the window. Blood from his murderous hands smeared across the glass in abstract streaks and puddles. "Let me in!" he roared. His eyes blazed with a lethal combination of hunger and outrage.

Jessa froze. Her limbs refused to move, her voice gobbled up by a ghostly fear that had overtaken her. He was insane. He'd probably kill her. She remembered the revolver. It still lay, cold and hard in her grasp. She could shoot him, kill him. But Vic told her the windows were bullet proof. She'd have to get out of the car or open the window to shoot.

"Open up!" He was pounding so hard anything not nailed down was rattling. The car vibrated with every pound. She'd kill him. She'd have to kill him.

Her trembling hand struggled to find the door handle, pulling at it with energy beyond her will, like the hand had a mind of its own. She slipped out and turned to face him, resting her hands on the roof of the car, cupped and holding the gun. He stared back, eyes rigid, a small line of spit rolling from the corner of his mouth in slow motion down the concave of his chin.

It was a flash, and he was on her, wrestling the gun away. He held her in a choke hold while with the other hand he snatched the revolver. With a jerk, he popped it open.

"Ha! Empty! No bullets!" He tightened his arm against her neck. "You're not much of a hero, bitch!" Reaching behind, he pulled a set of cuffs from the back of his uniform belt and with a flawless maneuver clipped them across her wrists. "We're going for a little ride, baby!"