Page 17 of Break Out the Girl

“Hello, new friend,” London chirps. “You don’t happen to have a pork pie and some beans do you?”

I leave Rex to deal with that, and go look at the crap in the back of his truck. Most of it is scrap, but there’s also some chopped firewood and a ripped tarpaulin sheet. Good.

“We hide in the bed under the tarp. Just drop us close to the harbor at the far end of the docks, we’ll figure ourselves out from there.” When I turn back, I see Rex has opened up a brown paper sack and is offering Aurora his lunch.

Good man.

“I won’t forget this, Rex,” I reiterate. “I promise.”

He starts peeling off his plaid shirt. “You all aren’t gonna get far in those prison scrubs, stand out a mile,” he mutters. “I’ve got this, and a vest in the cab. Maybe a ballcap too.”

“We’ll take them, thanks.”

London suddenly jumps on the hood of the truck. “Company’s coming.” His hairy fucking faun ears swivel like radars. “We’d better be on our jolly-well.”

If jolly-well means go, then I agree. “Get in the back! Now!” I bark, as I start flinging Rex’s shit out to make room.

Surprisingly, François scrambles in first. London dives in right after him, kicking up a cloud of loose rust flakes.

“Wait, Aurora is next,” Frank snaps at him.

“Aww, Shane, I’ll look after you, don’t worry.” London slams himself down next to François.

“Keep your hooves to yourself,” François snarls.

London completely ignores him, turning back to the opening and grinning as he beckons Aurora forward with a theatrical wave. “Come into the parlor, Kitten!”

Rory slides in next, and I follow, banging on the truck so Rex knows to get the hell out of here.

As we start to move, I grab the heavy canvas and yank it over the us.

There’s not much room for four bodies. Because we're jammed together, Rory is wedged tight right between London and me.

“Snuggle up, Shane,” London coos from her other side as I slide my arm under Rory’s head as a cushion against the bouncing metal.

Her ice-blue eyes stare at me through the heavy gloom. “Do we trust him?” she whispers. “That guy?”

Having her so close chases away the exhaust fumes. Now all that fills my senses is her.

“I think so,” I mutter back, my lips brushing the shell of her ear. “But if shit hits the fan, I’ll shift and tear out some throats…” My words are cut off as we’re slammed side to side. Bounce, bang, bounce.

Fuck. It’s like being inside a concrete mixer full of scrap iron. My head crashes against the cab back as Rex drives at speed through the rutted field. I hear a groan from François across from us.

“Hold tight, it’s going to be a bumpy fucking ride,” I growl.

“And we’ve still got company,” London adds from the dark corner. “I can feel their hunty vibrations.”

What?

There’s a rusted out hole in the bed wall, so I try to get a look outside. It’s not easy, considering we’re being thrown all over the place, but I eventually get a glimpse.

“London’s right. Fuck.”

A heavy, matte-black RRT armored carrier cruises slowly around the corner of the derelict storage units, its oversized tires crushing the gravel. The high-intensity searchlights mounted to its roof are off, but the passenger is clutching a weapon that looks far larger than the usual pistol or suppression gun.

My muscles coil, the wolf beneath my skin baring its teeth, ready to tear through the metal if that gun aims at the truck bed. Beside me, I feel Aurora’s body go completely rigid, and I tighten my hold, locking her against my chest.

Rex isn’t stopping.