The Worst Best Friend: A Small Town Romance

Herc gives me an urgent oink! that sounds way too much like think!

“I’m trying, porky,” I grumble. “We’re so close. If I just had a little help to get that bastard in front of us out of the—”

Way? My brain freezes.

There’s a flash of headlights in the rearview mirror.

Make that lots of headlights, a small convoy of tall monster trucks just like mine, coming up fast.

Adrenaline arcs through my system like a blown circuit, and I punch my dash screen so hard it almost cracks.

“Call Faulk!” I tell my phone system.

“No time like now for some company, huh?” he answers in his excited Oklahoma twang. “I’m guessing that’s them up ahead?”

“Yeah! Be careful. They’ve got friends in that shitty SUV in front of me, and they’re armed. We have to surround them, flank them, force them to stop. We have to get ahead of the rig. If that hauler goes into the ditch, it could roll.”

I swallow, knowing that would be the end of Shelly.

“Man, they don’t stand a chance. There’s half a dozen of us and the chopper’s on its way. We’ll stop ’em!” Faulk says.

“We’ve got your back, Weston, just lead the way,” another voice cuts in. I realize it must be Ridge Barnet. “I’ll distract those dumbass minions. I’ve seen this crap in action movies a hundred times.”

Before I can protest, Ridge’s truck pulls even with me, waiting for me to make a move.

It’s now or fucking never.

The trucks are almost in a military formation, racing up quickly behind me.

Pressing the gas, I charge forward again, staring that SUV dead in the eye like a four-wheeled Reaper.

“You feel lucky tonight, Herc?” I ask the pig, never taking my eyes off the potential bullet between the eyes in front of me.

He squeals loudly.

“That’s what I thought. So the fuck do I!” I wrench the wheel just as we’re coming up on the SUV’s taillights, letting them think I want to clip them again.

But I stomp the brakes, falling back at the last second.

I don’t think they ever see Ridge coming. His truck barrels ahead, so fast the alligator mouth decals on the sides are just a blur. I imagine those jaws moving, snapping at the SUV, as he smashes into their rear.

Both vehicles go spinning off the road together in a whirling screech and a thousand tiny metallic flashes in my headlights.

“Somebody stop for Ridge and make sure he’s all right,” I say into the phone, fixing my eyes on what’s in front of me.

Nothing between us now.

Nothing guarding those motherfuckers.

Nothing stopping me from bringing her home.

The jackasses in the rig realize they’ve lost their escort, too. The semi starts swerving, fishtailing to block me when I get so close I can read their plates.

I take advantage of their chaos, veering out and rushing in tighter again, using it to flank the hauler’s side till I’m right next to them.

The semi lunges over, trying to force me off the road.

They’re fast and unpredictable.