Primal (Wrong Side of the Tracks 2)

His shout turned into a pained grunt when Rob grabbed at his face, but the arrow of danger was immediately turned on Rob when Jag bit on his palm so viciously Dane saw flesh stretch when Rob attempted to pull away. Jag only let go when a forceful punch to the head knocked him over, but as terrified as Dane was of getting anywhere near Rob, the loud wail of the police siren sent him to his feet.

Jag could not be arrested!

Dane’s stomach clenched, about to expel all the popcorn he’d eaten, but he forced himself to move. So maybe he didn’t know how to fight or make pirouettes in the air, but even Rob didn’t have eyes at the back of his head and fell when Dane kicked his face.

Nausea came back with a vengeance when Rob grabbed at his nose and one bloodshot eye widened, meeting Dane’s gaze. But this was no time for chatting. With the siren getting ever louder, Dane grabbed Jag under the arms and pulled him away from their opponent.

“We have to go!” He yelled, with his heart in his throat.

Jag snarled at Rob. With his mouth covered in blood from the vicious bite, he could’ve been a werewolf, not a man, but he didn’t fight Dane and followed his lead.

Dane’s legs found their rhythm the moment they left the alleyway, and he sprinted forward. He could handle an arrest later but couldn’t risk another confrontation with Rob.

His trembling fingers found the car keys in his pocket, and he leapt straight into the driver’s seat, with his temples pulsing frantically as he attempted to even out his shallow breath.

“Get in!” he yelled when Jag turned toward their fallen enemy and bared red-stained teeth.

Jag huffed like a scolded puppy and sat in the passenger seat.

“I almost had him,” he growled, as if Dane didn’t have the blue emergency lights flashing in his rear-view mirror to distract him.

When he fled the street, the low rumble of a motorcycle on their tail made his stomach twist with fear.

Chapter 22 – Dane

Dane shrieked when he rushed over the speed bump, making the car shake and creak in protest, but the single light of the motorcycle trailing them forced him to press the gas pedal even lower. Tracked by a hungry tiger, he had little chance for survival, but that didn’t mean he wouldn’t try.

Even if that meant breaking all traffic rules and ignoring the speed limit.

He’d definitely take arrest and having his driver’s license revoked over whatever Rob might unleash on them both.

“Told you those clothes are too tight on me,” Jag complained from the passenger seat as Dane cut through a crossroads on the edge of town, right past the irrelevant barrier of red lights.

A single car started rolling through the intersection, but when Dane pressed on his horn, the poor bastard came to a halt like a deer caught in the headlights and avoided being the casualty of the high-speed chase.

“W-what?” Dane choked out as they dashed past the town limits, leaving the relative safety of civilization.

Maybe he should have gone straight to the police station? But it was too late for that now.

“The shirt ripped, and the jeans restricted me during the fight. I told Shane that this was a possibility, and he laughed at me. Who’s laughing now? Not me, I guess, but still…”

Dane’s brain overcooked. How insanely out of touch was that comment when they were being chased by a killer who remained on their tail, buzzing like a hornet that wouldn’t leave them in peace until it stung.

“I can’t drive any faster if we want to stay alive!” he yelled, focusing on the things that actually mattered. “Get my phone from my pocket!”

But who was he to call? If they informed the cops, the bikers might take that as an attack on them, and if Dane even managed to get out of town alive, he’d never be able to come back. Motorcycle clubs, especially outlaw ones, were known to be vengeful.

Jag pulled out Dane’s phone with a scowl. “We should deal with this ourselves. Stop the car and take him on. There’s two of us, and he wasn’t even so tough to begin with! Survival of the fittest.”

“What are you even saying? That you want to fight him to the death? You can’t kill him!”

“Why not?” Jag asked in a dark voice. “He deserves it.”

“We’re not killing anyone!” Dane yelled with sweat steaming off his forehead whenever he heard the motorcycle behind him speed up. Maybe calling Frank was the way to go? After all, now that Rob had seen Dane, alive and well, the guys at the junkyard were in danger too.

“He’ll hound us forever if we don’t. A wolf doesn’t give up the chase of a wounded deer.”

Dane screamed in frustration, trying to focus his tired eyes on the trees passing by and the road ahead. “This isn’t The Jungle Book, Jag! His club should deal with him. That’s what we arranged with them. He’s a man. He can be reasoned with.”