Primal (Wrong Side of the Tracks 2)

Panic set in at the thought of Rob having caught up to them so soon, and Dane took in their surroundings with a doomed feeling weighing his chest down. Several rusty cars were stacked one on top of each other to their right, and yet more tires mixed with car parts to their left, but he could see nothing beyond that. Nothing suspicious or out of place.

“Let’s just go then,” he insisted in a tiny voice, but Jag shook his head.

“He could shoot us in the back.”

“Then what do you propose, Mr. Pack Leader?” Dane snapped, his nerves in tatters at the very idea that Rob might be close enough to aim at them.

Jag’s mouth stretched into a predatory smile, and the deep shadows sinking into each crevice on his grimacing face turned it into an unsettling mask. “We hide and sneak up on him. Look,” he pointed to the hill of black rubber. “We can cover ourselves with the tires and wait. Be on the offensive.”

Hope flickered in Dane’s heart, but Jag’s golden eyes widened and snapped up to the stack of cars when they creaked. Heat rushed into Dane’s head as if he’d just heard the howl of a wolf, but a predator had really snuck up on them, and intuition was shouting at him: run. Run. Run!

A massive shadow towered over them, standing on the roof of a vehicle with legs spread for balance, but Dane’s feet were like lead, and he only moved when Jag shoved him into the tires. Just in time to avoid a bullet from Rob’s gun.

Breathless, he was barely scrambling to his feet when Jag put an arrow to his bow and pulled the string, aiming at Rob, who raised his gun in both hands.

They both shot. Time sped up and slowed down at the same moment.

A scream tore out of Rob’s mouth, and he wobbled when the bolt pierced his thigh, but Dane’s triumphant gasp died when Jag fell back too, landing in the rubble behind him. Rob attempted to regain his balance but wouldn’t drop the gun and ended up toppling forward with his hand still squeezing the deadly tool that might split Jag’s skull at any moment.

The spear burned Dane’s hand, and when Rob rolled to the side and rose to his knees, growling like a wolf, Dane ran up to him and stabbed the blade into the bastard’s stomach, right where his white T-shirt slid up to uncover flesh.

The spear went in as if the meat and skin were butter, prompting Dane to utter a primal cry when the tip hit the ground and wouldn’t go any farther.

He hadn’t thought his actions through, but while the sight of blood staining Rob’s T-shirt stalled him, the decision he’d instinctively made had been the right one. Rob looked up with slack features and blood drizzling down his chin, pinned to the ground like a wild hog at the end of the hunt. A fitting comparison for a pig like him.

Dane was covered in sweat and panting, but all he could think of was that he’d had to protect Jag no matter the cost, so he kicked Rob’s gun out of the bastard’s reach. The instinct to save his man trumped any other moral choices.

“Dane… fuck… come on… this isn’t you,” Rob tried, squirming close to Dane’s feet yet unable to grab him. He knew he’d been bested and would now do and say anything to leave the junkyard alive. Dane wasn’t a cruel man, or a brute for that matter, but Rob would await his fate here, and Dane was at peace with that.

Jag approached on all fours, breaking Dane out of the stupor. “I’m fine! It’s just a graze,” he said before Dane descended to his knees next to him and pulled his man close.

Dane wanted to ask for details and see what managed to knock Jag over, but in that moment his lover’s warm embrace was everything that mattered. Too stiff to move, he waited for Jag to push his hands under the metal armor so he could grab at the soft flesh underneath, but once they joined, he buried his face in Jag’s long hair and sobbed. “Fuck… I was so scared.”

“You did so good,” Jag said and kissed Dane’s sweaty cheek.

Hyper-aware of their surroundings, Dane heard the rumble of several bikes not far away, and Rob must have as well, because his breath turned into a wheeze.

“Dane… for old times’ sake. I’ll cut you any deal you want. Just help me hide,” he said and attempted to pull the blade out, but Jag stepped forward and twisted the spear, pinning their almost-killer even harder.

The trilling cry Jag made right after carried over the junk mounds like the triumphant call of some prehistoric beast that had no business still existing in the world.