Already Dead Read Free

hard bash against the passenger-side window was followed by another and another. Sideways knocks, skull against glass, a crushing beat. Jax couldn’t tell if he was trying to break the window or get rid of what was stuck in his head. And all the time, the gun jerked and juddered in his hand.
    She watched him, watched the road, panic mounting. Would he give up on the window eventually and remember the gun? Stupid to sit here and wait for it to happen.
    She hit the brake, not sure where to stop but desperate for something, anything that might get her away from him. The shadow of a semitrailer darkened her rear-view mirror, the blast of its air horn making her cringe. Her footfound the accelerator again as she searched the motorway for a place to pull off, trying to block out the head-banging on the other side of the car.
    There . A narrow strip of verge beside a sheer wall of rock, the remnants of the hill that the road had been cut through. So narrow she’d have to wait for a break in the traffic before she could open her door and get out, but fuck it. She tapped the brake pedal a couple of times, flicked the indicator, wanting to give the truck behind her as much warning as she could. As her left-hand tyres slid off the tarmac, gravel sprayed the chassis.
    The crazy guy forgot the window. ‘ No! ’
    Jax ignored him, tightening her hands, locking her arms, sensing the speed and the loose surface under her tyres and the rock wall coming at them fast.
    â€˜No!’ he roared again. ‘Drive. Drive .’ Lunging across the car, he shoved the wheel. One hard push and the car was jerked back onto the tarmac, leaping across the outside lane in front of the semi and into the next one. A screech of rubber and Jax’s head was thrown sideways as the rear wheels lost traction, swinging the sedan back the other way, fishtailing as she held on – as the tipping, sliding start of a roll built underneath them.
    Don’t brake. Don’t brake. Shit, don’t brake.
    Then she was hurled in the other direction, the weight of the chassis thumping down hard – and she was driving again, hands clamped, eyes wide, breath frozen in her lungs.
    Horns were blaring. Long, angry blasts as vehicles jockeyed to speed around her. She was taking up two lanes, pissing people off. She thought about waving her arms, trying to get someone’s attention, but she couldn’tbring herself to take her eyes off the road or her hands off the wheel, so she just steered back into the outside lane in the wake of the semi, sucking on the smell of sweat and fear.
    Beside her, the crazy man was knocking his head against the window again, yelling and banging. ‘Drive.’ Bash. ‘Drive.’ Bash. ‘Drive.’ Bash.
    â€˜ Stop! ’ she yelled. As he backed up for another go, she grabbed a handful of his sleeve. ‘For God’s sake, stop!’ It was enough to make him pause, and she claimed the moment to talk loud and fast. ‘Stop, all right. Just stop. You’re going to hurt yourself or I’m going to run off the road. So just fucking stop.’
    He watched her with narrowed eyes, breathing hard. When he answered, his voice was flat, resigned. ‘I’m already dead.’
    As he started on another thrust, she hauled on his shirt again. ‘Yeah, well, as far as I can see, you’re still breathing. And you’re freaking me out. I can’t drive if you freak me out. I don’t know where you want to go but we’re not going to get there if you smash your head open and I have a panic attack. So sit still for a goddamn minute and let me calm down.’
    Still clutching his sleeve, driving one-handed, she pulled in deep, shaky breaths, surprised he didn’t try to pull away, unnerved at what she’d just done and said. Christ, the gun was in the hand of the arm she was gripping, dangling between them like a child’s mobile. She’d never held a handgun, but