Blackbird (A Stepbrother Romance #1)(58)

“A little,” I say, with a smirk.

She looks at me like I’ve sprouted another head.

“What now?”

“Go home. I’m riding with Victor.”

Alicia nods, and heads back to her van. I need to make sure I pay her back for lunch yesterday. I’m hungry.

“Vic, I need food.”

He sidles up behind me, kisses my cheek and gives my butt a light smack and a squeeze. Ordinarily I’d protest but I don’t care anymore, let him show everyone. It doesn’t matter.

“Pancakes,” I say.

“IHOP,” he says. “I know where there’s a good one down here. I think,” he says, sadly. “It’s been a while.”

The cleaning woman is on her way down the row by the time we finally leave. There’s a spring in my step there hasn’t been for years. I hop in the car eagerly, Vic starts her up and we ride to get some pancakes in his Firebird.

Whatever may come now, at least I had last night.

He yawns, and his expression darkens. There’s a stop sign coming up.

“Eve?” he says. “The brakes aren’t working.”





Chapter Nineteen





Victor





When I touch the brake pedal nothing happens.

Well. That’s not good.

“Eve,” I say, trying not to panic. “The brakes aren’t working.”

“What?”

“The brakes. Are not. Working. Seat belt.”

She pulls her seat belt on and grips the sides of the seat. I can’t focus on her now. I need to stop the car. First thing, I start slowing her down using the engine as a brake. Shift down, use the engine’s speed to slow the wheels. It’s hard on the engine but I’d rather be hard on the engine than a greasy stain on the curb. I weave from side to side to bleed off inertia as I put her into neutral. The emergency brake does nothing. I think the lines have been cut. That stop sign is coming up awfully fast, and there’s an oil truck headed the other way, ready to cross in front of me. The f*cker is slowing down. If I don’t stop the car he’ll smash right into us. Eve never makes a sound.

I weave across the road. The maneuver bleeds off some energy, and when the tires hit the soft shoulder, it draws off yet more. I nose over to the other side. If I try to use the shoulder to stop while we’re going too fast, I’ll lose control, maybe flip the car over.

Oil truck. Oil truck. Imminent oil truck.

I’m going slow enough to try it. I whip left, then right, into the dirt. The front wheel bites and throws up a plume of dust. I frantically pump the brakes, hoping against hope that the might give me a little traction.

The oil truck blows his horn and the world slows, dragging to a crawl. Now Eve screams, at last. It sounds like she screams for a million years, and the tires join her. The oil truck is on his brakes, but it’s no use. He can’t push too hard, or he’ll turn, jacknife and flip over. The stop sign enters my peripheral vision and slides away, in a red flash. I’m looking through Eve’s side of the car, through her window, and seeing a lot of grill and a shocked oil truck driver. Please, God, not like this.

Then, the oil truck is past and my windshield is full of corn. The car bounces, jounces, skids to a stop amid dead brown stalks, each a couple of feet high. The Firebird lurches and groans, shifts a bit, and finally stops.

Eve sits next to me wide eyed, clutching her chest. I grab her arm.

“Eve!”

She shrieks in alarm and throws herself at me. I stumble out of the car and around to her side, grab her and pull her to my chest. It feels like her heart is going to explode through mine. She takes quick breaths and I’m afraid she’s going to start hyperventilating. Jesus. I pull Eve closer and stroke her hair, smooth it to her head. I hear shouting and here comes the oil man in his coveralls, yelling.

“What the hell are you doing?”

“My brakes failed,” I shout back.

He stumbles to a stop. “No shit. How’d that happen?”

“I don’t know.”

“Is she okay?”

“Yeah,” Eve manages.

“I’m going to take a look.”

“Careful now,” the oil man says.

I crouch down. I’m not going to try crawling under a car with no brakes and no way to chock the wheels, but it doesn’t take much looking. The master cylinder has been sabotaged. Somebody punched a hole clean through it. I rock back on my heels and stand up, my head throbbing.

“What is it?” says Eve.

“Hole in the master cylinder. It gave me pressure long enough to drive down here, then gave out when the last of the fluid leaked out. I have no way to tell when it was done, damn it.”

Oil truck me scratches his head. “Ya’ll need a ride?”

“No, thanks.”

“I should call the police, then,” he says.

Oh. Shit. I’m on parole, I’m not supposed to leave the f*cking state, except on business. Great.

“No,” I say, quickly. “Thanks, we’ve got this. Right, Eve?”

She already has her phone out. Calling her assistant, I think.

I grin. Oil man hesitates, eyeing me. Please, just leave. Finally he turns.

“Okay then. Hell of a thing. I guess you’re just lucky, then. Freak accident.”