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... tards... pick the worst damn time to plant spikes on a blind curve..."
The truck wobbled slightly as he yanked at the jack, boots scuffing the dust-caked ground. His knuckles were scraped raw, smeared with oil and blood, but he didn’t slow down. The busted tyre lay beside him like a war casualty—blown open by rusted nails and bent metal.
"They couldn’t just rob us, no. Had to wreck our ride first. Cowards."
Naomi knelt a few paces away, tending to Marcus’s arm. The cut wa ...
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