I Spy a Dark Obsession by Jo Davis Page B

the culvert beyond. No time to correct the wheel. Only time to suck in a sharp breath as the car met empty air.
    The engine whined and the nose dipped. The front end met the earth first in a teeth-jarring impact, then the back. The vehicle bounced and slid sideways, and he was along for the ride. Tossed by the whim of fate.
    He barely had time to register the warm liquid flooding his mouth as the car tilted, rolled. Once, twice. A third time, more glass shattering, metal screaming. His head struck something, but the pain didn’t register. Only his desperation to stay conscious, or he was a dead man. Because he had no doubt the driver of the sedan would come down here and pump a bullet in his brain.
    The Porsche slid to a stop, resting on the roof. Bastian, heart racing, struggled to remove his seat belt. The bastard would be down here in moments to finish him. And where the hell was his gun? The latch gave and he scooted to an upright position, wincing at the bloom of pain in his ribs and head, searching for the weapon that was nowhere to be found. He had to get out of here or he was going to be slaughtered like a pig.
    The front windshield had a bigger opening, so he crawled through on his stomach, ignoring the jagged teeth that tore at his nice shirt. Footsteps crunched through the foliage, easing down the incline toward the car, and he crawled faster. From his assailant’s hesitation, he wasn’t sure whether Bastian still posed a threat and was approaching with caution.
    Free of the car, Bastian sat up and got his bearings. Not easy to do with his head swimming. The car had come to rest in the undergrowth in a wooded area, something he could use to his advantage. Position and the element of surprise were all he had. Hopefully, the bastard would believe he was still in the wreck long enough for Bastian to get the drop on him.
    Quickly, careful not to make noise, he limped for a nearby copse of trees and ducked behind a large one. Sweat trickled down his face and he swayed on his feet, wondering when his backup would show. Now would be good.
    The footsteps circled his car slowly. Taking a chance, Bastian peered around the tree trunk and saw a big man taking stock of the car. Dark hair, swarthy complexion. Smooth skin. Not Tio, then. Dietz’s right hand was an ugly, pockmarked son of a bitch. This guy appeared pretty average, except for his size. And the big-ass gun in his palm.
    The man bent to peer in the driver’s window . . . and spied a torn, bloodied piece of Bastian’s shirt clinging to a shard of glass in the front windshield.
    Shit! Before the man could straighten, Bastian launched himself across the distance. The man spun, bringing up the weapon, and fired. Bastian hit him in a flying tackle, slamming him into the side of the car and grabbing the hand with the gun. They hit the ground tangled together, each fighting for control of the weapon. Teeth bared in a snarl, his nemesis struggled to turn the muzzle of the gun on Bastian, but he managed to get some leverage, banging the man’s wrist into the hard-packed earth until it gave with a sickening snap.
    The assailant howled, releasing the weapon. Bastian wasted no time scooping it up, pushing the muzzle under the man’s chin.
    “Game over,” he hissed. “Who do you work for?”
    “Fuck you.” The shithead spat in his face.
    “You wish.” He gave the guy a feral smile. “Dietz send you?”
    “Who?” The man’s eyes cut away, mouth tightening.
    “Lying asshole. We’ll see how you like being our guest indefinitely.”
    A sneer marred his face. “I’ll make bail before the tow truck gets that piece of shit you were driving out of the ditch.”
    Bastian laughed. “You think we’re cops? Boy, Dietz left out a few important details when he handed you this job—or you failed to ask the right questions. You’re not going to jail, moron. You just disappeared down a black hole, never to be seen or heard from again. Hope you watered your plants and fed