for miles. She could figure out something to do then.
Or she could put the car in a lower gear now. It risked ruining the engine, but it might slow the truck down so she could take the curves.
But it was Caleb’s truck. And Caleb would rather have her safe than have his truck. He might not be willing to risk a relationship with her, but she wasn’t so foolish that she believed he cared about his truck more than her life.
She would just have to find a way to make it up to him.
Wincing at what she was about to do, she forced the gear shift into the slot labeled 1. The whole truck shook, and it took everything she had to control it. The S curve was coming up. She couldn’t possibly manage it at almost a hundred miles an hour. No way. She would go right off the road, and there was no guardrail. She would either hit the side of the mountain or she would roll off it.
Finally the truck started to slow, but only to seventy. Gravity was still at work. She had no idea what the incline was this low on the mountain, but it was still steep. And she couldn’t see around the curve.
Her heart drummed inside her chest. Her brain played through a million scenarios. She could die right here on the mountain, and she would regret so fucking much. She would regret not trying. She would regret all the years she let slip by because it was easier than fighting and losing. As the curve barreled toward her, all she knew was that nothing, nothing was more important than the fight. The outcome didn’t matter. She could lose everything, and it would have been worth it to fight for what she needed.
Why did she only figure that out when death was staring her down?
And why the fuck was she giving up again?
The emergency brake. It was a long shot. She would probably still lose control, but it was all she had.
She pushed the brake in. Just like its sister, it went straight to the floor.
And then she saw the sign for the TER. Truck escape ramp. She tightened her hands on the steering wheel. She just had to hold on. The TER had only been in place for a few months, and it was meant to slow down eighteen wheelers that were out of control, but maybe it would work for her, too. The long offshoot of gravel would surely slow her down some. It had to.
At least it gave her a place to go before she hit that curve.
She hit the TER going almost eighty. Between the thick gravel and the level ground of the ramp, she immediately felt the truck begin to ease down.
By the time she’d reached half the distance of the TER, she’d slowed the truck to the point that she was sure she would survive. She rolled gently along until she hit the rail with a thud.
She put her head in her hands and finally cried, happy to be alive and to have another shot at just about everything.
* * * *
Alexei took the only seat available in the small office off the garage. The whole place smelled of motor oil, but that didn’t bother Alexei. He liked the cozy little work space. But the chair needed some work. It hadn’t been made for a large man. He wiggled a little, testing the sturdiness. It didn’t feel like it would fall apart.
Roger, who was indeed bald, had pictures of himself and his wife, Liz Two, that showed off his formerly long, flowing hair. He took the seat behind the desk. “So you’re that fellow who nearly blew up Bliss?”
His reputation was not exactly sterling. And thanks to the news reports, everyone knew his story. “Oh, no, no blowing up. I did not set a single charge while in Bliss. I merely shot many peoples.”
Long-Haired Roger’s eyes went wide, and he leaned forward. “Many?”
And he wasn’t helping his reputation along at all. “Well, not too many. Four or five, perhaps. And all of them were very bad peoples. They took over sheriff’s department and were going to kill women. I could not allow them to kill women.”
In all his time in the mob, he’d never hurt a woman. He’d never struck one in anger or in anything but an erotic
C. J. Cherryh
Learning to Kill: Stories
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