Jessie above^^ This story is my baby, so if you enjoy it, show her some love 🤗🤗❤️❤️

Chapter 1

There was a cop inside the gas station, and I was pumping petrol into a van full of cocaine.

My chest constricted. My heart pounded inside my ears. Each breath felt artificial and left my lungs empty.

Drake's gonna kill me. If I go to jail, he'll have people waiting for me. No. Stop it. You don't get to panic right now.

I sucked in a breath and blew it out slow.

Just pretend...

I'm not already on probation. I'm not committing a felony. I'm not staring at this fucking pump like I want to kick it for being slow.

Being a woman didn't help if the asshole couldn't see me, but I was too damn rattled to step into view. My limbs were heavy. My joints seemed locked.

I peeked through the back windows of the van and found him standing at the counter, chatting up the cashier. He had a coffee in one hand, the other on his belt, his chest puffed out, and his chin tilted up. That wasn't good. The backwoods cops who stood like that always wanted to investigate. They weren't the lazy fucks that sat in their cars and waited for a call.

If I take off and leave before pumping it all, will it draw attention?

I weighed my options, doing my best to predict every possible outcome. If I did, he probably wouldn't notice. But given it was me, Karma would most likely make it the one damn time it was noticeable. If I stood still and out of view, perhaps he'd just go about his way. Didn't that always work? Hidden in plain sight.

He turned away with a wave to the clerk, and I jerked my gaze back to the pump.

Five slow ass fucking dollars away from the thirty I'd paid for. If the piece of shit van didn't drink so much gas, I'd be on the highway right now. I'd be blending in with the hundreds of other cars, vans, and trucks.

I peeked back over, and he was by his car.

Karma hated me. She hated me with an absolute passion, because that asshole took one look at the rusted, white–I've got a puppy–van, and I could tell.

He's gonna run the plates.

Sure enough, he sat down in his cruiser but didn't close the door. His gaze shot over towards me, then back to his computer, then back to my tag again.

Fuck. I can't catch a break.

Don't fuck this up, Jessie. That's what Drake said just before I left with this godforsaken load. Don't fuck this up.

There was a lot of money tied up in those crates. Money for the club. For the family. My back burned just thinking about the beating I'd get if I got busted and lost it all. Not to mention, my ass was going to lock up for a considerably long, damn time .

A car door slammed shut, and I looked back over. He had his hands on his belt. An important swagger to his step.

Shit.

Survival instincts kicked in. Adrenaline rushed forward to push back the panic attack so ready to turn me into a suffocating mess.

Show time, Jessie.

I forced a smile as he caught sight of me. The smile. Dimples. Mouth slightly open. Swimsuit catalogue, I'm a Barbie girl, let's sing a fucking pop song. "Hello, Officer."

"This your van?"

No pleasantries. Not good. "No, sir. It's my uncle's. He's letting me use it."

He peeked into the back window as if he expected to see a dozen dead bodies.

Nope. Just drugs.

I ground my teeth and forced a calm expression.

"Colorado, huh? What brings you all the way out here?"

I knew the script. "Visiting. My aunt is real sick. That's why my uncle let me use the van. I'm driving up to get her and bring her back to him." I smiled again. Bigger. At only twenty-two, with blonde hair, a decent face, and sleeves long enough to cover the multitudes of ink across my skin, I could pass for a college student. It was the reason Drake made me do these. I was a whole lot less conspicuous than a bearded biker with a gold tooth and a face tat.

Apparently not.

The officer didn't look impressed, or convinced, or even slightly interested in what I was selling. He motioned to the back. "What you hauling?"

Just enough cocaine to buy Pablo Escobar's children a dozen ponies. "My uncle sells produce. They're all empty right now. They were full of tomatoes."

He stared at my face the whole time I spoke, then peeked back into the window. "Can I see your license and registration."

Fuck.

He's going to ask to see in the back.

That shits hidden about as well as an elephant in a fucking tree.

"Sure thing." I turned back to the pump. It had finished.

Sure, now you're done.

The nozzle still hung in the gas tank, and the dangled hose created a barrier between him and the driver's side door, so I left it.

My chest tightened. Panic crept along the outer edges of my skin, as if just dying to steal my breath away. My mind ran a million miles an hour. I knew. I had to make a choice. If he looked in the back, I was fucked. If he wasn't going to–

"Go ahead and pop the back for me, too."

My breath caught and wouldn't release. I felt submerged in water, dunked down deep into a river of shit.

I couldn't go to jail. I couldn't lose the cargo.

I jumped into the driver's seat, revved the engine to life and punched the gas.

The hose ripped off as I floored it into drive and closed the door, and a look in my rear view revealed the startled cop barely jumping out of the way .

"Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit." I raced onto the main road, tilted and toppled in my fight to get to the highway. It wasn't far. If I could hit the exit and make it into a cluster before they got a good tail on me, I might be okay. I could do it. I could–

The turn off loomed into view, and I gunned it. I pressed the pedal to the floor and skidded around the incline towards the interstate.

Blue lights flickered in my rearview.

"Fuck!" I punched it, barely looking before zooming into traffic. A semi blew its horn, and I just managed to make it into the next lane before he plowed me over.

My heart beat its way into my throat, and my hands shook against the steering wheel. I swerved in between lanes and darted in and out of the cars surrounding me. The speedometer read eighty-five, as high as it would go, and the dash shook with an intensity that made my teeth rattle.

I'm driving a fucking coffin.

Behind me, a distant flash of blue, and a stream of headlights pulling off onto the shoulder. "Oh, sure! You move out of the way for him!"

I swerved around another car and came too close to its bumper. With his advantage, the cop didn't have any problems gaining on me. In less than five minutes, he was on my ass. Then, if that wasn't bad enough, he multiplied.

More blue lights flew down the next on-ramp and fell into the lanes beside me. One swerved into my path and tapped his brakes.

I had nowhere to go.

I looked over to the grassy median.

Might as fucking well.

I swerved into it and my teeth rattled as the van hopped over the bumpy terrain. Crates toppled over in the back, crashed and exploded until white puffed into the air around me like smoke.

My half thought out plan had been to do a u- turn and pick back up on the opposing side, but one over zealous cop seeking a fucking medal flew after me and blocked the way.

I swerved again and hit the shoulder in the wrong direction. Headlights flashed and horns blew as every car, suv, and long road trucker fought to get away from me.

I couldn't say I was opposed to the idea.

Deputy Eager Beaver kept a steady pace behind, and it didn't take long for the rest to join in for a piece of the thunder.

An opening appeared. I jumped at the opportunity to get some distance and cut across the lanes into oncoming traffic. Maybe they were too intelligent to follow.

I didn't make it.

Another foot and I'd have hit the shoulder. Mere inches. But karma hated me. She fucking hated me, and of course she'd have that last car have the slowest reaction time. Of course she'd have it knick my back fender, knock me sideways and send my van rolling across the ditch.

Of course she would.

The world fell into slow motion, just like they said it did in the movies. I noticed the most peculiar things for a girl on the verge of dying. The little green pine tree hanging from the mirror; the way it seemed to defy gravity as it drifted towards the ceiling. The clouds of white. The shattering glass. My hands lost contact with the wheel. They hung suspended in front of me.

Then, just as fast, everything sped up. The van hit the earth with an almighty crash, and every bone in my body seemed to crunch together on impact.

More glass and crates exploded. Something sharp pierced my neck, my shoulder, but no pain came to follow it.

When it finally drew to a stop, the seat belt held me upside down. I groaned and coughed, and fought to release myself.

The moment I clicked the button, I dropped onto my head and formed a U-shape against the busted windshield.

It's over.

A fate far worse than death awaited me if I went to jail. I didn't care if they killed me. The chase hadn't. The crash hadn't. Karma wasn't that nice. Panic set in, another attack. It stole my breath and wouldn't let me replenish it.

I pulled myself up to grip the driver's seat. It was a struggle to get through the shattered window on the passenger's side.

Blue lights and sirens zoomed into place all around me. I heaved myself through the opening, dropped to the ground, and crawled on my stomach with no real hope of getting away. I couldn't do it. I didn't want to. I wished with every ounce of breath in my body that they'd end me once and for all.

"Hands on your head! Hands on your head!"

I wheezed a laugh. What did he think I was going to do? "Pretty sure I'm dying! You big, strong men are all very safe!"

The world erupted, and a burst of heat hit my back. It shook the ground, and the boom that hit the air sent a ringing through my ears. I looked back to find the piece of shit van, a flaming piece of shit van.

Deputies ran over, guns drawn and pointed. "Put your hands on your head!"

The same cop from the gas station took the lead. He pulled the cuffs from his belt.

I looked up at him and smiled. "Feel free to check those crates now, Officer."