Healing Haven - Book 2 in Haven Series [Complete]

34| Alyssa vs. Goliath

Randy was good with cars. Always good with cars. He'd grown up with a wrench in his hand, learning their mechanics. How to make them work. How to make them fall apart.

Or blow up.

During his prison duty, it had cost him everything he'd had in commissary to secure a transfer from the kitchens down into the garage. There he'd spent hours in the shop, fixing the vehicles as a prison mechanic, and because there was no way to guarantee which of the three buses would make the trip out during his transfer, Randy had been careful to rig them all.

This one had taken a bit longer for the brake lines to wear out, but his timing had been almost flawless. Aside from a searing burn on his neck and side of his face, his injuries were limited to a wrenched shoulder and a bit of whiplash. Though the restraints had undoubtedly saved him some major hurt, holding him fast while the bus rolled off of the road and into the ditch, they'd also posed a particular problem until Guard Diggs made the mistake of cutting him loose.

Maybe the fucker had taken one too many knocks to the head in the rollover, or maybe the sight of a spreading fire pushed him to be a fucking hero, but whatever the reason—nothing had felt more satisfying then when Randy had his hands around the guy's throat. Or his boot cracking the man's skull like a walnut.

A few prisoners had survived crash but needed everyone dead if he was gonna make it all come together. Hauling out an extra body, he stashed it in a densely wooded area in a thick cover of bracken. Any dogs sweeping the scene would find it eventually, but figured he'd be where he needed by that point. And even if they did find the body, they'd waste precious time searching for the wrong bastard.

Shuffling back to the wreckage, he'd swapped his name tag on another body—a decent match to him in size and colouring—and siphoned some gas from the tank to douse the bodies and feed the growing fire. The whole fucking mess needed to be scorched to high heaven for it to work as he'd planned it all out in his mind. He'd stripped down the driver, taking his jeans, shirt and coat—because in a fucking fire, no one was gonna take a second look at the guy behind the wheel. He set off down the road, boots clomping on concrete, and followed it down a ways to avoid leaving tracks.

A few miles down the way he'd scored a ride into Seattle. The burns had seared through his flesh like a soldering iron pressed against his skin throughout the night, leaving him tense, edgy and in need of relief. He'd stopped every now and then while on the run to scoop up a wad of snow like an ice-pack, but he didn't need to look in a mirror to know nothing short of pharmaceutical grade morphine wasn't gonna cut it.

By sun up his fucking face screamed like a whore gang banged by a prison mob. While his intention was to find Annelise, he'd needed things first.  When you grew up in the seediest criminal underbelly, one urban sprawl was as good as another and just as easy to navigate. And at his size, kicking in doors was a breeze. So when the driver had pulled up along the side of a street and let him out where he'd asked, Randy'd kicked in the only one he knew.

A greasy haired thug who owed him a solid. He wasn't surprised that the shit-eating bastard didn't want to pay up. You didn't survive in that kind of life if you dropped your pants and bent over for the first asshole swinging fists. Aside from kicking in doors, Randy knew how to persuade the uncooperative to be more accommodating and seeing his crack-head bitch bent over the table and drilled up the ass got his gums flapping in less than five minutes. The extra ten Randy spent enjoying himself as much to make a point before popping them both off so he could get a decent sleep.

Money. Drugs. Gun. Car. The scumbag had all four plus some choice narcotics that hummed nicely under his skin and finally gave him some fucking relief.  After a shower and cleaning out half a stale pizza from the fridge, he'd driven the car as far as Portland and wasted almost an hour scoping the docks before he'd found a boat tethered to the dock with a strong motor easy enough to hot-wire into action.