June 12, 1999
10:36 p.m.
Somehow, they ended up in a tobacco field. Jax wasn’t sure how it happened, didn’t really remember much other than the music blaring and Paul shouting to slow down and suddenly they were airborne, flying over the field like the Dukes of fucking Hazzard. Jax hung his head out of the window and yee-hawed, or maybe it was Micah. They landed with a thud in the dirt and plants, teeth rattling in their heads, everybody laughing but Paul.
“Are you insane?” Paul unhooked his belt and flung himself between the seats. “I know you have a death wish, but Micah and I don’t. We’d really like to live, and we sure as hell don’t want to do that in a jail cell or worse, because if we get arrested Micah’s dad will kill us.”
Jax looked at Micah, and the two collapsed into giggles. They were way past buzzed now, wasted on too much tequila and thin mountain air. In the back of his head, Jax knew he shouldn’t be driving.
But he was also too drunk to care.
“He’s right,” Micah said, clutching his stomach. “My dad will murder us, and then he’ll bury our bodies somewhere nobody will ever find.”
They were right. Jax didn’t doubt Officer Hunt’s anger could boil over into revenge, or that he was capable of covering up a triple murder. Micah’s dad was scary as hell.
Suddenly, Jax’s door lurched open. He blinked, and there were two of Paul.
“Get out of the car.”
“It’s my car.”
“Stop messing around and get out. You’re done driving.”
Jax opened his mouth to say he was nowhere near done, but somehow, Paul had already unhooked Jax’s seat belt. He grabbed a fistful of Jax’s T-shirt and hauled him out of the car, then shoved him through the open back door. Jax landed facedown in the leather.
Micah clutched his stomach, laughing like a hyena.
Paul dropped into the driver’s seat and stabbed a finger across the console. “You shut up. I mean it, Micah. Not one word. I need to concentrate.”
Jax closed his eyes and they were moving again, bouncing across the dusty field, mauling some poor farmer’s tobacco crop.