Troublesome Trucks Face の小説・ストーリー

Sand and dirt kicked up in plumes around the chasing vehicles, making it difficult to see. One of the trucks, its driver distracted by the gunfire or blinded by the sand, hit a large, half-buried rock. It veered sharply, its front tire exploding. The truck flipped, rolling several times in a cloud of dust and debris before coming to a crashing halt. The other two trucks slowed their pursuit, but they continued to fire. A bullet tore through the thin metal skin of our truck and buried itself in a laundry sack inches from my head. Anthony shouted back to us, his voice strained from the effort of controlling the bucking vehicle. “We’ll never outrun them in this thing! It’s too slow! We need to

This new piece of information—that Genevieve had voiced she didn’t want me there—only made my head pound more. “If she truly had a legitimate concern for Chloe’s well-being, I would’ve agreed to postpone introducing you. But she didn’t. And this is important to me.” He reached out and squeezed my hand gently. “What exactly was her concern, then?” That muscle in his jaw flexed again, telling more than his words. “It’s not important.” Though I wanted to know, I let it go. Mostly because at that moment we pulled up on 3rd Avenue and Louis interrupted. “60th is closed. There’s some kind of crane in the street, so the entire road is blocked off.”

I said, making no effort to help him. "Choking on a fluff ball made of your hair. Boy, you're right. Very privileged," Luca said, finally freeing himself. "No need to be sarcastic," I said. "These trucks are only designed for 15 men," Mateo said. "It's no wonder we are a bit tight." "I guess we don't normally transport 1732 men all at one time," Leo replied. "Well, people aren't usually stupid enough to declare war on Stella," Blair commented.

I knew he had just finished and been back from work. "I'm okay. Uhh is there any problem? Is the truck not working again?" I asked him worried. His truck always managed to give him a problem almost anytime. I had no idea why dad was stuck on that truck. The same thing had happened in like a month ago. It was like something was akara wrong with the truck every time, but he refused to let go.

Tom grunts from the backseat. “I wasn’t leaving yet,” I reply dryly, opening the window for fresh air. “You two better stay downwind, you fucking stink. They’ll smell you a mile away.” “So, what if they smell us?” Carlos snaps. “They won’t care about two drunk bums.” I only grunt in response. He has a point, but that does not change the fact that I am trapped with them in a truck. I clench the steering wheel as we speed towards the facility. I lost a lot of time returning home to fetch these two assholes. If I could have done it alone, I would have, but I am outnumbered.

And that is why we all collected the ‘shipments’ at different times, waited at our respective places for the nightfall, then proceeded together to the base to count our millions. That wasn’t all though! The thrill that followed with the idea of driving a truck full of fuckin’ M&M on the highway congested with normal civilians that despised their lives so much that they would rather slave for 10 shitass hours in damn ironed suits and heels, with a son of a biscuit bitch barking orders to them all day was oddly satisfying. Anything could go wrong. A fuckin’ Karen could slam the brakes in front of my truck and bitch about it for not having a license plate, and then I would drill her skull with

Tony manned the computer station with Talen leaning over him as the admin staff arriving for their shift nervously began the coffee brew unused to seeing either man there so early. The cameras around the office only caught a small section of the road in and out of the compound. “There,” Talen jabbed a finger at the screen. “Gentle,” Tony paused the feed and back tracked. They watched as a corner of a truck entered visual range and retreated towards Havermouth. “Not enough for a clear ID,” Tony said grimly. “Could be one of any dozen trucks.” Talen looked out of the window as an identical truck passed by, the insignia of the company sheening pearlescent in the daylight. R & H transport. Rain

I won’t let anything happen to her. We passed the truck coming from the front, but from the corner of my eyes, I saw two more trucks coming towards us from the front and there was no space for our car to pass. The first truck is still tailing us. The second truck had stopped horizontally and that meant we couldn’t turn around and go back. These two new trucks won’t let us pass. We are stuck in the middle. I looked at her worried face and smiled, “Don’t worry, love. I am here. I won’t let anything happen to you. Do you trust me?”

“We choke their supply lines. The Maretti trucks stop getting waved through. We re-route their bribes into dead mailboxes. A delivery goes bad at Dock 12. Another ‘loses’ a wheel on Route 9. By the time they realize they’re hungry, supper’s already cold.” “Spook?” Vince prompted, like a good teacher setting up a student to prove she knew her lesson and had added a new page. “Ambushes,” she said, without apology. “Smart ones. Inconvenient ones. We take their cockiest boys’ pride without taking their heads.” Her finger circled three intersections where sightlines lied if you weren’t from here. “Tire irons on hubcaps, not hammers on skulls. We leave them explaining why they called a tow instead

Trex and five more of his guys are standing next to the truck, squabbling like a bunch of school girls, blaming each other for the unnecessary fuck up that has bought me to the Club and having to deal with them in person. What should have been a pretty straightforward arrangement has somehow turned to custard, putting me in a tight spot. And I hate it when people fuck me over because they are too incompetent to sort their shit out and complete the transaction smoothly. “My condolences about your father, Maverick,” Trex says the instant he sees me. I nod my head, biting my tongue as the words, ‘He’s where he belongs.’, burn the inside of my mouth. “What happened with my shipment?” I nod towar