Page 7 of The Cauldronball Run (Outlaw Country #2)
F arrah
Farrah checked her watch as J.J. pulled the ambulance up to The Red Ball Garage, her stomach churning with a mixture of anticipation and unease. Just past midnight, and the place was crawling with vehicles that looked about as legitimate as her ex-husband's alibi during their divorce proceedings.
What the hell have I gotten myself into?
A hearse covered in religious symbols that were definitely upside-down sat next to a Tesla that kept flickering in and out of existence like a glitch in reality.
Leather clad mini dragons on motorcycles were literally breathing fire and bickering back and forth.
Near the back, a vampire in an expensive suit was trying to charm a group of fairy women who looked like they'd rather set him on fire than listen to his pickup lines.
This has to be the most elaborate practical joke in history, or I've officially lost my mind.
"This is where we're picking up our patient?" she asked, watching two enormous trolls try to squeeze a monster truck into a parking space clearly marked for compact cars.
"Transport coordination point," J.J. said. "Sometimes multiple medical facilities arrange shared departure times for efficiency."
That's the biggest load of bullshit I've heard since Derek told me he was "working late" with his secretary.
But Farrah needed this job too desperately to call him on his obvious lie. Fifteen thousand gold could dig her out of the financial hole Derek had left her in.
“I should take a look at the patient.”
"Later,” J.J. said. “Our patient is already loaded and sedated." He gestured toward the back of the ambulance. "I got everything set up before you arrived. We should get inside the ambulance. It’s almost time to roll out."
Farrah couldn’t think of a reason not to and with one last look around climbed inside the ambulance.
Someone inside the garage gave a signal, and every vehicle on the street started their engines simultaneously. The sound was like a mechanical orchestra tuning up, if orchestras included death metal, dragon roars, and what sounded like the Vienna Boys' Choir singing backup to motorcycle engines.
"That's our cue," J.J. said, and she caught the edge of excitement in his voice. "Time to get our patient to Los Angeles."
The ambulance lurched forward as J.J. pulled into the stream of vehicles heading toward the nearest highway on-ramp. Farrah twisted in her seat to look through the partition window into the back, where their critical banshee patient was supposedly stabilized and ready for cross-country transport.
What she saw made her see red.
Son of a bitch.
The "patient" was a store mannequin. A plastic, faceless store mannequin dressed in a hospital gown with fake medical charts clipped to the stretcher rails.
The IV bags were labeled as saline solution, but she could see from here that they contained what looked suspiciously like Red Bull.
The medical monitors weren't even plugged into anything.
The cords just dangled uselessly beside the stretcher.
I'm going to kill him. I'm going to use my medical training to kill him in the most painful, medically accurate way possible.
"Pull over," she said, her voice deadly quiet.
"What?" J.J. glanced at her, and she stared at those tusks that had been distracting her earlier. Now they just looked like evidence of how dangerous he could be when she strangled him.
"Pull over. Now."
J.J. looked at her, then at the rearview mirror showing the other vehicles racing ahead toward the Holland Tunnel like they were fleeing the scene of a crime. Which, she was starting to realize, they probably were.
"Farrah, we can't stop right now. The patient needs—"
"The patient is a fucking mannequin." The words exploded out of her with enough force to rattle the ambulance windows. "Pull this ambulance over right now, or I'm calling 911 to report a kidnapping in progress."
J.J.'s massive shoulders sagged, and she could see the exact moment his elaborate lie collapsed around him.
He guided the ambulance to the curb on a side street off 31st Street, putting it in park but leaving the engine running.
When he turned to face her in the confined space of the cab, his expression was a mixture of guilt and desperation that made her want to simultaneously comfort him and commit justifiable homicide.
Focus, Farrah. Don't let those puppy dog eyes and massive shoulders distract you from the fact that he just made you an accessory to whatever this is.
"I can explain," he said, his voice rumbling through the small space between them.
"You better start talking, and it better be good." She could feel her magic crackling under her skin, responding to her anger and the proximity to his supernatural presence. "Because right now, it looks like you just recruited me for the world's most elaborate fraud scheme."
"It's not fraud. Not exactly." J.J. ran a hand through his dark hair, and she was momentarily distracted by the way his muscles flexed. "Look, there's no patient. But the job is real, and I really do need a driving partner."
Farrah glared at him, taking in the careful way he held himself even while sitting down, like he was trying to take up less space than his massive frame actually required. His tusks caught the light from the streetlamps, and she could see the genuine distress in his dark eyes.
He's telling the truth about being desperate. I can feel it radiating off him like heat from a furnace.
"What kind of job requires a fake patient?"
"The kind that pays fifteen thousand gold." J.J.'s voice carried raw honesty that made her chest tight. "Farrah, I’ve got a lot of debt and no way else to pay it off. I work three jobs just to stay above water, and I'm still drowning. This is my one shot at getting my life back."
"What exactly is 'this'?" she asked.
J.J. looked toward the distant lights of the other vehicles heading for the tunnel, his jaw tight. "The Cauldronball Run. It's an underground race from New York to Los Angeles and back again. The winner gets a quarter of a million gold."
An illegal street race.
"You recruited me for criminal activity," she said, her voice flat with disbelief. "You made me an accessory to federal crimes without my consent."
"I recruited you because I need someone with medical credentials to make the cover story believable.
" J.J. leaned forward slightly. The movement brought him closer to her in the confined space, and it got hard to breathe all of a sudden.
"And because I can't drive for five days straight without sleep.
I need someone to share driving shifts."
"So you lied to me." The betrayal stung worse than she'd expected.
"I told you it was unconventional medical transport." She could hear the guilt in his voice. "Technically, we are transporting medical equipment across the country."
Technically. Technically, Derek wasn't cheating on me, he was just "networking" with his pants off.
"You made me complicit in whatever this is without giving me the information to make an informed decision," she said, her anger building like steam in a pressure cooker. "That's not consent, that's manipulation."
"You can still consent now." J.J.'s voice dropped. "The offer is real. Fifteen thousand gold, five days, Los Angeles to New York and back again. All you have to do help me win this race is drive."
"By breaking the law?”
"By driving really fast and not getting caught."
Farrah looked at him. His eyes were tired, desperate and completely honest about what he was asking her to do.
He's not Derek. Derek would have kept lying and gaslighting. This guy just told me the truth and asked me to choose.
"Why me? You could have chosen someone who actually wanted to break the law."
"I didn't decide to do this until the last minute," he said. "I was desperate. I figured you were desperate too."
The words stung because they were absolutely true. She was desperate enough to take a sketchy job from a stranger, desperate enough to ignore obvious red flags, desperate enough to be sitting here seriously considering becoming a criminal.
But there was something else in his admission, something that made her feel like he was a kindred spirit after all. The way he'd said "desperate" like it was a dirty word, like being broke and struggling made him less worthy somehow.
"Tell me about the debt," she said.
J.J. blinked, clearly not expecting the question. "What about it?"
She studied his face. "What happened? What made it so bad you're willing to commit a crime to get the money?"
"In the third year of my EMT program," he said.
"My partner on a ride-along was this kid, maybe nineteen.
We got called to a construction accident.
A beam fell on a worker, crushing injuries to his legs.
Standard stuff, except the kid panicked when he saw how bad it was.
Froze up completely. And the patient was going into shock, losing blood faster than we could replace it.
I knew if we waited for backup, he'd die. "
"What did you do?"
"What I had to." He sighed. "I used my strength to lift the beam off him. It was a steel beam that should've taken three men and a pulley system. I saved his life but...”
"You scared the shit out of the humans," she finished.
He blinked at her in surprise. "Yeah. Exactly.
The video went viral. 'Orc EMT Shows Superhuman Strength' was trending for weeks. Every medical service in the state suddenly had concerns about my methods, my disposition, whether I had the temperament to be an EMT.” J.J.
's laugh was bitter. "Funny how saving a life becomes a liability when you're not human. "
Farrah's heart clenched. She knew that story—knew the aftermath, the slow erosion of opportunities, the whispered conversations about whether someone like them could be trusted.
"You got blacklisted."