He couldn’t believe this guy. He’d been tailgating Joe since the stand of Pines on Sherwood. Right up on his ass. Joe tapped on his brakes politely, but this guy would not relent. Joe remembered the moment , the exact moment the switch went off. The instantaneous rush of heat to his neck, rising like a red tsunami, consuming his head. He started wishing death on the guy. He tried to be polite, but this guy would not get off his ass. This f#*king guy is testing me, Joe had thought. Who does he think he is, riding my ass like that. I’m gonna f#*king kill him. Joe’s rage was starting to take over. He could feel the last shred of self control fading away, dropping through the density, getting smaller and smaller. The rage was pushing everything else out of the way. And now his brand new car is ruined, crumpled from the spoiler to the rear axle. Holy Crap, Joe thought, now he’s gonna stand there and yell at me? He’s blaming me for this? Joe’s face looked ugly, scowled and contorted into a horrifying grimace. He was no longer in control. The dark half was in control. Basic survival functioning the only thing in the pilot’s seat.
Joe reached into the glove compartment for his gun.
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