I press the accelerator to the floor and weave through the residential streets, taking turns at random, trying to lose them. But they know what they're doing. They stay on us, matching every move, and I realize we're not going to outrun them.
"Who is that?" Riley whines, and she looks like she may throw up.
"Enzo's crew."
"They want me?"
"They want leverage. And you're it." It's escalated beyond the point of Enzo turning me in for seeing her with me. He wants her because he's probably figured out who she is, what she does, and how she's replaced Lombardi. He's gunning for the information in her head, and he won't stop until he gets it.
I take a hard left onto a main road, and the car behind us surges forward, slamming into our rear bumper again. Riley screams, and I fight to keep control as the car fishtails on the icy pavement.
"Stay down!" I shout.
She ducks, bracing herself against the dashboard, and I accelerate again, pushing the car to its limit. The snow is falling harder now, the visibility dropping, and I can barely see the road ahead. None of this is safe in any way, but driving recklessly on bad roads is better than certain death if they catch us.
The car behind us rams us again, harder this time, and I feel the steering wheel jerk in my hands. I overcorrect, and the tires losetraction. The car spins, sliding across the road, and I feel the sickening lurch as we hit the guardrail.
The impact is jarring, metal screeching against metal, and the car comes to a stop facing the wrong direction. My head snaps forward, then back, and for a moment, everything is silent except for the hiss of the engine and the pounding of my pulse in my ears.
"Riley," I say, my voice hoarse. "Are you okay?"
She lifts her head, her hair falling across her face, and nods. "I think so."
I look in the rearview mirror. The car that was chasing us has stopped fifty feet back, its headlights glaring through the snow. The doors open, and I see two men climb out.
"We need to move," I say.
I unbuckle my seatbelt and grab Riley's arm, pulling her out of the car. I can’t leave our bags, and several rounds ping off the side of the car before I get our bags from the trunk. Then we stumble through the snow toward a parking lot on the other side of the road, where I see a sedan idling near the entrance. The driver's inside, scrolling through his phone, oblivious.
I walk up to the car and yank the door open. The driver looks up, startled, and I pull my gun from my waistband.
"Get out," I say.
He doesn't argue. He climbs out with his hands raised, and I slide into the driver's seat. Riley runs around to the passenger side and jumps in, slamming the door behind her while I throw the car into reverse, back out of the parking lot, and take offdown the road. The men from the other car are running now, trying to catch us, but we're already gone.
With them twenty yards from their car and me accelerating as fast as I can away from them, they won’t catch up.
I drive for twenty minutes, taking back roads and side streets, until I'm certain we're not being followed. Riley sits beside me, hugging herself, and she doesn't speak. I don't push her to, either.
By the time we reach the edge of town, the snow has turned the roads into a white blur, and I see the glow of a truck stop diner up ahead. I pull into the parking lot and kill the engine.
I climb out of the car and walk around to her side, opening the door. When she looks up at me, I can see how hesitant she is. I've given her no reason to trust me or feel safe around me today, but she has to see that I'm trying.
"Come on, let’s get some food." We're not very far from the safehouse, but if one of those bastards is following us, we'd lead them right there. I have to be sure.
Riley follows me inside where it's warm, and in under fifteen minutes we have stacks of pancakes, eggs, and a pile of bacon on plates between us and she's devouring it like she hasn't eaten in weeks.
I'm too pissed to gorge myself on food, so I send a few texts, follow up on some business, and when my supplier calls, I have to answer.
"Yeah, go…"
"Mr. Ferretti, I just thought you should know the drive is going as planned. We have fifty-two barrels being filled today. That'shalf of the full one hundred and four barrels we need total." His update is reassuring. While everything else in my business is falling apart, at least the toy drive is on track.
"And you've confirmed the stores will have only toys in those barrels? We don't want anything else." I'm not picky, but I know how easily things can go awry. If we say toys and there is clothing, it's a mismatch on the manifest and will trigger a search. Those toys will be covering weapons. I can't have anyone empty a single barrel.
My eyes track up to watch Riley's eating slow. She's shivering now and it's obvious it's not because of adrenaline. She looks cold. So with the phone pinched between my shoulder and ear, I slide my coat off and stand, walking around the table to put it over her shoulders.
She scowls at me, but keeps eating, and when I sit back down I notice her pulling it tighter on her body.
