“Do it on the left,” Bay cuts through my thoughts. “He’d stay close to the boys.”
I inhale because she’s not a mind reader, so she couldn’t be a hundred percent sure. “No one is going to live through that blast if he’s on top of it.”
“One shot,” she mutters. “To scare the shit out of them. I know he wouldn’t be on the other side.”
“Astor—”
“Do it before I change my mind. They have Lorenzo Black in there, too.”
My head snaps to her, but Bay doesn’t take her eyes off the building. “You saw him?”
“I heard Ramsey announce they had him, and Pretty Boy was pissed.”
“When isn’t he pissed?”
“Beats the hell out of me, but Oz would take his shot. He’s hovering over them. He knew where I was surrounded by The Nameless. He was close.”
Glancing down at my phone again, I power up the screen and find the button for the left corner, a ticking time bomb that’s immediately going to go off the moment I press it.
Thumb hovering, I’m a second from pressing it, when a plethora of male voices breaks through the air and falls out of the building in front of us.
“Every car, I want on them,” I hear Torin shout tomymen. “Everyfucking car!”
Bay shifts toward the truck, and the sheer gut punch I feel coming off her hits me too. “They have him.”
I don’t have to ask who.
Would it matter?
It’s obviously not Torin, and there are only two other men Baby Wildes would be worrying about right now.
“Get in,” I order, smacking her ass to do so before latching onto her bicep. “Fuck this one.” I quickly search around the lot and find a familiar Plymouth Roadrunner. “This one.”
I pull Bay with me, and she follows, getting into the passenger seat while I round to get to the driver’s.
“Isn’t this Marshall’s ride?” she asks me as I begin to yank wires out from underneath the steering column.
“Yep.”
“We’re ruining this, aren’t we?”
“Good possibility.”
“We’re going to owe him for this.”
I smirk, examining the correct wires so I can bypass the ignition switch to send the current to the starter motor. “You’regoing to owe him. I’m still dead.”
Bay smacks the back of my shoulder. “You know damn well I’m not going to be able to replace this.”
“Juice is setting up a race this week. Looks like you’re in.” She settles in her leather seat, arms crossed and not appearing hella pleased about it. “You got this, Astor,” I say right as the engine roars to life, and I immediately back it out because Marshall willhearthis damn thing a mile away.
“Where would they go?” Bay mutters underneath the loud two-chamber exhaust.
“I’ll worry about that,” I reply. “Just hold on.”
And I do mean hold on.
Bay and I have been through a lot of bullshit car chases and heists but not with someone’s life at risk.
