My earpiece clicks back on, and I know Wallace is back with me. And he’s the last person I want to spend my possible last moments on Earth with.
“We don’t have to do this,” I manage to grit out. “I don’t want your voice to be the last thing I hear if I die.”
“Don’t start doubting your abilities yet, Wildes. My boys have this.”
“Then hang up or talk to them.”
“I’m talking to you because they’re outnumbered, and that bumper isn’t going to hold twenty more rams. However,you’regoing to get out of the car.”
I glower out the windshield. “Of course, I am.”
“Buy yourself some time. She’ll be there in eight minutes.”
My expression deepens as my heart rate begins to increase. “She?” My nostrils flare. “Don’tbring her here.”
“She insisted.”
“I don’t give a fuck what she wanted. She doesnotcome here.”
“She’s got this.”
I shake my head, not because I doubt her ability. But because I don’t trust Matteo when he’s near her. “Wallace, if you wanted me to die for her, I will. However, let’snotput her in the line of fire, shall we? Bullets kill.”
“She has my whole squad and your Forsaken fucks. It’ll be fine.”
“She won’t stand behind them. And one of your motherfuckers just said they have a rifle.”
“Then be her personal shield. I don’t care. But she’s coming.”
Fuck this.
“Stop the car,” I order, unbuckling my seatbelt and sliding toward the door. “Bay is on her way, but I don’t want her anywhere near here.”
“We’re not letting you out,” Juice claims. “Wallace’s orders.”
“You heard the man,” said asshole conveys in my ear. “Stay in the car.”
“There are eight of them,” I state. “And they’ve started circling. They know what car I’m in.”
“Only more reason for you to stay put.”
“He will pepper this car with bullets.”
“Steel-reinforced doors,” Juice recites. “Don’t worry your pretty little head about it.”
“You’ve got bulletproof glass, too?”
“We do, but I suggest you put your head down. Depending on the caliber and millimeter size, it’ll only stop three 9mm bullets and depending on the rifle, one to three.”
This is fucking stupidity.
The door I’m sitting next to is suddenly slammed into, mindlessly causing me to back off and notice the black truck that just tried to spin us out.
“How many rounds do you have in here?” I ask no one in particular, removing the safety off my gun and pressing the button to get the window down.
“Enough for a small army,” Rod replies. “It’s in the back. In the sealed Hot Wheels box.”
“Adorable,” I deadpan, extending my arm and shoving it out the open window.
