“Looks good. I—” I’m cut off by thewhizandclankof a bullet on my front grill. “Taking fire.”
“Fucking hell.” That’s Ryker’s voice, so it’s escalated to involve the whole fam.
As I look at the GPS, the cops racing toward me in my rear, a truck behind them, and the Ford Raptor opening fire on us, emerging before me, I make a decision. “Are the squad cars rushing toward us ours?”
Three heartbeats.
Three panicked breaths from Tessa.
Three notes into the song droning quietly from the speaker as I lower my window and fire back, hitting the side panel of the Ford Raptor.
A chorus of voices reply, “Yes,” at once, and a few more bullets plink against our frame.
“Tell them to cover me.” I pass Tessa the gun, and she seems to grasp everything I’m saying with one simple word. “Ready?”
I won’t let anything happen to you, but if things go sideways, become their fucking nightmare.
She takes it with a nod, holding it on her lap, as I turn up the volume on “Send Me on My Way” by Rusted Root—one of my mother’s favorite songs, which has to be a good fucking omen.
So, I initiate a one-eighty turn.
Applying the foot brake while simultaneously pulling up on the electronic parking brake (EPB) in the center console, I then quickly lift my foot off the brake and steer left, which throws us into a controlled spin. We fly, propelled against the seat as the world briefly blurs around us, like one of those Gravitron rides at an amusement park, where you stick to the side.
Once we’re into the rotation, I give her some gas, press the foot brake, and push the EPB off. It’s smooth, but it still jostles us with a jolt as I accelerate right toward the cops.
“Still under fire,” I inform our listeners as we take a hit to the left corner of our back bumper. “But we’re out of the turn.”
My crazy Nightmare lets out awhoopof relief as we storm head-on toward the patrol cars and the other truck.
Then she fucking shocks me, unbuckling her seat belt, lowering her window, twisting so she’s on her knees, and firing at the guy behind us. It’s so smooth; you’d think she does this all the time. She watches through the back window and braces her arm against the car. A hailstorm of bullets smack into our assailant, and while we might be fighting for our lives, I’d do just about anything to freeze this moment. It’s the most erotic sightI’ve ever witnessed. Her ass in the air and her don’t-fuck-with-me rage at an all-time high.
Several shots ricochet off the Ford’s hood and windshield. Then she hits it at just the right angle, and the truck slows. She decides she’s made her point and lies back down, reaching into the center console to grab a magazine. In one fluid motion, she pushes the release button to dislodge the empty one and drop it onto the floor, slams the full one into place, and pulls back the slide, completing the reload.
“What the fuck was that?” I bellow, but her breaths are erratic, and all she gives me is silence.
Tabling that inquisition, I finish our plight, getting us out of the thick of it. One squad car barrels past us in pursuit of the Ford Raptor. The other skids sideways to derail the truck charging us. They crash, the truck clipping the back end of the patrol car, sending it across the road. Theclankandcrunchof metal on metal are deafening as we narrowly pass them. It’s a minor collision, but enough for us to flee. We zip full speed toward the fastest route back to La Lune Noire.
“On our way home,” I announce.
“She came through,” Axel says, and I know he heard the song and is referring to Mom.
“She always does,” is all I manage, and though there is little emotion in that response because I’m focused on staying alive, Tessa’s hand smooths over my thigh, and I’m stuck on another woman who came through.
We’re still not free and clear, so Liam ticks off a few more positions on the law enforcement and the roads we should avoid before he asks the million-dollar question. “Any idea who you’re running from?”
This isn’t going to land great, but any hope of keeping this locked down went out the window with that goddamn one-eighty. Still, I keep it as nonchalant as possible. “I hope to fuck it isn’t Makarov, but I don’t know who else it would be.”
“Makarov?” Axel scoffs.
And Ryker piggybacks on that with a growled, “What the fuck is going on, Mad?”
After three turns, I’m back in traffic, but nearing the safe-harbor entrance on the far edge of town. “I’m a little preoccupied with keeping my girl and me in one piece, so maybe the grilling can wait until we get home.”
“I’ll be here,” Cash assures me before I reach for Tessa’s phone and end the call with my family.
I tap my pistol with a cocked brow.
She moves her seat upright and huffs—irate at being underestimated, it would appear. “I grew up in the country. If you can hit a flying clay pigeon or a can, you can shoot a damn monster truck.”
