A dog barks.
Then another.
Neve leaps over a low iron fence. I scramble after her, the bag nearly slipping off my shoulder. My boot catches the edge. I hit the ground hard on the other side, my shoulder slamming into packed dirt.
“Take my hand,” Neve pants, grabbing the back of my jacket. “Come on!”
She hauls me to my feet.
We crash through a row of shrubs, sprint into another backyard. A German shepherd throws itself at a fence just ten feet from us, snarling. More lights click on. A woman screams something from a window. A bullet whizzes through the air and shreds a wooden fence post inches from my face.
I freeze, heart slamming against my ribs.
Neve grabs me again, yelling, “Don’t stop!”
We vault another fence, this one taller, rough wood tearing at my palm as I scramble over. I fall into a concrete yard, my knees scraped raw.
Neve lands beside me, already digging into her coat pocket. She pulls out her phone with shaking hands and taps frantically at the screen. “Hey Siri, call Bridger,” she gasps.
The phone chirps back:“A bridge is a structure to span a physical obstacle without blocking the path underneath. Should I keep going?”
“Are you serious right now?” Neve shrieks, her voice breaking. “No! Not a bridge! Bridger! Call Bridger!”
I duck behind a pool house, breathing hard, while Neve nearly throws the phone.
Then, finally, it rings. “Bridger!” she yells, half sobbing. “We’re running! Joel’s guys are on us. I have Marlowe. She has the money.”
A voice crackles back, loud, panicked, but I can’t hear what he says. We keep running. Another backyard, a patio table, a pool we almost fall into. Neve doesn’t stop talking. “Just get here now.”
We round the corner of a massive estate, probably worth millions, and burst into another yard. There’s a tall stucco wall ahead.
“Help me!” I cry, and Neve shoves me up, boosting me until I can grab the top and swing a leg over. I hold out my arm for her and hoist her up after me.
I fall to the other side, landing on soft grass. Neve lands beside me seconds later, with a strangled groan. She clutches her side, breathing ragged, then lifts her phone again. “Tell me what the street sign says,” she pants.
I turn in a circle, dizzy, the world tilting slightly. We’re in front of another mansion now, an immaculate driveway stretching out to a quiet, curved street. I squint into the shadows and spot a street sign near the edge of the lawn. “Morning Sky Lane,” I say, barely getting the words out.
Neve repeats it into the phone. “Morning Sky. Morning Sky Lane. Please, just hurry.”
Another voice shouts from behind us.
I turn.
A flashlight bobs in the distance. Fuck, it’s Zero.
Chapter Thirty
DAMIAN
Pain claws through my side with every breath. The bleeding has slowed, but the fire hasn’t. It’s bandaged for now, but the pain is so raw I’m not thinking clearly. Doesn’t matter. I’m not thinking anyway. I’m running on instinct. And fury.
Bridger floors it, tires screaming as we fly down the wrong side of a street lined with polished homes and trimmed hedges. This neighborhood wasn’t built for chaos. It’s too quiet and clean. We’re the storm crashing through.
I grip the door handle so tightly my knuckles burn. Sweat slicks down my back, soaking my shirt.
Marlowe.
She’s out here with Joel and that fucker Zero.
