“You’re gonna regret that.” I press my tongue against my molars, feeling for loose teeth. “When I tear out your fucking windpipe, you’ll wish you used the barrel instead.”
He swallows. I hear it.
Music to my ears.
Beside me, Raze is practically vibrating, half-laughing, half-deranged. “I’ve got the same question, Arsen. What the hell is going on?”
“Shut the fuck up. Both of you,” Arsen snaps from his post, arms crossed.
“Eat shit,” I mutter, still watching the one who hit me.
I’m done. I don’t give a fuck about any of this. My head pounds from that hit. I can feel my control slipping. A Sovereign is standing between me and Wolff at the back of the truck. He's watching us with a wary look.
I can smell his fear. I breathe it in.
My eyes skim the layout. Weapons. Positions. I flex my wrists subtly, testing the give. If I dislocate my thumbs, I could slip the cuffs. Wouldn’t even need a weapon. Just a jawbone and my fucking rage.
The truck lurches to a hard stop.
Everyone stumbles. I slam my shoulder into the wall and chain-rattle echoes off the metal.
Arsen’s already rushing to the front. “What the fuck now?”
“There’s a truck in the road,” the driver shouts back. “Flat tire.”
“Then go the fuck around it!” Arsen barks.
The driving pit door swings wide, letting me see out the front windshield. A beat-up box truck is parked sideways across the intersection—rear tire shredded, hazard lights blinking.
A hooded figure stumbles out of the cab. Making their way toward us.
“Fucking handle it,” Arsen grunts, turning back toward the truck’s interior, his hand resting on his gun.
The driver leans out the window, shouting at the pedestrian to back off. Hand on his gun. Nervous. Probably shitting himself from having Raze and me caged behind him.
The pedestrian mumbles something, still walking toward the truck. The driver goes to yell again.
“Get this thing moving!” Arsen barks.
Bang.
The shot cracks the air. Blood, bone, and brain matter smear across the inside of the windshield. I stare at the hole in the driver’s forehead, blood pouring down his nose.
The shooter lifts their gun again. Arsen and Wolff open fire, hitting the other Sovereigns in the chest, neck, and face. The truck shakes as bodies drop. Blood coats the walls. I smell the burn of powder and death.
I’m up in a second, snapping my wrists against the cuffs until tendons scream. One tear, one twist—metal rips through skin. I don’t stop. My hands rip free, blood pouring.
The fucker who hit me earlier is too fucking slow. I grab my chains, whip them around his neck, and yank. His trachea collapses with a sickening crunch. He claws at his throat, gurgling, eyes wide as he drops. Dead before he hits the floor.
I’m lunging for his gun when the back door slams open.
Shot to the bolt in my ankle chains.
Arsen kicks me hard in the spine. “Move!”
I crash out of the truck and hit the pavement—concrete scraping any exposed skin.
Crack.
