AQuinlan Empire Hummer sails by in the northbound lanes with a rocket launcher. The first car explodes into a searing orange mushroom cloud. The shockwaves punch the air, smacking the side of the bird. Metal and glass shrapnel escape the dust cloud like black confetti.
The second car jerks sideways to avoid the fireball and skids right into an overpass column doing one hundred miles an hour. It crushes like an accordion. There is no way anyone survived either crash.
Jaysus fucking Christ.This is the worst shell game ever.
“Bloody hell,” Balor mutters, watching the crash from his drone. “Didn’t expect that much firepower.”
Lachlan’s mouth curves into a dark grin. “That’s the Quinlans for you.”
When car three skids to a complete stop, despite being on a highway, my chest loosens.
“Let’s play chicken with that driver,” Lachlan says.
The helicopter dips, dropping fast with its nose tilting to a forty-five-degree angle.
“They’re stopping. She has to be in there!” I roar, already unbuckling. “Fucking Kosta better be in there, too.”
Chapter 55
Fallon
Heat, smoke, and twisted metal flash in my mind. The other cars are gone. My stomach twists. I can’t breathe thinking about Daddy in the lead car that is now in flames. Chaos shears through everything.
“Get us off this highway!” Kosta aims a gun at the driver’s head.
“No!” I scream, but get slammed back into my seat when the car jerks forward, quickly accelerating.
“Shut up!” Kosta turns the gun on me.
We lock eyes, and I know in that moment, he wants to pull the trigger. He’s trapped. Two mafia families have converged, and it’s just him right now.
He’s alone.
Desperate.
But he still has his pride, his ruthlessness, and his anger from being sent to jail.
And I have nothing. Except… I wiggle my foot, the high heel digging into the floor mat. A six-inchStilettoheel that can be used as a weapon.
“Kosta, please,” I beg, leaning forward as a diversion to slip off the shoe.
“I’m going to choke you with my cock later,” he sneers at me.
With the Stiletto in my grasp, I wait. I let my brain calculate Kosta’s neck angle, like Rhys taught me in the gun range.
A shoe. The barrel of a gun. Both are weapons.
When he looks out the window to see where the helicopter went, I squeeze the gaudy pump that he insisted I wear, and then scream as I lunge for him. The sharp heel sinks into Kosta’s throat, and blood spurtseverywhere. He drops the gun and bellows in pain, eyes wide, as I dig the shoe further into his jugular.
“Choke on yourblood, you fucking rapist monster.”
“Hey!” The driver reaches into the backseat and tries to push me off his boss.
Kosta reclaims his gun, but it goes off and kills the driver before he can put it to my head. Now, the windshield is full of blood, cracked, and the driver is slumped over, no longer in control of the SUV.
We start to skid on the icy road. A hard jerk to the right sends me flying, and the back of my head hits the window.
But we lurch upwards, and my stomach drops.
