Maybe she had a secret compartment built right into her body.It wouldn’t surprise me.
“They have sources better than you can imagine,” I reply.“Better than you and me put together.The guy you were talking to is probably one of theirs.”
She snaps a magazine into her gun and cocks it, and I can feel her gaze burning a hole into my cheek.“No.Duca is all Rossi.He’d never sell me out.”
I don’t know who this Duca is, but the fact that he’s a man makes me immediately hate him.Who is he to Brooks, and how does she know he’s so loyal?Was that who she was meeting with up there?In that swanky, sparkly club with all the drugs and booze?
I’ll kill him.
Though that’s not my problem right now, the voice in my head whispers.Focus on driving.Focus on living.Worry about Brooks’ man—men—once you’re safe.
Fucking voice, always being right.
“Well someone did,” I respond.“Someone’s been reporting what you’ve been doing.I don’t know who, and I don’t know who they’re reporting to.But they’re bigger than the Rossis.Bigger than your family or mine.”
She stops what she’s doing long enough to stare at me.“And how the fuck do you know that?”
I reach out and grab her wrist, turning to stare at her despite the fact that we’re now going 50.“Because things are going badly in New Orleans, and I’ve been trying to figure out what’s going on.And your name has come up in places I shouldn’t be seeing it.Multiple times.”
Her face goes slack with shock for a moment.“And why would you care about that?”she whispers.
Because I love her.
Because I’ve loved her since she was twelve and I was sixteen and we met on a playground where I was running cons.And when I think she might be in trouble, I will stop at nothing to save her.
I don’t say any of that.Instead, I glance quickly at the gun she’s holding and toss her the one I keep strapped to my chest.“That doesn’t matter, love.There’s a van following us and I don’t know how many men are in it.Shoot for the tires and the engine and get them off our tail so I can get you back to my hotel.”
She takes my gun, ejects the magazine, and checks that it’s full in such a smooth set of motions that I almost don’t see it.When she slams the magazine home again, she shakes her head.
“Not your hotel.Get to Brooklyn.Head for the Rossi brownstone.”
Then she turns, breaks through the window with the butt of the gun, and leans out like she does this sort of thing all the fucking time.She’s shooting before she gets all the way out, the gun booming with each shot, and I spare her one glance, then jump on the gas of the car and send it speeding down the street.The street is wide here, and mostly empty thanks to the late hour, but there are too many fucking cars parked along the side and I don’t have as much room as I want.I swerve around a car that’s parked too far out, then jerk the wheel and swerve in the other direction to avoid some other guy who’s decided now is a good time to cross the street.Once I’m clear of him I slam my foot on the accelerator and ask the car for greater speed.Behind us, the van on our tail is shooting with what sounds like multiple tommy guns and I cock my head, wondering what’s going on.
No modern gun would give that rat-a-tat sound.Even machine guns sound more like explosions at this point.
What did they do, bring antique guns to the fight?They’re sophisticated enough to be running a multi-city trafficking ring and yet they’re shooting at us with–
The back windshield explodes and I duck instinctively, then reach over, grab Brooks by the back of her blouse, and jerk her back into the car.
“What are you doing?”she gasps.“I just got a bead on the driver!”
“And they’re close enough to shoot out the back window of the fucking car,” I snap.“Which means they’re close enough to shoot you.We’re done with that project.Time to run.”
She splutters something about doubting whether I’m up to the task, but I’m not listening.I turn the wheel and take us into a spin, using every inch of the street for the slide and praying we’re going to make it.
We don’t.
We’re turned almost all the way around when I realize that we don’t actually have enough room and yank the wheel the other way, trying to regain control of the vehicle.It doesn’t work, though, and we hit one of the parked cars, the door on Brooks’ right crumpling with the sound of metal dying.Brooks is jerked to the right, but I grab her before she can fly out of the window.I jam on the gas again and the car tears away from the truck it just hit, metal screeching in protest as we fly away.We pass the van that was following us and I have enough time to look over and see the driver looking at me, his mouth open and his eyes wide with shock.
Brooks shoots through my window and hits him right between the eyes before he can try to follow us, though, and my last look at him tells me that he’s already dead.His eyes are blank and his mouth hangs open with the weight that only death can bring.
I don’t pause.I put his picture into my memory for later and tear up the street, trying to remember how the fuck to get back to my hotel from here.
And wondering whether any of my men are still alive.
***
Brooks still hasn’t said anything to me when I come to a sharp halt in the circular driveway of my hotel.I look up and see the valet looking at us, but wave him sharply off.
