“Get in.” I push Jordan into the passenger seat and leave big man standing on his own between us and the rest of his men. I slide across the hood to the driver’s side, my keys already in hand.
Two shots crack against metal as I drop behind the wheel. Once the engine roars to life, I shift into drive. Tires scream against pavement when we lurch forward.
Jordan’s fingers scrabble for her seat belt, her face pale in the dashboard’s glow. She’s not fighting anymore. Fear has a way of inspiring compliance.
Good to know she’s not unflappable.
“What’s happening?” Her voice shakes as I round the first corner too quickly, the car fishtailing before the tires catch. “Who are those men?”
I check the rearview mirror. The van’s headlights swing into view behind us as the vehicle accelerates. “People who want what you have.”
“I don’t have anything!” Her knuckles go white on the dashboard as I barrel through another turn, the g-force hurling her against the door. “I told you, I don’t?—”
“Not now.”
The streets blur past, narrow corridors of brick and concrete.
I navigate by instinct, taking turns that might shake our pursuers.
The van stays three car lengths back, the driver persistent as a bloodhound.
These aren’t street thugs. They’re professionals, which means they’re working with resources. Maybe even aligned with Gio Falcone, who’s supposed to be dead.
Kolya dropped a damn roof on the man a couple weeks ago. But no one confirmed the kill, so here we are.
More people coming for her. The same way they went for Chloe and the diamonds.
Just what I need.
I cut down an alley barely wide enough for the car, metal scraping brick on the passenger side. The alley spits us out onto a wider street, where we find ourselves momentarily free of pursuit.
Jordan presses herself against her seat. “Do you know them?”
“Nope.”
“Are they going to kill us?” Her voice catches on the word “kill.” The barest tremor.
“Me, they’ll try. You, worse. If you’re nice, and I have a chance, I’ll kill you before they can haul you away.” Sometimes I’m just too damn kind for my own good.
Her face tightens as her eyes squeeze shut. “I’m going to die because someone thinks I have something I don’t.”
I keep quiet.
The van reappears in my rearview, closer now. Our assailants know these streets too.
I navigate through another hard left, then a right. The tires squeal in protest. The buildings grow taller and the streets get narrower as we head into the industrial district. A maze of loading docks, warehouses, and dead ends.
Good place to disappear.
Better place to set a trap.
The van stays with us, gaining ground. If I don’t end this now, we’ll spend the whole night evading them.
I spot a narrow alley between two abandoned warehouses, barely visible in the darkness. Cutting the wheel, I brake just enough to turn without rolling the car.
The alley swallows us. Brick walls rise five stories on either side, offering no exits except for the way we came in.
A deliberate mistake.
