I glance out the window. The second car with the rest of our security detail trails us closely, but three large black cars just like ours flank behind and on either side of them. The one to our right swerves toward us again. Andrew pulls out of the way just in time, but we nearly crash into the black car to our left.
With the traffic, there’s nowhere to go and no way to lose them. And yet, there’s much less traffic than there should be. It’s normally bumper to bumper, but instead, there’s only about a third of the typical cars on the road.
“Goddammit,” Robert says, his hand at his ear, communicating with the rest of the team. “They’ve surrounded the apartment building. Eight cars full of men—waiting for us.”
“Get the fucking NYPD there, now!” I bark. I grab my phone and dial Chief Olsen.
“What do you need, Langford?” he answers in a clipped tone.
“I’m being fucking ambushed. My car is being tailed by three black SUVs, and there are another eight cars full of men waiting outside my penthouse.”
Olsen curses. “You know who it is?”
“My best guess is he Russian fucking mafia.”
“What the hell are you doing messing with them?”
The car to our right swerves for us, and Andrew barely manages to avoid the collision.
“I want air support for my vehicle, immediately,” I growl.
“I’m on it. Don’t die in the meantime.” The line clicks dead, and I look over at Ella. Her face is ashen, and her hands areshaking. “It’s going to be okay,” I say, taking her hand in mine again. I tell that to myself, willing myself to believe it.
“Brace!” Flores calls out as the car on our left slams into us. Then the car on our right hits us, and we ping pong back and forth, hitting each of the cars, two, three, four times. The image of a speeding car, of my grandfather’s lifeless body sprawled on the floor of his black limousine, flashes through my mind.This is not that, I say to myself, fighting to keep my wits about me.
A bus speeds up and slams into the security car behind us. Ella screams as the car rearends us. I turn and watch as the bus hits the car from another angle, causing it to flip over three times.
“We’ve lost our backup!” I shout.
The bus now speeds toward us from behind. Andrew swerves just in time to miss the impact, but we slam into the car to our right again. We’re caged in.
“Head for the four ninety-five!” I shout at Andrew. “We need to go to the estate!”
Andrew speeds, slows, swerves, and does his best to maneuver the car to avoid hits. Every impact and almost impact bring back the moment of the crash from my childhood in my mind. The way time seemed to slow. The way the glass shattered from the windows and sparkled as it flew. The way the air rushed from my lungs as I was thrown forward so hard that I’m not sure how the lap belt kept me from flying through the car. The way my neck snapped and popped. And worse, the way my grandfather’s body flew, slamming into the partition between the front and back of the limousine. The pain.
This is not that, I remind myself again.
I hold onto Ella, forcing the images and memories away. I must keep her safe. I will not let her be hurt. This will not be a repeat of that night.
“We’re almost to the four ninety-five!” Andrew announces.
“We have to take out the cars on either side of us before weenter the interstate,” I say to Robert. He nods, and we both unholster our Glocks. Flores and Wilkins follow suit. “Jenkins, cover Ella.”
Jenkins moves across the car into the middle of the back seat and covers Ella’s body with his own as we roll the windows down just enough to fit the short barrels of our guns through. Robert and I fire, aiming for the tires. Flores and Wilkins do the same on the opposite side. Return fire ricochets off the bullet-proof windows, and Robert and I duck out of the way before firing again.
“Fuck!” Wilkins shouts. “I’ve been hit!”
I turn and see blood splattered along his neck.
“I can’t shoot; they got my shoulder!”
“Trade places with me!” Jenkins yells.
A second later, Jenkins is firing out the window with Flores, and Wilkins is covering Ella’s body.
“Are you okay?” Ella shouts.
“Fine, nothing vital,” Wilkins says through gritted teeth.
