“You’re gonna get us shot,” I muttered, ducking slightly out of the camera’s reach, a wide smile on my face. She only laughed.
Then she tapped the screen again, flipping to the front camera and this time facing the glowing dash of the stolen cruiser.
“What’s up piglets,” she cooed into the phone mic, dropping her voice into a mocking imitation of a dispatcher. “This is unit… fuck, I dunno, who cares, coming to you live from tonight’s grand theft adventure.” She reached forward and clicked on the still-active police radio button. Static cracked. A voice tried tocut through, issuing garbled commands about a stolen vehicle and suspects on the move. Her grin widened.
She held the phone up close to the mic and whispered, syrupy and slow: “Tell me, how’s it feel getting outrun by a girl in eyeliner and a pretty boy?” She turned the camera back on me, pushing the phone right into my face. “Say hi to your fans.”
Fuck it. This was already going to end badly, so why not enjoy the fire. I grabbed the phone from her hands, tilting it to include both of us in the shot.
“We’ve apprehended two suspects: one bottle of vodka and a whole lotta disappointment.” Misfit choked on her laughter. “Requesting backup,” I went on, tone perfectly flat, “preferably with snacks. And maybe a playlist that doesn’t suck.” I leaned back with a grin I hadn’t felt on my face in years. She was staring at me, both amused and a little impressed. She cackled, taking the phone back from me and flipping the camera to selfie mode again, holding it between us. I leaned into the frame, middle finger up, grin sharp and unapologetic.
“Smile Motherfucker.”
The shutter sound echoed between us as she captured the moment.
The flashing lights behind us were growing brighter. Closer. The wail of sirens was like teeth dragging against my spine.
Misfit’s hands slammed the steering wheel; knuckles pale as bone. “Shit,” she spat, eyes flicking from the mirror to the road. Back and forth, as if she could will the upcoming traffic jam to move. But they didn’t. Brake lights. Horns. A wall of metal boxed us in. A fucking bottleneck in the middle of our escape. She growled low in her throat, slamming the heel of her hand against the horn. “MOVE!”
“Misfit,” I said, calm but grinning. A little too calm for the current situation. My heart was hammering, but I didn’t let itshow. I leaned back in the seat, glancing sideways at her. “I don’t think they heard you.”
She cut her eyes toward me, “You think this is funny?”
I shrugged, lips twitching. “A little.”
The sirens were screaming now. Close enough to see the reflections dancing off the windows. The sound evoked a primal response in my chest: fight or flight. I chose the flight.
I leaned toward her, voice low and amused. “Looks like we’re boxed in sweetheart.”
She gritted her teeth, “Shut up dickhead! I’ll figure it out.”
But I was already moving. My hand was on the door handle.
“Don’t you fucking dare!”
“Oh, I dare.” I gave her that signature smile. Her face twisted as I yanked open the door. “Screech!”
“Thanks for the ride, Bitch tits,” I winked. And then I was gone. The door slammed behind me as I bolted, weaving through frozen cars like a stray bullet. I didn’t look back. Not right away. But just as I rounded the corner of an alley, I turned, just for a second. A devilish smile on my face as I bite down on my bottom lip.
She was still in the driver’s seat. Trapped as red and blue lights crawled across her skin. Cops closing in fast. And still… she didn’t react. She just sat there, pulling out a cigarette, blowing smoke from the window. Her eyes drifted to me as I caught the faintest ghost of a smirk.
The wind cut sharply through the alley as I ran, gravel crunching underfoot, my breath heavy but full of something wild. Misfit was chaos wrapped in Doc Martens. A Molotov in lipstick. She’d find her way out. Whether it was with her fists, her mouth, or just sheer fucking will. I didn’t doubt her for a second.
Laughter tore from my throat before I could stop it. I ducked into another alley, a quieter one. Bent double, hands on myknees, catching my breath in the stink of city rot and piss. My chest heaved, a grin still split across my face. The way she just sparked up in the middle of such chaos, laughter cracking in my chest. My legs screamed with every step now, lungs like fire in my ribs, but I didn’t stop. Couldn’t. The sirens had faded behind me, but I knew better than to relax. Cops were like roaches, crush one, and five more showed up with flashlights. What the fuck was I doing? She stole a fucking cop car. And my dumbass jumped straight in. I really hope she doesn’t post that video. Fuck! She’s going to post the video.
I continued my quickened pace until I reached familiar ground. I approached Chester’s flat. I don’t know why I keep calling it Chester’s flat. It’s basically my flat at this point. The flat was dark. Quiet. Just the low buzz of the fridge and the hum of streetlight bleeding in through the blinds. I dragged a hand through my hair, sweat cooling at the back of my neck now, the rush wearing off. My heart still kicked hard in my chest, the way the night had turned. From the way she had turned it. I dropped onto the sagging couch like my spine had been cut, head rolling back, the ceiling cracked in that one spot that looked like a crooked grin. Fitting. I stared at the ceiling, jaw tight. She hadn’t screamed my name, hadn’t begged me to stay. She just sat there, boxed in, waiting to see what I’d do next. Because that’s the game, right? She was probably in cuffs. Maybe laughing, maybe bleeding. Who the hell knew.
I kicked off my boots, letting them thud to the floor, and stretched out across the couch. I sighed and pulled my hood over my eyes, trying to let the silence drown everything else out. But it wouldn’t. Not her smirk. Not the sound of sirens. Not the way she didn’t try to stop me.
What a fucking night.
CHAPTER 18
Ihadn’t heard from Squeeks in a few days, despite the text messages and attempted phone calls. That wasn’t like her; if anything, she wouldn’t leave me alone half the time. I knew I would have to go back to Danny’s eventually, but her silence was worrying me. I figured while I was there, I would somehow slip the gun back where I found it without Danny noticing. To think of it, he was also being suspiciously quiet.
A deep knot sat in my gut as I approached the house. The same deep orange glow spilling into the alley from the slit in the curtains. My feet felt heavy, like my body was trying to tell me to turn around and try Squeeks one more time. But I didn’t.
My shoulder hit the door hard, opening it with a dull creak. The last time I was here, Danny had me pinned against the wall for cutting him out of the deal with Selene. I stepped inside, letting the door fall shut behind me, the same shitty TV show illuminating the living room. Crushed beer cans and cigarette butts were scattered across the floor—still, no signs of Squeeks. As I moved further into the house, the sound of voices grew from Danny’s room at the back of the house. Probably one of his ‘important’ druggy meetings, where he got to continue asserting dominance over his spineless worker bees. Completely forgetting, I used to be one of them. My hand gripped the bannister as I placed a foot on the step, and the talking suddenly stopped. I froze in place. Eyes widening to the back-room door.
