He’s right.
I fucking hate that he’s right.
“The Turks,” I say finally, forcing my hands to unclench. “Where are they?”
***
I roar up to the corner on my motorcycle, engine snarling like a beast.
The Turks are sitting in a black SUV just down the block from Smash and Sugar like they belong here. Like they fucking own it.
I don’t wait.
I draw my Glock, aim, and fire. Glass shatters. The SUV jerks. Screams erupt from inside. One of them jumps out, gun raised. They open fire.
I swerve hard, the bike screaming beneath me as bullets tear through the air where my head was half a second ago. Concrete explodes beside me. I feel the spray of debris against my cheek. My heart slams against my ribs, but my hands stay steady.
Alwayssteady when it matters.
I fire back—once, twice, and one of them drops hurt but not dead. The other ducks behind the open door.
More gunshots crack through the night. One catches my back tire.
The bike lurches. I feel it—that split second where physics decides whether I live or eat pavement. I lean hard into the slide, boots scraping asphalt, sparks flying. The world tilts sideways. My shoulder hits the ground first, then my hip, pain exploding through every nerve. The bike skids away from me, metal shrieking against concrete. I roll, come up on one knee, Glock still in hand. My ribs scream. Blood runs warm down my arm—road rash or worse, doesn’t matter.
The Turks are advancing, guns raised.
I fire.
But they keep coming.
I need cover.Now.
My eyes snap to the only option—a car parked at the curb. Small sedan. Engine running. Someone inside.
I sprint, ignoring the fire in my side, and yank the driver’s door open. A girl stares up at me, eyes wide, hands frozen on her phone.
Dark hair. Dark eyes. Terrified.
“Get out,” I bark.
She doesn’t move. Just stares at me.
Bullets whizz by me.
“GET OUT!” I roar.
“No!” she screams back.
No time for this shit.
I holster my gun and grab her by the shirt, haul her across the center console into the passenger seat. She fights me—claws at my arms, kicks at my ribs, but I’m bigger, stronger, and running on pure adrenaline.
I shove myself into the driver’s seat, slam the door.
More gunshots hit the car.
I throw the car into drive and punch the gas.
