This car is a piece of shit.
It groans like a dying animal but it moves.
The fucking Turks follow.
Bullets punch through the back windshield. Glass explodes inward. She shrieks, ducking low.
I check the rearview. The SUV’s on our ass, close enough I can see the driver’s face. He’s young. Angry. Probably thinks he’s going to impress the fucker Kaya by taking me out.
Not today.
I yank the wheel left, cutting through an intersection. Horns blare. A taxi swerves, nearly clips us.
The sedan handles like a drunk elephant, but I make it work.
“You’re going to get us killed!” she shouts.
“Just sit still.”
I reach for my gun, but my hand’s slick with blood. The adrenaline’s starting to fade, and I feel every inch of road rash burning across my shoulder and arm.
I need to shoot out their tires and end this. I roll down the window, twist in my seat—
That’s when I smell it.
Marshmallows?
What the fuck?
The scent hits me hard, sweet and wrong in the middle of a firefight. My focus splits for half a second.
The car drifts right.
“Stay in your lane!” she screams.
I jerk the wheel back, but we’re weaving now. The Turks fire again. My side mirror explodes in a shower of glass and plastic.
The girl grunts—angry, not scared. She lunges for the glove compartment, pops it open, and pulls out a gun.
A fucking gun.
“What the—”
She doesn’t answer. Just slides halfway out the passenger window, braces herself, and fires.
Pop. Pop. Pop.
The SUV swerves. One of their front tires blows. The vehicle lurches, fishtails, and slams into a parked car.
She drops back into her seat, breathing hard, gun still in her hand.
I stare at her. “Who the fuckareyou?”
She stares back, eyes blazing. “Get off the main road before the cops show up.”
I don’t argue.
I yank the wheel hard, take the next right down a side street. The engine whines like it’s begging me to stop. Blood’s still dripping down my arm, soaking into my shirt, and my ribs feel like someone took a sledgehammer to them.
