More accurate.
The vehicle jolted as something hit hard, metal groaning under the impact.
“They’re gaining!” someone shouted.
Becca’s body shifted with the motion, completely limp in his hold. Her head rolled slightly against his chest with the sharp turn, her breath faint but steady.
Silas tightened his grip without thinking.
His hand pressed firmer against the back of her head, shielding, anchoring.
“Stay with me,” he muttered, low enough that no one else heard it.
The SUV jerked violently, tires screeching as they took a corner too fast. The world outside blurred—lights stretching into streaks, shadows bending with speed.
Then—
A second vehicle pulled up alongside them.
Too close.
Window down.
Gun raised.
“Down!” the driver yelled.
Silas didn’t hesitate.
He dropped his weight over Becca instantly, covering her completely as gunfire exploded into the side of the SUV. Glass cracked, metal dented, the sound deafening inside the tight space.
Return fire came just as fast—short, controlled bursts.
The vehicle beside them swerved, losing control for half a second before correcting—but that hesitation was enough.
“Take the turn!” someone barked.
The driver slammed the wheel.
The SUV fishtailed hard, tires fighting for grip before catching, cutting sharply down a narrow street. The pursuing car overshot slightly, forced to circle back.
Seconds.
Silas used them.
“Switch route. Now.”
No hesitation.
Another turn. Then another. The path became erratic—tight cuts, sudden shifts, unpredictable movement. Not running.
Disappearing.
Gunfire faded.
Headlights vanished.
But Silas didn’t relax.
