Total pages in book: 116
Estimated words: 110089 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 550(@200wpm)___ 440(@250wpm)___ 367(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 110089 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 550(@200wpm)___ 440(@250wpm)___ 367(@300wpm)
We keep moving toward the city center, which argues against a body dump, at least for now. I’m sure he’d bury me out in the middle of nowhere if he wanted me dead. Right now, anyway.
Wait a minute? Why would we head into town? “Are we going to Malice Media?”
He ignores the question but still holds me tight. Heating me.
Movement erupts at the edge of my vision as two black SUVs barrel out of opposite alleys and box our lane. Our driver swears and cuts for the curb, and the grille of a Mack truck fills the street ahead, dead center. Brakes slam. My stomach flips and I yelp before I can stop it.
Justice pulls me tight and locks my hips to his chest, then lifts his chin toward the front. “Go back,” he orders. The driver throws the car into reverse and hammers the pedal. The car jerks hard and surges backward, tires screaming while the lane opens for half a block. A second Mack rolls out behind us and drops its broad nose into our path, killing the escape. The driver stabs the brakes, and the chassis shudders under me.
I twist enough to see past Justice’s shoulder. The driver shouts a string I can’t interpret and slaps the horn while he checks both mirrors. Sweat beads at his temple. His breath rasps. “Punching in a 911 to the men,” he mutters, tapping against the dash.
Justice stays calm and holds me steady against him. His heartbeat presses against my shoulder in a slow, fixed rhythm. I push closer because my body wants the steadiness, and I hate that I need reassurance from him. My hands grip his shirt to anchor myself.
Gunfire cracks the night and stitches the air with a hard rhythm. I scream before I can stop myself. Justice folds over me, covers my head with his jaw, and keeps his arm firm across my back. The driver throws another curse and rides the gas, then the brakes. My teeth rattle. The door shivers near my hip. The window haze blooms and spreads.
Gunfire patters.
Glass shatters.
Justice slides me onto the floor. “Keep down.” He kicks his door open while pulling a pistol from his side. Cold grit bites my bare knees. The car reeks of oil and cordite. My mouth tastes of metal. I press my spine to the seat base as fear crawls up my throat and tries to choke me.
He leans out with the gun. “Shoot everyone, Rick,” he mutters as the driver shoves his door wide and rises into the frame. Glass breaks again and rains over my arms. The street noise tilts into a roar. My ears ring so hard I can’t hear my own breath.
Gunfire erupts everywhere. The rhythm is too fast and too even. “They have automatic weapons. You only have a handgun,” I yell.
Justice drops into a crouch, braces, and fires three sharp shots.
The sound multiplies. A new wash of bullets tears across the block from two sides, then another answers from the rear. If we’re close to Malice Media, there should be guards moving right now. With Thorn out of town, Justice is the head of the Irish mob in this slice of the world. What would anyone be thinking to hit him here? My hands shake so hard my fingers ache. I press my palms to my temples and swallow down panic.
A lone voice cuts through everything and shouts, “Give us Rendale!” The words land wrong and cold. I look up and catch Justice in profile as he pivots, fires twice, and resets. A yelp breaks from the dark. Metal echoes. Something heavy drops out of sight. More gunfire surges around us and drives me lower. I cover my head and clamp my elbows to my skull.
The hood buckles with a deep, torn sound. Heat punches through the vehicle.
Justice leans in. “Dar fia. The thing’s going to explode.”
The words punch through my gut and open a pit under my ribs. I reach for him.
He grabs my wrist and yanks me into the rain, then shoves me behind his body so he takes the line of fire. My bare feet slide on glass. My stomach lurches. The night tastes burnt and wet.
I look past him toward the front of the car and see bodies on the pavement, sprawled in angles that don’t move. The strobe of muzzle flash keeps lighting them and erasing them. Gunfire still erupts from every direction. My heart hammers so hard it hurts.
He jerks his head. “We’ll move closer to that brick building and duck down out of sight. In the alley.” He still sounds calm. How the fuck does he sound calm? I make myself small behind his body and let him cover me, his arm steady as he fires in controlled bursts. We angle for the building. The sidewalk is wet from the unrelenting rain. My pulse runs hard enough to blur the edges of my sight.