Total pages in book: 94
Estimated words: 88918 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 445(@200wpm)___ 356(@250wpm)___ 296(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 88918 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 445(@200wpm)___ 356(@250wpm)___ 296(@300wpm)
More gunfire ricocheted behind her, spiking her heart rate. She turned and found Van shooting down two approaching men in the alley. He crouched beside the open rear door of a small car. Tate lay face down across the backseat.
“Let’s go.” He scanned the barren street and ran toward the driver’s side.
Can he hot wire that car?
She didn’t have time to ask. More men flooded the corridor. Too many to shoot down. She slammed the steel door shut and hauled ass toward the car. Van bent under the steering wheel and yanked on wires as she pulled Tate’s feet into the backseat with her.
“Hurry!” She closed the door and ducked just as the window exploded in shards of glass. Bullets pinged the side of the car, and the report of gunfire shuddered the air.
“Van!” she shouted, petrified. “Can you do it?”
The car roared to life and jerked forward, slamming her against the seat back and tossing her on top of Tate’s prone body.
Van sped out of the alley, sideswiped another car, and bounced over a curb. Bullets rained down upon them, blowing out the rear window and riddling the metal exterior.
Keeping as low and concealed as possible, she curled up near Tate’s head and rested his cheek on her lap. His lower half hung off the seat, his knees bent on the floorboard at an awkward angle.
“Which way is north?” Van swerved around a pedestrian and hit the gas.
“Left.” She craned her neck to look between the front seats. “Not this street. Turn left at the next one.”
He followed her directions, and as her panting breaths slowed, so did the bullets and yelling behind her, until…nothing.
We lost them.
We escaped.
The glory and relief in getting away settled through her in great shivering waves. She combed a hand through Tate’s hair and bent to rest her lips against his feverish brow as she caught her breath.
But they weren’t out of the woods yet.
“They have motorbikes,” she shouted at Van over the gusts of the wind through the windows. “They’ll catch up.”
He took the corners at high speeds, lurching in and out of traffic, and whipping her around the backseat with the starts and stops of g-force.
The pungency of fuel and burning rubber saturated the cab, and the taste of blood soaked her tongue from her stabbing teeth.
“It’s going to be okay. We’re going to make it.” She whispered the chant at Tate’s ear.
She didn’t have medicine and probably wouldn’t live through tomorrow, but she had today. She had Tate, and he would survive this. He had to.
His eyes were closed, his lungs laboring for every intake of air. Clots of blood coated his back in a gruesome reminder of the prior night, and beneath the gore lurked a picture carved into flesh and muscle. Through the shimmer of tears blurring her vision, she could make out images. A massive gate opening outward and… Was that a silhouette floating through it?
“We’re close, right?” Van pointed at the motorway that emerged up ahead.
“Tiago’s domain ends there. Just a few blocks away.”
She twisted to see out the broken rear window. No one chased them. No motorbikes. No speeding cars. No guns.
Dread buckled her stomach.
The escape was too easy. Even if Tiago’s men had discovered his death, they wouldn’t just let her go. Something was wrong.
“Call Matias,” she said urgently. “Tell him where we are.”
“A little busy.” Van’s laugh strained with tension as he swerved the car side to side, dodging motorists.
She cradled Tate’s head and scooted forward to reach between the seats and search for the phone in Van’s pocket.
“Fuck!” He slammed on the brakes, throwing her back against the seat. “Fuck, fuck, fuck!”
Up ahead, police cars skidded onto the street, blocking their path.
“Turn back!” Her pulse exploded as she twisted around, searching for a side street. “Take that one!”
She caught Van’s eyes in the rearview mirror and pointed at the alley behind them.
“We can’t trust these cops?” He shoved the car in reverse and sped backward. “What happens if they catch us?”
Tires squealed behind them, followed by the rumbling sounds of motorbikes. Her scalp crawled, and a chill spread through her cheeks as she looked back and found a roadblock of armed officers.
“Get to that alley.” She gripped tight to Tate’s head and shoulders, shaking and nauseous. “They wouldn’t be here unless Tiago called in a favor.”
“What?” Van spun the car around and veered into the alley—the only way out. “I thought Tiago was dead.”
“He is.” Her breath came in wheezing pants. “I smashed his head in with a dumbbell. I thought… Oh God, I didn’t check. I couldn’t…”
His pulse. I didn’t check his pulse. Was he still alive?
If the police caught them, they would die in prison. Or they would be taken back to the compound, where they would be tortured before they died.