Total pages in book: 117
Estimated words: 109286 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 546(@200wpm)___ 437(@250wpm)___ 364(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 109286 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 546(@200wpm)___ 437(@250wpm)___ 364(@300wpm)
“Of course we’re being followed,” I cry, my hands slippery with Daniel’s blood as I try to stem the bleeding. It’s everywhere, and my own panic is rising. “You stole the fucking Emperor out from under his nose. He’s not going to throw his hands up and say ‘Oh well!’”
The big Russian shoots me a dirty look. “Wake him up. We need him to shoot.”
“Fuck you,” I say. “He’s hurt.”
“We will all be hurt unless someone takes care of them,” he growls at me.
I look over at Naomi, but she’s a mess. I don’t know what to do. Let go of Daniel and hope he doesn’t bleed out? Or hold on to Daniel and hope we don’t get shot first? “Can we make it back to Tears of God?”
“If we do not return fire, they will shoot out our tires. Then we will not go anywhere,” Vasily yells. He holds a gun out at me.
“Okay! Okay, goddamn it!” I snatch the gun from him. “Naomi!” I bellow, though internally I’m wincing at my voice. “Come put your hands on Daniel’s wounds right now.”
“Dirty,” she whimpers, hands over her ears.
“The sooner you do this, the sooner we get someplace safe and quiet,” I tell her, taking the safety off the gun and making my way to the back of the van as they shoot at us again.
I duck as the back window shatters. Vasily curses again, and Naomi shrieks, but she’s heading to Daniel’s side.
Good enough. I ignore the glass on the floorboards and crawl forward. I’ll pick it out of my wounds later. My sticky, bloody hands make it hard to hold the gun, but I raise it, even as the van swerves, and shoot. Two shots.
They don’t hit anything, but I’m pleased to see Hudson’s car swerve in reaction. If I can keep him off balance, I can buy us time.
“Drive fucking faster,” I yell at Vasily, and when he pumps on the gas, my body slams against the side of the van. Well, I got my wish at least. I wince as more glass digs into my feet, but I raise the gun again. If I can hit the windshield . . .
I bite my lip, use both hands to steady the gun, and start shooting. It kicks wildly with every shot, and I miss every time. Every damn time. Then, to my shock, a lucky hit pings a side mirror on the car and the mirror goes flying, and Hudson’s car swerves wildly again.
“Keep shooting,” Vasily tells me. Like I didn’t know.
I fire once more, aiming down instead of at eye level. All my shots have been going wide, so I try a different tactic.
Blam! This time his windshield shatters, and I watch his car skid.
“Yes!” I scream.
“Loud!” Naomi yells back at me.
“Sorry,” I murmur and raise the gun again. They’re still following us, but not as close now, and they’re weaving all over the narrow road.
The trigger clicks in my hand. Shit. “I’m out,” I yell at Vasily.
“We are almost there,” he calls back at me. “Hold on. We go in hot!”
I don’t even have time to ask what that means before we turn a corner so sharply that my entire body is flung against the opposite wall of the van, and I slam into a storage cabinet that rattles like it holds a million pieces of silverware. It gives me an idea, and I throw down the gun, jerk open the latched cabinet, and begin pulling out cutlery and tossing it out the window. Maybe that will buy us a bit of time or distance if it manages to hit Hudson’s car.
They shoot again, but they’re swerving madly . . . and so are we. I slam into the wall again and see stars when my face slams against the door. That’s going to hurt in the morning, but adrenaline is pumping hard, and I don’t even pause. Each handful of forks makes Hudson’s car swing wildly to the side.
Then I hear Vasily slam on the brakes, and I careen into the side of the van again. Jesus. I’m going to be black and blue from the getaway trip.
“We are here,” Vasily calls.
I stare in horror as the van comes to a stop; Hudson is still following us. “He’s still behind us,” I scream. “Vasily!”
“Good,” he says in the most brutal voice I have ever heard.
Hudson pulls right up behind us, and before I can demand that Vasily start the van again, shots ring out. The remaining windows in Hudson’s car shatter, and someone yells something in Portuguese. I see hands go up in the air.
Hudson is surrendering.
An explosive sob of relief escapes me, and I crawl back to the front of the van, to Daniel. Naomi is at his side, her hands pressing against his wounds. He’s still breathing, but he looks so pale.