Total pages in book: 115
Estimated words: 107079 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 535(@200wpm)___ 428(@250wpm)___ 357(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 107079 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 535(@200wpm)___ 428(@250wpm)___ 357(@300wpm)
I hooked the car left, and rammed them, but their car was bigger and heavier than ours, and it barely moved. Then Alison was taking off her seatbelt and climbing over me, her hair blowing in my face, her body warm against mine. She leaned out of my window, aimed low, and emptied her gun into one of their tires.
They swerved away, out of control. Alison retreated back into her own seat, panting in relief. But then I saw the SUV swerving back towards us, starting to spin. “Get your seatbelt on!” I yelled.
The SUV rushed towards us as she scrambled to get the buckle to lock in place. Then we were slammed sideways and spun around, the two cars tangled together as they pirouetted down the street. I saw a guy on a motorcycle swerve to avoid us and go tumbling off his bike. There was a series of bone-jarring thumps as we bounced off other cars, and then, finally, we stopped.
I twisted around to check on Alison. She was panting and white faced, but alive. “Are you hurt?” I demanded. “Are you hit?”
She shook her head, then pointed in front of us.
I looked. We’d come to rest just before a busy intersection. The SUV was nose-to-nose with us, and I was looking right at the driver and passenger. From their faces, they were Russian. From their builds and haircuts, former military. They were as shaken up as we were, and for a moment, we just sat there staring at each other.
Then the passenger lifted his gun. Blyat’. I looked around, but there was nowhere to hide. He’d cut us down, in or out of the car. I sat there numbly watching him reload. We were ten feet apart: he couldn’t miss.
The engine’s still running, I realized. God bless German engineering. I threw the car into gear and buried the gas pedal in the carpet, and the car leapt forward, ramming into the SUV and shoving it backwards. I kept the pedal hard down, pushing them down the street, into the intersection. I saw the gunman curse as his aim was thrown off. He took aim again, the barrel pointing right at Alison—
The SUV disappeared from view as a semi-truck crossing the intersection smashed into its side. I hit the brakes, and we screeched to a stop.
We sat there panting with adrenaline. Then I heard sirens wailing behind us. Alison turned to me. “Shit. The FBI’s still looking for me. I can’t let the cops take me in.”
We scrambled out of the car, the rain soaking us instantly. My beloved BMW was a wreck, peppered with bullet holes, every window gone, and the nose concertinaed to half its normal length. But it had kept us alive. The sirens were getting louder, rising over the hissing rain that was plastering our clothes to our bodies. Alison ran over to the motorcycle that had gotten caught up in our crash. She hauled it upright and threw her leg over it. “Get on!”
I wasn’t about to argue: it sounded like the cops were in the next street. I climbed on behind her and threw my arms around her waist. And then we were shooting forward and leaning hard into the corners as she powered down a side street and then threaded the bike through a series of alleys. We must have looked bizarre: a tiny woman leaning low atop the big sport bike and a hulking guy in a suit hanging onto her back.
The rain had made the asphalt perilously slick, but she was an expert, countering every skid. I hung on for dear life as the demon scream of the bike pounded my ears and the brick walls of the alley flashed by just inches away. This is how she gets around?! It was terrifying. But I had my body molded to hers, and the sweet smell of her hair was in my nose. If I was going to die, there was no better way to go.
The sirens faded behind us until, finally, we couldn’t hear them at all. Alison slowed the bike and brought it to a stop in a narrow alley. With the buildings so close together and the storm clouds overhead, it was twilight-dark. The rain hammered down, soaking us and turning every fire escape and outcropping into a shining waterfall.
Alison turned the engine off, and the alley was suddenly silent aside from the crashing water. She twisted around on the bike, and we stared at each other, rain sluicing down our faces. The adrenaline was still racing through my veins, making every little detail clear and bright: her rain-soaked black jeans that clung to her legs, the white blouse that was now almost transparent, the wet locks of hair that fell across her face. Without thinking, I put my big, clumsy hand on her cheek to push them out of the way, and she was so cold… I cradled her face, warming it with my palm and—