Total pages in book: 149
Estimated words: 142050 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 710(@200wpm)___ 568(@250wpm)___ 474(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 142050 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 710(@200wpm)___ 568(@250wpm)___ 474(@300wpm)
“Go!” he barked at L.W.
The guy glanced at him as Shuli stomped on the brake and put the engine in drive with a punch of his finger.
And that’s when the heir to the throne lost his damn mind.
L.W. drew his arm back, shattered the rest of the backseat window with one blow, and dove into the rear end.
“Now go!” he shot back.
Shuli hit the accelerator and swung the car around in a tight circle, the deflated airbag flapping, his free hand struggling for a grip because the steering wheel was greased up with black blood. As the headlights pulled a parabola, they eyeballed an immediate problem. Two patrol cars were parked side by side in the middle of his intended escape route. The robots that went with them were temporarily taking cover behind the vehicles, but that was going to change quick.
There was one piece of good news.
The lights also illuminated Rhamp—who, instead of heading up, up, and away to wherever he thought his sister was, had taken a position around the corner of the restaurant at the end of the block. Behind those cops.
The male flashed three fingers.
Then he pulled the pin of a grenade out with his teeth, and tossed that thing like the trunks of those squad cars had bull’s-eyes on them.
As L.W. started discharging bullets the size of bowling balls out the back window of the Toyota, Shuli began the countdown: “One one thousand, two one thousand, three one thousand—”
He shoved his shitkicker all the way into the gas pedal, and bless the Camry or whatever the fuck it was, but somehow those front tires found the only patch of clear asphalt in the goddamn city. They shot forward just as the grenade’s explosion parted the way, the shock wave lifting both patrol vehicles onto their outer tires, the fireball a curtain of heat that licked at the Toyota as the shit box tore the flames in half.
As soon as they were out the other side, the sirens of more approaching law enforcement bloomed even over the wind that barged through the car’s interior—and the fact that the chemical-scented smoke didn’t clear out of the cockpit meant the shit wasn’t from the grenade, but because something in the engine had sprung a critical leak.
He glanced up into the rearview. On the far side of L.W.’s bulk, he caught a quick glimpse of the pair of burning cop cars flopping back down onto their all fours. And what do you know, the other cop-bots who’d fallen into pursuit got tangled in that bottleneck of their comrades.
But there were incoming ones about to Tokyo drift around the corner up ahead—and they were going to fill in the gaps, unfortunately.
“Hold on to something,” he hollered.
No countdown to three this time. He stomped on the brakes, wrenched the bloody wheel to the right, and hit the R button on the dash. Hitting the gas and cranking around to see out the back, he shot them in reverse into an alley that was so narrow, sparks flew from the side mirrors streaking down the brick flanks of the tight-squeeze buildings—
“Dumpster!” L.W. hollered over the breeze. “Twenty-five feet and closing.”
Shuli shoved his shitkicker onto the brake again, and looked out across the hood. Blue lights were flickering all over the street he’d gotten off of—and they were going to come up to the alley in a matter of seconds.
“Dematerialize,” he shouted as the car shimmied between the brick walls until it came to a halt on the ice. “I’ll find somewhere to hide—”
He grabbed for the door handle and—
Thunk!
Great. There was no opening the doors.
“L.W., you gotta—” When he didn’t get any response, he twisted back around.
Naturally, L.W. was ignoring him as the male reloaded his guns, slamming magazines into both his nines.
“Dematerialize, motherfucker! I’ll figure something out—”
Ignoring the protests—as usual—L.W. started squeezing through the rear window frame. “Follow me.”
Shuli looked down to the head of the alley again—and saw speeding patrol cars pass by, going in the direction of the scene. Where, for sure, they’d get to the bottleneck, back up, and figure out the alley escape soon enough.
“You gotta go—”
When had L.W. ever listened to anybody, though? As soon as the fighter managed to extrude himself out of the Toyota’s ass, he wheeled around and leaned back in. With impatience, he motioned to Shuli.
“Gimme your hand.”
Shuli followed the command partially because he was surprised the guy wasn’t fucking him off. And then it was a case of—
“Ow! Fuck! Slow down—”
Now he knew what birth was like.
That was all he thought of as he was pulled out on a oner, his body scraping between the front seats, bumping over the backseat, squeezing through the window frame, and landing on the trunk.
The next thing he knew, he was up on L.W.’s shoulders, and they were on the move. Which was about as comfortable as having a sledgehammer massage.