Total pages in book: 88
Estimated words: 84763 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 424(@200wpm)___ 339(@250wpm)___ 283(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 84763 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 424(@200wpm)___ 339(@250wpm)___ 283(@300wpm)
The man’s head jerks backward. Well, what’s left of it does.
I scream as blood and brains splatter the window, the back windshield, all over me. My face, my already ruined dress.
“Mother fucker,” Enzo says, taking aim at the one to my left who has just gotten his weapon in hand. I guess he didn’t expect trouble because he’s slow and Enzo has no trouble taking him out.
More blood. Another slumped body. Me screaming.
The driver mutters a curse as Enzo leaps across to take the wheel.
“I told you to stay on the fucking highway!” He jerks it, pushing the button to release the driver’s seatbelt before reaching over to open his door.
I grab hold of the seat in front of me as the car swerves sharply off the road, bouncing over the barrier as the driver is ejected, his scream sharp, the sound of his body hitting the asphalt muted by my own scream.
Enzo maneuvers himself into the driver’s seat, the SUV bounding the door still open. He slows the vehicle, glancing at me in the rear-view mirror.
“You all right?”
I nod. When I lick my lips, I taste blood I’m pretty sure isn’t mine. His phone rings then, but it must be on the floor of the passenger seat. He ignores it and it stops ringing then starts again right away. Enzo is focused on getting the car back on the road, but as soon as he does, as soon as we’re back on, I know this isn’t over. I know something is very wrong. Because three sets of headlights turn on out of nowhere ahead of us and three more come up behind.
“It’s a fucking ambush,” Enzo mutters. “Hold on!” He hits the gas, and I slam against the back seat, but I know there’s nowhere to go. I know they have six vehicles, and we have one on a road where we’re trapped. However Enzo managed what he just managed, we’re not getting out of this.
As if to prove me right, one of the cars behind us slams into us.
I scream again and Enzo curses, yells at me to hold on. But I know this is as fast as our SUV will go. The driver of the other vehicle does it again and this time, one of the others pulls up right alongside us and when I look over, I think I recognize the man in the driver’s seat. I think it’s Rami. As if to confirm, he turns to give me a wide, gold-toothed grin, just before slamming into the side of our SUV. Fucking bastard.
Enzo has no choice, but to slow as he approaches the barricade of vehicles blocking the road, but he doesn’t. He hits the gas instead.
“Enzo, what are you doing?” I scream, gripping the edge of the front seats for dear life. But just before we hit them, just as those cars chasing us match their speed to ours, he slams the breaks. Tires scream, and I scream and watch as two of their SUVs slam into two of the vehicles blocking the road ahead.
Enzo just watches the fireball that lights up the sky and hits the gas again, turning the SUV around, but it’s not time to celebrate a victory yet. We aren’t victorious. And before he can get the SUV turned around, the last car chasing us slams into us sending us spinning off the road, Enzo’s grip on the steering wheel unable to keep him in the driver’s seat, the force of the crash sending him across the passenger seat, his head colliding with the window, shattering it, as the SUV finally crashes into a tree and jerks to a stop at the side of the road.
“Enzo? Enzo!” I call out, dazed, but somehow conscious, somehow unhurt. Although I can’t tell if any of the blood covering me is mine and it may be shock that has me shaking, but not feeling pain.
I undo my seatbelt, look over the front seat at Enzo’s slumped form.
“Enzo?”
Nothing. I don’t know if he’s dead or unconscious, but it doesn’t matter because I see the four men in balaclavas approaching with machine guns. I see them and I reach for the gun the soldier next to me struggled to get out of its holster and tug. Enzo’s phone rings. It’s such a normal sound in all this chaos. This blood and death.
I manage to free the gun just as one of the men opens my door, machine gun slung over one shoulder.
I point my weapon at him, my hand shaking so hard.
But then he pulls his balaclava off and it’s Michael.
“Bet you didn’t think I had it in me, did you?” he asks.
“Michael.”
He must have been in the one car that didn’t go up in flames or maybe another car off in the distance because he isn’t bloodied or remotely disheveled and I’m not sure he even knows how to operate that gun on his shoulder.