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We were walking past the long-closed bakery when I heard the screeching.
Tires on pavement going way too fast.
I really thought nothing of it.
The idiot teens often drag raced the streets at night when they were dead, something that had been going on literally as long as I could remember. The starting point used to be right outside my childhood apartment building.
Heck, it was almost comforting to me.
But that was until Cyrus' hands grabbed me, and shoved me down into an alley, pushing at me until I went down on the filthy ground, his body covering mine just in time for the bullets to start flying.
I had heard gunshots more than the average person would in their lives, which was likely somewhere around once or never. But I had grown up on gang territory, back before Paine and Enzo were too young to really even know what a gang was all about, back when the leadership was more violent, less concerned with the law or even innocent people who might get caught up in the crossfire.
But I had never heard them so close.
They sounded different.
Tucked in my bed as a child inside brick walls, they always sounded like an odd, almost soft pop pop pop.
This wasn't that. This was up close and personal. This wasn't a handgun either. This was machine-gun fire, the pops so constant that you couldn't tell one bullet apart from the next, the loudness almost deafening in the hollow alleyway.
It happened so fast that my brain couldn't quite keep up with the reaction in my body.
My pulse raced.
My heart shot up, and pounded so hard that I felt like I was choking on it.
And my stomach, well, everything in it was threatening to make another appearance.
Even so, even in a situation that was literally life or death, I still managed to notice how Cy's body was plastered to mine, how my breasts were crushed into his hard chest, how his beard was tickling the side of my face.
And - maybe this most of all - how he was using himself to completely shield me from harm.
It seemed to go on forever, time frozen to be nothing but bullets and fear, racing heartbeats, and stunted breaths.
But then, just as abruptly as it started, it ended.
We didn't move, though.
Cy stayed on me, but braced his hands beside my body, holding up some of his weight - an action that was both welcome, and unwanted somehow at the same time. On one hand, I could breathe again. On the other, he wasn't pressed against me anymore.
"Alright, I am going to assume that you aren't involved in some nefarious underground book fangirl mob," he said, attempting levity a moment later.
"Well, I mean... there are some vicious fights between the 50 Shades die-hards and the ones who think it's a pile of burning dog excrement. But those fights are of the six-page blog post variety. I don't think they want to put holes in each other in a literal way," I offered back, smiling a little, attempting to keep things light as well, even if my belly was swirling ominously.
"Then I guess we can assume those bullets were meant for me."
He moved up slowly, crouching for a second, while holding his hand out at me, palm up, silently asking me to stay before he stood up and moved toward the mouth of the alley, looking outward.
I guess seeing nothing, he turned back to me, then rushed over to reach down. "Come on, angel. We need to book it," he announced, taking my hand, and none-too-gently yanking me up onto my feet.
His hand stayed in mine, in fact, tightened.
Then he ran.
And, holding his hand, I had no choice but to run as well.
Now, um, I was pretty sure I went all the years of my life with never, ever, ever breaking out into an actual run. There had once been a small fire in Kenzi and my apartment, and I had done a brisk walk toward the door.
By the time we reached my car, I was gasping so hard that I didn't even notice that he was opening the passenger side of my car and pressing me into it.
I could barely remember to reach for my keys by the time he slid into the driver's seat.
"You have your cell on you, angel?" he asked, taking the key, and turning over my car. I handed it to him, watching as he plugged in a number and brought it up to his ear. "Yeah, I know," he said as another voice spoke to him. "A friend's," he said, and I figured they were talking about cell phones. "Listen, I was walking down the street with my friend, and a car came out of nowhere, shooting. No, yeah. No. Listen, Reeve," he said, voice a little more on-edge than I had ever heard it before. "No, that's the thing. They could have hit me or us. Easy. But they didn't. Yeah. Okay. Alright. Give me an hour or so. I will. You too."
