Then corrected.
Still coming.
“Lucas!” I barked.
“Trying to lose them!” he yelled from the cab.
The truck fishtailed hard left.
A scream ripped through the truck bed.
Children tumbled sideways. One of the mothers slammed into the wall with a cry.
And Olivia moved before anyone else did.
She caught a little boy by the shirt before he hit the metal floor. Her shoulder slammed into the side of the truck instead, but she barely reacted. She shoved herself back upright, grabbing for the next child as the truck bounced again.
“It’s okay,” she said, breathless, pulling a crying girl against her chest. “Look at me, sweetheart. You’re okay.”
The girl buried her face against Olivia’s shirt.
Olivia’s voice trembled.
Her hands didn’t.
Another burst of gunfire cracked behind us.
Rounds chewed into the dirt beside the truck.
One slammed into the tailgate with a deafening bang.
The children screamed.
“What is happening?” Olivia shouted over the chaos.
“Bad guys with commitment issues,” I muttered, firing again.
The recoil punched into my shoulder.
One of the pursuing trucks veered sideways, tires throwing gravel into the air.
Didn’t stop them.
Didn’t even slow them down much.
The engine roared louder as Lucas shoved us over uneven terrain. The truck launched over a ridge hard enough to throw everyone airborne for half a second.
A small boy cried out.
Olivia dropped instantly over him, shielding his body with hers before he hit the floor.
My jaw tightened.
Most people ducked when bullets started flying.
Protected themselves first.
Not her.
