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“Driver of the third truck is out,” Grayson says, just as Carver takes a sharp right-hand turn onto an empty, deserted road, flinging me across the floor space of the ruined SUV.
“We’ll lose the rest down here,” Carver grunts.
I adjust myself on the backseat, holding my gun tightly as we lose another truck, leaving just three behind us. The flood of bullets coming our way begins to ease.
The panic settles in my chest and I find myself raising up on my knees, my curiosity getting the best of me. My head peeks out over the back of the seat and I get a look at the three angry trucks bearing down on us. Masked men hang out the windows, their guns aimed right for us, wildly shooting as Grayson and King lay across the trunk, shooting right back with skilled precision.
Cruz glances my way. “The fuck do you think you’re doing?” he demands, shoving his hand right in my face and throwing me back down into the floor space. “Are you feeling a bullet through the head today?”
I push his hand away and climb back to my knees. “Let me up,” I snap. “I can help.”
“No offense, babe. But you can’t.”
Frustration pulses through me. “I can.”
“How?” he throws back. “Are you going to shoot through the back seat, hope like fuck that you don't hit one of the guys and then somehow manage to land a shot? I don’t think so, babe. I’ll teach you to shoot once I know your ass is safe.”
I push his hand off me and he lets it fall to his bag of goodies, grabbing a grenade and passing it back to the guys. Grayson takes it without hesitation, yanking the little thing off the top with his teeth, and launching it out the back window.
The grenade flies free and I watch with my mouth hanging open as it lands right through the sunroof of the middle truck and instantly explodes, taking another truck out of the race. But not a second later, a bullet pierces through Carver’s window and shatters the glass all over his lap.
“Holy shit,” I breathe, knowing that Cruz has a point. I’m so far out of my league, it’s not funny.
Carver glances back to see my head peeking out again and he groans low, his frustration quickly getting the best of him. He slams hard on the brakes and I go flying right through to the front of the SUV.
Carver’s hand snaps out and catches me before my back slams against the hard dashboard, and before I can even call him an asshole, I’m pushed down into the footwell under the dash.
The sudden stop has the trucks instantly catching up. Carver slams his foot back down on the gas and swerves the SUV to the right, shoving the guy beside us right off the road and down into a deep ditch.
Cruz laughs. “YES. Four down, two to go.”
I try to peer through the middle to see out the back but Carver quickly pushes me back, his hold nowhere near as easy to break as Cruz’s was. “Fucking hell,” I grumble. “This is getting old fast.”
“Tough shit,” Carver grunts. “Being cramped beats a fucking bullet to the head any day.”
I roll my eyes. He’s right. This is definitely better than the alternative.
The shooting gets more insistent, but with the two remaining trucks so much closer, the boys are able to get cleaner shots. King shoots out the tires of the truck on the right and despite not being able to see it, I hear as it goes screeching into a tailspin behind us before the truck flips and rolls.
“Fuck yeah,” King howls with laughter. “Did you see that?”
“No,” I mutter under my breath.
With only one truck left, the boys throw everything they have at it, working together as a team as Carver watches closely through the rearview mirror, dodging and swerving every shot they take.
I hear sirens in the distance and I stare up at Carver with wide eyes. “Cops,” I panic.
He shakes his head, keeping his eyes on the road. “They won’t catch us,” he says, the conviction in his tone immediately easing my fears.
I put my head against my knees, feeling safer under the dash than I had in the back. Perhaps it’s the smaller space, who knows, but up here, I’m able to breathe. Don’t get me wrong, if Carver accidentally rams headfirst into a tree and crushes me in here, I’m going to be pissed.
The boys work tirelessly in the back of the SUV exchanging gunfire and absolutely dominating. “Come on,” Carver encourages. “Our turn is coming up.”
The boys groan and grunt from the trunk, giving everything they’ve got to save our lives, and as the tension rises and the seconds tick by, I find myself peering up and watching again. Grayson’s muscles bulge with every shot he takes as King leans back against the side of the SUV, getting the best angle possible.
