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He doesn’t recover in time. He slams the brakes, but it’s too late to slow our momentum. We veer straight into a row of orange construction barrels. The barrels roll over and under the SUV. We jerk inside as the tires crush the barrels below. The ones on top smash the windshield and dent the roof above.
Finally, we come to an abrupt stop on the shoulder of the freeway. Smoke plumes from the engine and glass shards cover the dash and our seats. I have several nicks and scrapes and my neck hurts from the whiplash movements of the SUV.
Lovato’s worse off. He’s caught glass in his face and he’s banged up his knee in the collision. An agonized grunt leaves him as he picks a shard from his cheek.
“Get out of the car, Antonio. It’s over!” comes Gio’s commanding voice.
An uncertain second passes by in which distant sirens and the soughing wind are the only sounds playing.
Lovato snatches me up by a fistful of hair and drags me out of the SUV with him. I’m back to being a shield. His hot and rancid breath blows on me once more and I turn my head away in disgust.
The first chance I get, I’m kneeing him in the balls.
We sway on the spot as he holds me intimately to his body. “I’ve already told you. I’m not going down alone. We’re all in this deathtrap together. So go ahead and shoot—I’m blowing your girl’s brains out.”
I twist in his hold, but his arm merely tightens around me.
Gio aims his gun at Lovato, his hand as steady as a surgeon. “This is between me and you, Antonio. Face me like a man.”
“Keep the manhood bullshit for your fragile ego. I don’t need to fight fair to feel like a man. I’m a mother fucking king.” His arm travels up my body and curls around my neck. His nasty smile returns. “See, this? This is what kings do—crush skulls and snap necks. Even pretty ones.”
“Get your fucking hands off her,” Gio warns, edging closer with his gun still drawn.
“I’d hate to snap it, but this is war, Giovanni. Who ever heard of playing fair?” A sick laugh rumbles out of him. He motions to Gio’s gun with his own. “Put it down and kick it toward me or I kill her right now.”
Gio hesitates, a long and drawn out moment passing. He complies and drops his gun, giving it a kick with his shoe. It skids across the tarmac in our direction.
“Good,” Lovato says. “Now put your hands up on your head. No funny movements or she’s dead.”
I can’t take another second of this. I’m tired of struggling in his hold and watching on as he uses me as a bargaining chip. It’s time to finally make a move.
I stomp my foot down on Lovato’s and snap my head back. My skull collides hard with his chin and earns a pained howl out of him. The fight worsens from there. He backhands me with zero hesitation, sharp pain smarting across my cheek.
Gio rams into him and knocks him back into the side of the SUV. I stagger out of the way and fall hard to the ground.
All pretenses are abandoned. They grapple against the car, throwing and dodging punches.
My heart booms in my chest as I watch helplessly on the sidelines. I’m halfway considering trying to break them up, but the pistol lying feet away catches my eye. It’s Lovato’s gun that he dropped when Gio speared into him.
I glance back at them and then rush over, picking up the sleek metal weapon in my hands and straightening my arms in front of me. As Gio and Lovato thrash like two titans, I know I have to do something.
Lovato gains an advantage, jerking his elbow into Gio’s face. Gio stumbles and loses balance. Before he can push himself back up, Lovato kicks him hard in his side. He erupts in the same cruel laughter that’s become agonizingly familiar to me tonight. I can’t stand another second. I can’t let him hurt Gio or get away with this.
My finger curls around the trigger, and I squeeze hard. The pistol bangs and my wrists snap back painfully. The bullet drives into the center of Lovato’s spine. His scream is bloodcurdling as he staggers aimlessly. I squeeze the trigger again. The second bullet hits him in the back of his shoulder. The third on the side of his neck. He slumps over, folding into himself in a thickening pool of blood. The laughter’s still on his face the second his eyes go cold and he dies.
I’m shaking, my grip tight on the pistol. I’ve never shot anyone before, let alone killed anyone. My breath leaves my lungs in sharp gasps as I stare wide-eyed at his dead body.
Gio spits a mouthful of blood out, steps over Lovato’s body, and deftly slides the pistol from my hands. He stows it in the holster strapped to his waist and then pulls off his jacket, wrapping it around me. His lips touch my brow.
“Let’s get out of here,” he whispers into my skin. “My guys and the cops Rodrigo’s sending should show up any second to handle the mess.”
