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My men will be driving in our direction. I just have to hold this son of a bitch off long enough for them to return.
“How do you think you will take down the rest of the families in Chicago, even with my territory?”
I need to keep him talking.
Ella’s hand clutches mine so hard as she remains behind me. I know she’s scared, but I’m not letting anything happen to her. I’d die before she comes to any harm.
Alex gives me a smug smirk. “You think I’m going to tell you my plan?” He laughs again and shakes his head. “I’m not that stupid.”
The roar of an engine tells me that the van is close.
Alex’s eyes narrow when he hears it.
And then it speeds into the clearing where we’re standing. The only issue is the dogs, but as the van approaches, they run away out of fear.
Frederico slides open the side of the van. “Get in!”
Alex shoots at the van, trying to take out the tires, but he’s a terrible shot.
I help Ella inside and then jump up myself, glaring back at Alex. “You are going to regret this, Vishekov.”
He shoots at me, and I dodge out of the way, the bullet embedding itself in the metal carcass of the van.
“Drive!” I growl.
Frederico slams his foot on the accelerator, and I have to hold on not to fall out of the van. Once I can’t see Alex anymore, I slam the door shut.
“The bastard will be after us. We need to get out of the city fast.”
Oleg nods. “Already on it. Jet is fueled and ready to take off when we get to the airstrip.”
“Good.” I nod in response. “But we need a nurse onboard.”
Viktor clears his throat. “I can pull a favor and get one to the airstrip.”
“Do it,” I reply, feeling oddly thankful that Spartak’s men are here. Two of my men are badly injured, and I can’t help but feel the guilt build that we had to leave Antoni back there.
It wasn’t my fault, but I still can’t shake the feeling. Antoni won’t get a proper burial. He’s been a loyal follower for twenty years and deserved better.
“Shit,” Frederico says.
I stand and lean over the driver’s seat. “What’s wrong?”
“A car is tailing us.”
The rearview mirror shows a sleek, black sedan closing in on us fast. Its headlights are a pair of fierce, predatory eyes in the dark - unblinking, unyielding. Frederico’s knuckles turn white on the steering wheel, but he doesn’t say a thing. He doesn’t need to. The tension in the van is a living, breathing entity, wrapping itself around us.
“Remy,” Ella’s voice is barely a whisper. “They’re catching up.”
“I see it,” I growl, my gaze not leaving the mirror. The sedan’s bumper is almost kissing our rear bumper now. It swerves left, then right, trying to find an opening. A weakness. A moment of hesitation.
But Frederico is on fire tonight. He’s driving like a man possessed, swerving and accelerating, braking and accelerating again. I can feel the engine’s vibrations under my feet, each pulse a testament to our struggle for survival.
“Remy, do something!” Ella’s voice startles me out of my trance, her fear starkly contrasting the adrenaline surging through me.
“Frederico,” I say, my voice steady. “Push it harder.”
He doesn’t hesitate. He nods, and I see him brace himself against the steering wheel. The van surges forward, and I hear the engine screaming in protest. But Frederico pushes it harder until we’re hurtling down the road like a bullet, dodging obstacles.
