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“Then you better pray I don’t. Get moving. I mean it.”
“Bricker,” Delligatti urges him, “SWAT’s nearly here.”
Well, they took their sweet time. “Bricker,” I say gently, “trust me. Andgo.”
One more short pause, and then he gives. “Be careful, Max,” Bricker says, and I hear the concern underneath his bravado. “I’m gonna be real mad if I don’t get to see your face again.”
“Signing off,” I answer, not wanting to dwell on the warmth that floods my chest at his words. I turn off the comms and from the end of the alley, I hear tires squealing as Pony takes off. Good. I allow myself a second to savor that tiny success before considering my own predicament.
The PacSyn boys—because that’s who they are, I recognize one of them—fire blindly in my direction. I’m alone and surrounded by enemies, both PacSynandSWAT, who will be here in seconds, judging by how close the sirens are.
I steady my hand and get my sights trained on the padlock of the door opposite me. I told Bricker I was out; that wasn’t entirely true. I have one bullet left.
One chance.
I breathe out as I take the shot, and the clasp holding the padlock explodes, splintering the wood of the door. The shot makes the PacSyn men duck down, and I run before they can regroup, right through the now-open door.
There’s no way to block the door on the other side, so I keep running, making my way through the empty building, trying to find either a hiding place or, better yet, an unsecured exit. This level is an old office suite. There’s no furniture or decoration, just dust and forgotten cubicles. The windows are papered over, which makes it nice and dark inside.
I duck down behind a cubicle wall and take a few seconds to catch my breath, get my bearings. But only seconds later I hear PacSyn barging through the same door I came in.
I need a way out.
Fast.
I move quickly through the building, searching for an unlocked exit while keeping an ear out for my pursuers. Finally I come across a side door that looks like it hasn’t been used in years, but when I push against it, something shifts and the door swings open with a quiet creak.
The street outside is empty—for now—so I slip out quietly, and then I run like hell.
* * *
It’s past sundown once I finally make my way back to the house in the Valley. If I’d had a phone, things would have gone faster.
But I don’t have a phone.
As I walk tiredly up the broken concrete pathway, the front door swings open, revealing Bricker’s broad-shouldered figure silhouetted against the dim interior.
“Max, you motherfucker,” he says, relief evident in his voice as he yanks me inside. “You got nine lives or something? How thefuckdid you get out of there?”
I brush off his concern as he pulls me into the room. “You didn’t think I’d let you have all the fun, did you?”
They’re all still there, even Honeybee, who flies across the room to hug me so tight I think I might die today after all, of asphyxiation. “Okay, okay,” I say, patting her awkwardly. “Let’s not make a fuss.”
“Fuss?” Honeybee sobs. She’s really upset. “Max, you’re ahero.”
I cringe at that. “Knock it off,” I tell her gently, pulling her limpet-like arms from around my neck. “Come on, now, let me breathe. And let me have a goddamn drink.”
That gets them laughing, instead of staring at me with an awe that makes me uncomfortable. Rook runs to get me some leftover pizza, which I’m hungry enough to eat, and Jazz twists off the top of a beer bottle and practically tips it down my throat. Tank and Delligatti are the only ones who stay quiet. Delligatti stays over in the corner, cleaning his gun, while Tank watches Delligatti.
The tension must have been tight, based on how raucous the laughter and chatter is now. But the plain fact is, the job went wrong.
And that’s a problem.
But Bricker, sitting next to me as I eat and drink in silence, lets them joke and laugh, acting like they pulled it off. I guess they got the money, at least, because partway through Rook grabs out a handful of bills from a duffel bag and makes it rain over Honeybee, ignoring Nico’s glare.
“Max, I…” Bricker drops his voice, the playful facade slipping for a moment to reveal something far more troubled. “You saved my ass, no question. Thank you.”
“Anytime.”
