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Arnie is only one man. There were at least four other people out there. I try not to think about those odds as I begin counting the leaves on the branches above.
After what feels like an eternity, I hear footsteps. My entire body tenses, bracing myself for the worst.
“Roisin?” Arnie’s voice calls out.
I step out of my hiding spot with short-lived relief. Arnie stands before me, drenched in splattered blood and sweat. What’s left of his shirt has been torn on one side, and his arm seems to have sustained a slash that oozes a horrible, dark red.
“Oh my God.” I stagger forward.
“Come, we need to leave. Now.” Arnie pulls a gun from his back pocket and hands it to me. “You know how to use it?”
I unload and reload the Glock with ease, suddenly very grateful that Aimee took me to the gun range so many times. Now that I think about it, perhaps she did it for this very reason.
Satisfied, Arnie loads up his own gun and resumes his grip on my hand. He begins pulling me forward once more, expertly navigating the forest until we reach the other side. The sleek black sports car is like a beacon of hope as we leave the tree line.
BANG.
Another gunshot flies over my shoulder. Arnie fires back.
We’re so close now.
BANG.
This time, it comes from the other side. I turn to see a balding man smirk as he takes aim again.
BANG.
The gun reverberates in my hand after I pull the trigger. In horror, I watch the balding man sink to his knees.
“Get in!” Arnie snaps, not giving me any time to process what I’ve just done.
I don’t argue. The doors swing up in front of me and I throw myself in.
The engine roars to life a second later. Arnie spins the car on the handbrake and hits the gas.
BANG. BANG. BANG.
Someone shoots at my window as we accelerate away. But the bullets ricochet from the glass and Arnie lets out a whoop in relief.
I stick my middle finger up at the window for good measure.
“That was fucking insane,” I say, an octave or two higher than usual.
“Glad I went bulletproof.” Arnie glances in the rearview and grimaces. “But we’re not out of the woods yet.”
I turn in my seat to see two blacked-out SUVs hot on our trail.
“Who the hell are these guys?” I say as they seem to speed up. “Mafia?”
“Dead Eyes.”
“What?”
The SUVs begin to catch us, each taking a side in an attempt to box us in. But Arnie puts his foot flat on the floor, and the engine seems to explode with energy. I’m thrown back in my seat as we finally hit the highway up ahead.
“Duffys. Padraic, I think,” Arnie clarifies. “We must have a mole at the warehouse.”
“You think?!”
