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"Orders are to take them both out." A gruff voice comes from behind, startling me into silence.
I put the phone down.
My blood turns to ice.
A hitman and his honcho.
Here, for us. I slam the phone back on the hook and peek around the corner.
A man in a ball cap and leather jacket leans against the counter, chatting with the waitress.
His casual pose belies the predatory gleam in his eyes as they sweep the diner.
Panic rises in my chest, and I stumble back to the booth. "We have to go. Now."
Anthony's brow furrows. "What is it?"
I grab his arm, lowering my voice. "There's a hitman here. We're his targets."
Understanding dawns in his eyes, followed by a grim determination.
He throws some bills on the table and steers me toward the exit.
The hitman's gaze follows our movement, hand slipping under his jacket.
My heart leaps to my throat as Anthony shoves me through the door, locking it from outside as we exit.
Gunshots ring out behind us, the sharp cracks of sound spurring us into a run.
We race for the car, while the hitman tries to shoot open the door to the diner to chase us.
Anthony hands me a steak knife he had picked up on the way out.
"Slash a tire in each car we cross. That way, Atwell can’t chase us."
We slash the tires, looking behind us to ensure that the door is still locking them in.
At last, the door bangs open and Anthony grabs me.
"Forget the tires -" he yells, rushing me to the car.
Anthony unlocks the doors and pushes me inside, sliding into the driver's seat a second later.
The engine roars to life as the hitman storms out of the diner, taking aim.
As we drive off, the window on Anthony's side shatters.
Anthony ducks, and slams the gas, tires squealing as we speed away.
My heart hammers against my ribs, realization sinking in.
There's no escaping this life.
Not as long as my father and men like the hitman are around.
We're in this together, for better or for worse. And if we're going down, we're going down fighting.
We race down the empty highway, Damon Atwell’s shots still echoing in my mind.
