Page 171 of Burn Like An Angel

“You think?” I counter.

“We fucked up, alright?”

“No! It’s not!”

“Stop, Xan,” Ripley gasps. “This isn’t his fault.”

Warner drives like a man possessed, attacking sharp turns without an ounce of hesitation. Other motorists blare their horns, narrowly avoiding being mowed down.

“Shit.” Lennox stares out the back window.

Black smoke billows into the sky behind us even after the apartment block vanishes. It must be visible for miles around. Their reckless attack is eating through the building’s cheap cladding without mercy.

“All those people.” Ripley stares out of the window numbly. “God, what about casualties?”

“Emergency services are en route.” Warner hits the handsfree, pulling up a phone number. “We can’t worry about them right now.”

Ringing fills the car as he manoeuvres his way through the traffic winding out of London. The line connects to heavy, panicked breathing.

“Warner!” Becket’s crisp voice booms. “What the fuck is going on? We’re getting reports of a fire at the safe house.”

“We need backup. I got them out. Track the car.”

Curses spew down the line.

“We’re half an hour out from your location. Goddammit!”

“Just find us, Beck. I’ll keep them safe.”

“Be careful.”

The line disconnects. Gaze locked on the rearview mirror, I study the huge, black Range Rover swerving through other cars to catch up to us.

When it passes several cars to catch up, my suspicions grow. It can’t be a coincidence. The windows are tinted too, showing a hint of multiple passengers.

“Behind us,” I call out. “We have a tail.”

“Bollocks.” Warner bangs a fist on the steering wheel.

We almost careen straight into the back of a rusted minivan as Warner slams his foot down on the accelerator. This road is cluttered with traffic. Horns blare all around us.

Swerving dangerously, the Range Rover gains on us. Warner spits another choice curse word, his eyes fluctuating between the road ahead and his mirror.

There are only two cars acting as a buffer between us, holding the Range Rover back from a hard collision. At this rate, they’ll be hot on our tail in seconds.

“You know how to use a gun?” Warner glances at me.

I have the inappropriate urge to laugh. “No! I just guessed what to do with that damn assault rifle before.”

“Well, you’re gonna have to learn on the job. Those bastards are coming for us fast.”

Gingerly accepting the weapon he passes me, I familiarise myself with the metal grip. Running a one-man, international embezzlement scheme from my keyboard didn’t exactly call for much firearms practice.

“Aim for their tyres!” Lennox suggests, gripping Ripley’s leg. “We need to get them off the road.”

“Civilians!” Warner exclaims. “Hang on.”

The engine revs, pushing the car to the max. We pull out in front of a dawdling estate car, taking a left to find a dual carriageway. The press of traffic thins out, leaving us to advance ahead in the fast lane.

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