Page 41 of Over the Edge

“Floor it,” Flynn said, his voice steady despite the bullets pinging off our rear quarter panel.

I did. The Audi surged forward, engine screaming as we shot toward the narrowing gap. Metal scraped against metal as we squeezed through with inches to spare, the side mirror snapping clean off against the gate.

“Jesus,” Flynn breathed, twisting to look back at our pursuers. “That was close.”

“We’re not clear yet.” I kept my eyes fixed on the truck’s taillights ahead. It was moving fast down the coastal road, weaving through late-night traffic with surprising agility for its size.

Flynn checked his weapon and flashed me a grin that made heat pool low in my belly. “Admit it. You’re having fun.

“I’m working,” I shot back, but couldn’t quite keep the smile from my voice.

“Yeah, you are, and it’s so fucking hot.”

There was something undeniably seductive about the way he watched me work, like every calculated risk I took was foreplay. I swerved around a delivery van, gaining ground on the transport.

“Save the dirty talk for when we’re not being shot at,” I said, but my body disagreed, already humming with anticipation beneath my tactical gear.

“We’re not being shot at right now.”

The rear window exploded in a shower of glass, bullets punching into the upholstery.

“You had to jinx it,” I snapped, ducking lower in my seat as I swerved hard to avoid another spray of bullets.

A sleek black SUV had materialized behind us, its high beams flooding our interior with harsh white light. The passenger leaned out the window, rifle raised.

Flynn twisted in his seat, returning fire through our shattered rear window. “Two hostiles, heavily armed. Driver’s trying to get alongside us.”

“I see them.” I cut across two lanes, causing a chorus of angry horns. The transport truck was still ahead, moving with surprising speed. “We need to lose our tail without losing the truck.”

“Leave that to me.” Flynn reached into his tactical vest and pulled out what looked like a golf ball with a blinking red light.

“What’s that?”

“Another of Ozzy’s toys.” He opened the sunroof, wind whipping through the car. “Don’t tell him I borrowed this one, either. Take the next right.”

I yanked the wheel hard, tires screeching as we careened onto a narrow side street. The sedan followed, gaining ground now that we were off the main road.

“On my mark, spike the breaks,” Flynn said and pulled himself through the sunroof.

“Oh my God. Don’t get shot.”

“Would you be sad?”

“No, I would be pissed. You?—”

“Now!”

I slammed on the brakes. The Audi fishtailed, and in that moment of controlled chaos, Flynn hurled the device directly under our pursuers’ car. Three seconds later, an electromagnetic pulse fried their electronics. The sedan veered wildly off course and crashed into a row of parked scooters, its engine dead.

“Go!” Flynn shouted, dropping back into his seat.

I floored it, tires screaming as we shot back toward the main road. “We’re going to lose the truck.”

“Not with the way you drive, Siren. Gun it.”

Heat curled through me at the compliment and pushed the Audi harder, the engine protesting as we took the next turn too fast. The truck’s taillights glowed ahead, distant but not gone. Not yet.

Then a flash of movement in the rearview caught my eye.

---