Page 43 of Over the Edge

I laughed. Couldn’t help it. Wild, shaken, and electric. “Pull up alongside it!”

He spared a glance over his shoulder. “What’s the plan?”

“Boom!” I shouted, already reaching into my tactical belt for the compact grenade I’d stashed there.

Flynn shot me a look of disbelief as he accelerated, bringing us alongside the massive vehicle. “You’re carrying explosives? Since when?”

“Since always.” I pulled the safety pin with my teeth, holding the spoon in place. “Get me closer to his window.”

“I think I might love you,” Flynn said and swerved the bike dangerously close to the truck, our knees nearly brushing the metal panels.

The driver spotted us, his eyes widening in alarm. He jerked the wheel toward us, trying to force us off the road. Flynn anticipated the move, dropping back just enough to avoid being pancaked before accelerating again. We were neck and neck with the cab now, close enough that I could see the sweat beading on the driver’s forehead, the whites of his knuckles as he gripped the wheel.

I released the spoon, counted two heartbeats, and hurled the grenade through the driver’s open window.

“Go!” I screamed, thumping Flynn’s shoulder.

He didn’t need to be told twice. The motorcycle surged forward as he twisted the throttle to its maximum, putting distance between us and the truck. Three seconds later, a deafening boom split the night. The truck swerved violently, careening sideways before tipping onto its side with a screech of metal against asphalt.

“Nice throw.” Flynn cut the bike in a tight arc, circling back toward the crash site. Smoke billowed from the cab, flames licking around the edges of the shattered windshield.

I jumped off the bike and ran over to the truck. The cargo container door was ajar, one of the hinges blown clean off by the blast. Inside, black carbon-fiber crates were stacked floor to ceiling, secured with industrial strapping that had partially broken free in the crash. I had no idea if Sentinel was on board or not, but, either way, this shit wasn’t going to end up in Moreau’s auction.

“We need to move,” Flynn called, scanning the street. “Moreau’s men can’t be far behind.”

I climbed into the container, my boots crunching on broken glass. I pulled “Give me sixty seconds.”

Flynn hesitated. “What are you doing?”

“We can’t risk any of this tech making it to the auction.” I placed charges all along the interior of the truck, working quickly, muscle memory taking over. Thirty seconds in, I heard sirens in the distance.

“Siren, we’ve got incoming!” Flynn shouted.

I glanced over my shoulder to see headlights cutting through the smoke. Not the authorities. Not yet. The black vehicles were all Moreau’s security. I set the final charge and jumped out of the truck.

“How much C4 are you carrying?” Flynn asked as he took my hand and yanked me toward the bike.

“None now.”

“Yep, I’m definitely in love. You’re the perfect woman. Marry me.”

“You’re full of shit.” I rolled my eyes and swung onto the bike behind him. “Ninety-second timer,” I reminded. “Move!”

Flynn twisted the throttle, and the motorcycle shot forward just as the first SUV screeched to a halt beside the overturned truck.

We tore away from the scene, engine roaring as we wove through the labyrinth of Monte Carlo’s streets. Flynn took corners so tight my knee nearly scraped the pavement, but I trusted his control implicitly, my body moving with his like we’d been riding together for years.

Behind us, the night sky erupted in a blinding flash of orange and white. The concussive blast hit us seconds later, a wall of sound and pressure that rattled windows and car alarms for blocks. The motorcycle wobbled beneath us as Flynn fought to maintain control.

“Jesus Christ, Lyric,” he shouted over his shoulder, laughter in his voice. “What did you use? That was no standard-issue charge!”

“Modified thermite compound,” I called back, my arms tightening around his waist. “Burns hot enough to melt most circuitry. Whatever was in that truck is slag now.”

A few more blocks and we ditched the bike. I hit the ground running, lungs burning, adrenaline still roaring through my veins like fire. Flynn was right there with me. We made it three blocks before ducking into an underground parking garage, disappearing into the shadows just as a set of headlights swept past the entrance.

The only sounds were our harsh breathing and the distant drip of water echoing off concrete. Every footstep, every shift, bounced off the walls tenfold, amplifying everything. We ducked behind a support pillar. I tried to steady my breathing, but my hands were shaking. The adrenaline was ebbing and leaving a mess behind. I tried to cover it by checking my weapon.

Flynn noticed immediately. Of course he did. He caught my wrist before I could hide it. “Breathe, princess. You’re crashing.”

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