She hesitates. “Lucio?—”
“Stay the fuck down.”
She listens.
I press harder on the gas, the tires screeching against the pavement. The SUV speeds up to match, gaining on us.
I roll down the window, one hand steady on the wheel, the other lifting my gun.
I fire. Once. Twice. Three times.
The SUV swerves, the driver trying to dodge, but I see one of the bullets hit the windshield, cracking it. I press the gas harder, pushing the car to its limits.
They don’t stop. Neither do I.
We drive for hours, weaving through backroads, cutting through highways, dodging traffic.
Every time they get close, I fire again.
Finally, after the fifth shot, after pushing the car too fast for too long, they drop back and disappear into the night. I keep driving, white-knuckling the wheel, my pulse a fucking drum in my chest.
Princess slowly sits up, breathing unevenly. She looks at me, wide-eyed, lips parted.
“Lucio—”
I cut her off. “I fucking told you not to contact me.”
She flinches, her throat bobbing.
I exhale, dragging a hand down my face. “They know you’re missing now. If they didn’t know before, they do now.”
She doesn’t respond. Because she knows she just made things a whole lot worse.
And now? Now, we’re running for real.
The road is empty,nothing but endless asphalt and shadows stretching ahead.
The SUV is gone. Disappeared. But my grip on the wheel is still tight, my jaw clenched so hard it aches.
We shouldn’t have gotten out of that. They should have kept coming. Should have forced me off the road. Should have taken her from me and ended this fucking mess before it got any worse.
But they didn’t. And that means this isn’t over.
They’re regrouping. They’re waiting. And we’re still running.
The silence between us is thick, tense, drowning.
Then I hear it. A sharp breath. A choked sound.
I flick my gaze to the passenger seat.
She’s crying. Softly, at first. Then the dam fucking breaks. Her shoulders shake, her hands gripping her knees so hard herknuckles turn white. Her breath comes in sharp, uneven pulls, the sound like a goddamn knife pressing into my ribs.
I bite down on my own frustration, my own fucking helplessness.
I shouldn’t care. I shouldn’t give a fuck that she’s falling apart beside me. But I do. I fucking do.
She presses her hands to her face, her voice muffled, broken. “You need to give me up.”