Page 73 of The Bonventi War
I cut down a one-way side street going in the opposite direction, and come out the other side taking a sharp left.
The dot is getting closer. Half a mile ahead. Then a quarter mile.
I can see taillights in the distance, a black sedan weaving through the deserted street. I turn my headlights off and slowly approach, closing the gap between us.
The Russians have Raven in that trunk. My Raven. Bloody, terrified.
I snap, and something primal takes over. I floor the accelerator, the engine screaming as I close the remaining distance. I don't slow down. I don't hesitate.
I slam into the side of their car at full speed.
The impact jolts through my body, metal crushing against metal with a thunderous crash. My airbags deploy, punching me in the face. I’m dazed but only for a moment. The Russians' car spins violently, tires screeching against asphalt, before coming to a stop at an awkward angle against the curb.
I shove my door open, ignoring the sharp pain in my shoulder. My gun is already in my hand as I run toward the car. Three men are inside, slowed by the impact.
I don't hesitate.
I fire through the driver's side window. The glass shatters, and the driver's head snaps back, blood spraying across the interior. Two more inside. One in the passenger seat scrambles for his weapon.
Too slow.
I put two bullets in his chest. The third Russian in the back seat is shouting into a phone, his gun already drawn. He fires wildly through the broken window, but his shots go wide.
I duck behind a light pole, using it as cover. The bullets ping off metal, too close for comfort.
"You're going to die screaming for touching her," I yell, "You piece of shit."
He fires again. This time, a bullet grazes my arm, tearing through my skin. The pain is nothing compared to the rage.
I come out from behind the post as he leans out to shoot at where I was. I put a bullet through his throat. He makes a wet, gurgling sound, hands clutching at his neck as he falls back into the seat.
I move quickly to the passenger side, where I see movement. The passenger I thought was dead is still breathing, fumbling for something.
I fire twice more and watch the darkness of death come across his eyes.
There's a brief moment of silence, broken only by my heavy breathing and the hiss of the damaged engines. Blood trickles down my arm, but I don't care.
"Raven!" I shout, moving to the trunk. "Raven, can you hear me?"
A muffled sound comes from inside, something between a sob and my name. Relief crashes through me so intensely I nearly stagger.
"I'm here, baby. I'm getting you out. Hold on." My voice is firm as I search the dead driver for the key fob. Finding nothing, I move to the passenger, patting down his pockets until I feel it.
I press the button, and the trunk pops open.
I run back and see Raven curled on her side, wrists bound with rope, a dark cloth bag over her head. Blood has seeped through in patches. The sight sends a surge of murderous rage through me all over again.
"Raven, it's me. I'm here," I say, softer now as I gently remove the bag from her head.
Her face is a mess—lip split, cheek swollen, blood crusted around her nose. But her eyes—the eyes I've come to need, lock onto mine with such raw relief it steals my breath.
"Gio," she says with teary eyes and a broken voice. "You came."
Something cracks open inside me. “You thought I’d let you get away from me this easy?”
I pull a switchblade from my pocket and cut the ropes from her wrists, rubbing the red marks they've left behind. She tries to sit up but winces, clutching her ribs.
"Easy," I murmur, holstering my gun and lifting her carefully from the trunk. She weighs almost nothing in my arms, her body trembling against mine.
