Page 78 of The Wicked
Elio glanced at me. “You’re awfully excited.”
“I am.”
He shook his head, focusing on the road again. “You’re unhinged.”
I nodded with a grin. “I am.”
He cut through the intersection, driving a few distances before entering the market. People were out, all right. It was busy, with sounds of chatter and music in the air as people shopped while some got out of the way, seeing our bullet-designed car—speaking of bullets, they ricocheted in the air once more.
“Fucking Russians,” Elio cursed.
I reloaded. “Like a fucking bone in the throat,” I added, angling myself towards the window, and shot back at them. “Get out of the way!” I yelled to people as Elio stepped on the gas again, knocking out some food stands by the road. “Get out of the fucking way!”
My gaze shifted to the side mirror. “Duck!” I yelled to Elio when bullets came flying into the car from behind.
“Still think breaking the rear windshield was a good idea?” he asked.
“Shut up!” My adrenaline spiked high.
I risked shooting out the window again, getting my aim right as I fired at the car’s front tire, missing the first time but getting it right on the second try.
The pursuer’s car lost balance, ramming into a market stall, but another one was on our tail.
The guy was quick, firing three shots at once. Two missed me, and the other would have gotten into my arm had Elio not turned at just about the right time.
“Shit,” I cursed, pain sweeping past my arm as I got into the car again, blood oozing from the wound.
Elio’s gaze shifted from the rearview to me. “It got you?”
“Just a graze.”
He groaned in frustration. “Can you handle the wheel?”
“Not as good as you.”
“Can you handle the fucking wheel, Sport!”
“Yeah, yeah, I can.”
He left control of the car, and we switched positions with mild difficulty, and briefly, just briefly, my mind acknowledged that we—kind of—worked well together.
He worked the guns with ease, entering into his element. Then he paused, staring at the weapon in his hand.
“What the fuck are you doing?” I held the wheel steady, eyes alternating between the market road and him.
He sucked in a deep breath. “Slow down.”
“What?”
He looked at me. “Slow down.” His voice was calm, too calm.
I slowed down, and he angled his body to the window, completely exposing himself while aiming the gun at our attackers, concentration lining his brows.
One shot.
Two shots.
Three shots.
