Page 102 of Fire for Effect

He didn’t answer Sierra’s question, but instead repeated, “I’ve got a bad feeling about this.”

So did I. I had had it for days now. The unflappable feeling that something was going to go wrong. But I didn’t say anything. Feelings did no good in this world.

But my resolve didn’t stop bad omens. Not when my phone started ringing, and my mother’s face flashed on the screen.

Griff and Sierra, the spies that they were, didn’t hide their snooping.

“Who’s the pretty lady?” Sierra asked, in her quaint little accent. “Mom?”

I stared at the screen until it went to voicemail.

My mother was very pretty. It was something that had bothered me over the years, the fact that I hadn’t inherited her looks had been a source of disappointment for me, and her. I looked like my father. Long face, square jaw, small eyes, thin lips, and long, stringy hair. I would have been a handsome man, if I’d had the good sense to be the other gender. Alas, my preconceived self didn't wait for the right kind of sperm, and I came out a disappointment from birth.

“Yes,” I said, sadly.

“We don’t talk to her?” Sierra pried.

“Knock it off,” Griff said, tightening his arm over my shoulder.

“Is this a tender spot for Wifey?” Sierra said with absolutely no remorse whatsoever. “Do we not like our mother?”

“Our mother?” I said, looking at Griff with a lifted brow. “My family is communal property?”

“Yup!” Sierra said, perking up. “Just call me Lenin, and get used to it, Wifey.”

There was clearly no logic to any of this. But there was no time to consider it, as an explosion knocked the wind right out of me.

“Rollover! Rollover! Rollover!” Sierra screamed, and I instinctively braced on anything that I could.

Noam and Griff echoed Sierra’s words as the front of the car flipped up into the air, and we were all knocked, feet over ass, as a bomb exploded beneath the engine.

Dust, dirt, particles, and debris flew through the air as the flip made my guts fall to somewhere into my ass, before settling in my throat.

“Fuck,” Griff said, as we were belted into our seats, upside down, the roof crunching below us.

I kicked my legs kicked forward, I placed my hands on the roof in an awkward, graceless, yoga-like handstand.

“Sierra?” Griff said, as his hand went out to me. “You okay?”

“They fucked up my shoes,” she said, pulling her leg towards her, and taking off a heel with a broken stiletto.

“So obviously near death,” Griff said, as he unbuckled his seat belt and twisted himself right side up. He put a hand on my shoulders and helped me down.

“They will be if I ever get my hands on them,” Sierra grumbled. “These were real Louboutins, damnit!”

“Noam?” I asked.

He didn’t answer, his head limp, his gray and black hair hanging towards the roof.

“Noam!”

I rushed to the place between us, as Sierra kicked open a passenger door.

I crawled beneath the center console, just as the sound of gunfire erupted all around us.

Chapter 27

Burn it All Down

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