Page 102 of Gilded Saint

I lean forward, doing exactly what he says.

A bullet splinters the side mirror. I scream.

“Stay down.”

Leo holds a gun in his hand.

He’s driving like a madman.

The tires screech. Shots pierce the air.

The back window shatters.

“What the fuck?” he shouts.

“God dammit!”

He’s so loud, it’s as if he’s shouting at the gods.

“Hold on. Do you hear me? Willow, hold on.”

I close my eyes. The sirens return. Louder than before. A screeching of tires infiltrates the car. We maintain forward motion. Boom. My body snaps forward.

A loud crashing sound overtakes every other noise. I’m jerked, and my neck whips. The seatbelt cuts into my collarbone. Something big and fast explodes into my face. It takes a second to register, but it’s the airbags on my front and side. My ears ring. Dots mar my vision.

We dip forward, floating, sailing through the air. My stomach remains somewhere up on the road, high above.

The seat belt is so tight against me that when we crash, slamming into water, my head moves but not my body. Dazed, I’m still—frozen in time until water bubbles around the windows.

“We’ve got to get out of here!” I screech. The back window is out. We’re going to sink like a stone.

Leo’s hand covers mine. “Willow. I’m so sorry. It wasn’t supposed to be like this.”

Muddy brown water climbs over the windows.

He’s not doing anything.

He’s sitting there.

Still.

Glassy eyes.

He’s giving up.

His mouth moves, muttering nonsense.

“No,” I plead.

I unsnap my seatbelt, pushing against the airbags for space.

We can swim out the back.

We need to get out of here.

I can barely see out of the vehicle, but I can tell we’re moving. The stream is moving us.

Fast.

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