Page 73 of Rescuing Ember

We move toward the exit, our pace quickening with renewed purpose. For a moment, the weight lifts—just enough to feel like we might actually have a shot at getting out of this.

Then I see it—a blur in the corner of my eye. Instinct tightens in my gut, my blood running cold. I turn, my heart slamming into my ribs.

A figure, massive and unmistakable.

Bruiser.

Shit. How the hell did he find us?

“Run.” The word rips from my throat as I grab Ember’s hand, adrenaline hitting hard.

We bolt for the stairs. Footsteps pound behind us, heavy, fast. Closer with every step.

We burst onto the street. The sunlight stings, blinding after the dimness of the station.

“This way.” Ember yanks me down a side street, her grip tight.

How the hell did he track us through the subway?

We round a corner. I steal a glance over my shoulder.

Shit. Correction—pursuers. Bruiser’s not alone. Two men flank him. All armed.

“We can’t outrun them forever,” Ember pants, breathless and pale.

She’s right. We need a plan. Fast.

I scan the street, and up ahead—an alley. Narrow. Dark. No way out. But that’s not a disadvantage—it’s an opportunity. I need something I can control.

“There.” I point. “We can bottleneck them.”

We sprint into the alley, the walls closing in tight. The footfalls behind us grow louder.

Closer.

I glance down at my sidearm. One magazine loaded, another half-full. Limited ammo. No room for mistakes.

“Stay behind me.” My voice is low, urgent. I push Ember further down the alley, positioning her out of sight behind a dumpster. It’s not perfect, but it’ll keep her safe.

I plant myself in the middle of the alley, heart pounding, every muscle coiled. The narrow space works in my favor. They’ll have to come at me head-on. Bruiser and his men might have numbers, but they can only come at me one at a time.

Perfect.

I check the sight on my sidearm, gripping it tight. Three men. Limited bullets. I need to make every shot count.

They come into view at the alley’s mouth, still charging, unaware. I wait, every second stretched thin.

Control.

Precision.

Then I see my opening.

We crouch in the shadows, hearts pounding. The stench of rotting garbage makes my eyes water, but I force myself to focus.

Footsteps approach, slow and deliberate. Bruiser’s voice carries down the alley.

“Come out, come out, wherever you are,” he sings. “No more running, street rat.”

---