Page 17 of The Price of Mercy

Enzo gritted his teeth as he yanked the wheel to the right, the tires screeching against the pavement as the car veered sharply down an empty side street. The roar of the engine echoed in the night as he pushed the car to its limits, weaving through darkened alleys and deserted roads. Headlights flared behind them, their pursuers relentless, the distant wail of sirens cutting through the air like a blade.

A black SUV surged forward, gaining on them. Gunfire erupted, bullets pinging off the trunk and shattering the rear windshield. Julian ducked, shielding the wounded man slumped beside him as shards of glass rained down.

“Enzo, they’re getting too close!” he shouted, his voice barely audible over the roaring engine.

“I fucking know that!” Enzo growled, jerking the wheel hard to avoid a row of dumpsters. The car fishtailed wildly, nearly clipping a parked van before he regained control. He stomped on the gas, tires spinning, the smell of burnt rubber filling the air.

The SUV wasn’t backing down. It swerved into their lane, attempting to ram them. Enzo braced himself and at the lastsecond, wrenched the car left. The side mirror clipped a mailbox, sending sparks flying, but he kept going, threading through narrow streets in a desperate attempt to shake them.

Another SUV screeched into the alley from the opposite side.

“Shit!” Julian clutched the wounded man as Enzo slammed the brakes, barely avoiding a head-on collision. The pursuing vehicle skidded sideways, its front bumper smashing into a streetlamp. Enzo didn’t wait; he jammed the car into reverse, tires squealing as he backed out, then spun the wheel and punched the gas again.

Bullets tore through the air, punching holes into the rear quarter panel. The engine rattled, a sick grinding noise coming from under the hood, but the car pushed on.

“We’re not gonna make it like this,” Julian muttered, his knuckles white.

“Hold on,” Enzo snarled.

He spotted a narrow path between two crumbling buildings, barely wide enough for their car. It was a risk, but their only shot. He jerked the wheel, forcing the car through, metal screeching as the sides scraped against concrete. The SUV behind them wasn’t as lucky; when it tried to follow, it crashed hard, wedging itself between the buildings.

Enzo didn’t waste time celebrating. Ahead, an abandoned warehouse loomed, its rusted gates slightly ajar. Without hesitation, he swerved into the lot, tires bouncing over cracked pavement and weeds. The vehicle jolted violently as it cleared the entrance, then skidded to a stop amidst scattered debris.

For a moment, neither of them spoke. Julian’s pulse pounded in his ears as he strained to listen beyond the car, his breath heldtight in his chest. Enzo’s fingers gripped the wheel, knuckles white, his sharp green eyes scanning the darkness for any sign of movement.

Minutes passed. Still, no one came.

Enzo exhaled slowly, the tension in his shoulders easing just a fraction. Without a word, he reached into his jacket and pulled out his phone, dialing quickly. He pressed it to his ear, his expression unreadable as he listened to the ringing.

“Get to my location now,” he said when the call connected, his voice low and edged with command. “Bring the men.”

Julian barely paid attention, already tearing at his shirt, fingers fumbling as he ripped a strip of fabric free. He pressed it against the driver’s wound, his hands firm despite the tremor running through them. Blood soaked through the material too quickly, and he pressed harder, his jaw clenched in frustration.

“Stay with me,” he muttered under his breath, glancing at the driver’s ashen face. “Just hold on.”

Enzo ended the call and turned toward them, his gaze flickering between Julian and the driver. Something unreadable passed over his face, but he said nothing. Instead, he reached for the glove compartment, pulling out a spare gun, checking the magazine with practiced ease.

“Now what?” Julian asked.

“We wait,” he murmured, voice steady despite the tension in his posture. “And if anyone shows up before my brothers do, we don’t ask questions.”

Julian swallowed hard, his fingers still pressed against the makeshift bandage, his heart thundering in his chest. The night wasn’t over yet.

???

The driver groaned, his breath shallow and uneven as he shifted slightly in the back seat. His face was pale, almost ghostly under the dim glow of the overhead light, beads of sweat dotting his forehead like dew on a cold morning. His skin was clammy, his body trembling as he fought against the pull of unconsciousness. Each rise and fall of his chest was labored, the sound of his breathing wet and ragged, a grim reminder of the bullet lodged somewhere deep in his abdomen. Still, despite the pain, he tried to speak. His lips parted, his voice barely more than a rasp, weak and broken.

"Boss... I... I’m sorry... I should have..."

"No." Enzo’s response was immediate, cutting through the weak apology like a blade. His green eyes, usually cold and calculating, softened just a fraction as he leaned slightly closer. The shadows cast by the dim light made the sharp angles of his face even more pronounced, but for once, the sharpness in his expression wasn’t from anger or control; it was something else. Something raw.

"You did nothing wrong. Save your strength. Help is coming."

Julian stilled; his hands still pressed down on the blood-soaked fabric wrapped around the driver’s wound. The metallic tang of blood filled the air, thick and suffocating, and Julian could feel the warmth of it seeping through the makeshift bandage, sticky and unrelenting. He hadn’t expected that. Not from Enzo.

A man like him, ruthless, powerful, dangerous, was supposed to be indifferent to loss, to weakness. A man like him didn’t comfort, didn’t offer reassurance in a voice low and steady, free of judgment or scorn.

And yet, here he was, shutting down a dying man’s guilt with quiet assurance, with something dangerously close to compassion.

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