Page 90 of His to Have
That’s all I got out before the fourth SUV slammed into us from the right, hard. The impact jerked us like rag dolls, rocking everything inside the car. My body snapped sideways, only stopped by the seatbelt draped tightly across my chest, knocking the wind out of me. My head cracked against the doorframe with a loud thud.
“Fuck!” The word ripped out of me before I could stop it.
Sharp pain burst through my skull, blinding one eye for a short second. The flash of white lit up my vision, and everything around me turned into a sea of fuzziness.
“Arlo! Sham!” I gasped, struggling to catch my breath, panic taking hold of me. “No, no, no.”
I removed the seatbelt from across my body as I fought to pull myself together. The traffic blurred in the background and the muffled shouts all blended into one.
I blinked hard, trying to focus, but everything felt... disjointed.
“I don’t care what you have to do; get us outta here.” Sham barked returning the quick shots to the men now approaching. “Now!”
Gunfire rang out loud and fast. Bullets ripped into the side of the car, quickly replacing the silence with loud cracking of glass and metal-on-metal scraping. Sham’s window was the first to be hit. Bulletproof or not, the pressure of a head-on collision paired with multiple shots, was enough to compromise the window. The second and third shots made it explode under pressure, sending thick spiderwebs of cracks through the glass.
“Fuck!” Sham cursed, reaching for his second weapon.
In real-time, the muscle memory of a trained man kicked in. His hand flew back, grabbing me by the arm and yanking me down to the floorboard like I weighed nothing.
“Stay down!” he demanded “Arlo, reverse!”
Arlo threw the car into reverse, tires screeching against the pavement, then gunned it forward again, ramming the SUV blocking us in. The whole frame shook, but the truck in front of us didn’t move an inch. That bitter, metallic stench of gunpowder hit my nose right before the shots resumed. A flurry of pops erupted from Sham’s gun as he fired back; several shots as he ducked low behind the dash.
Outside, I could see shadows moving... three, maybe four bodies... guns drawn. One raised his arm aiming two pistols while another aimed what looked like a sawed off shot gun. Right at my back window.
Arlo twisted in his seat, cursing under his breath as he fired through the busted glass. “Four shooters, left side!”
His aim was steady, even under pressure. One target dropped to a knee, hit clean. Another took a bullet in the shoulder but kept coming like he was some character on Grand Theft Auto. Sham and Arlo worked like they’d done this before, trading fire with enemies without wasting a single round.
Then the return fire came, rapidly. A bullet tore through the compromised windshield hitting Arlo in the shoulder. He flinched, his arm jerking back unnaturally as blood bloomed on his jacket.
“Shit—Arlo!” I screamed, eyes wide, heart damn near in my throat.
“Ahh.”
I couldn’t just lay there.
Laying here could only end one way. And I wasn’t keen on dying in the middle of the street. With Arlo bleeding and Sham outnumbered, we had to work together. That’s when I saw movement close to the passenger side, creeping low behind the SUV door. My body moved before my mind could catch up. I lifted my pistol, aimed from the floorboard, and squeezed.
The shot hit. Center mass. And he dropped instantly.
Adrenaline coursed through me as I fought to steady my hand.
This can’t keep going.
There was too much going on. Too much noise, too many bodies. In broad daylight. Atlanta PD would surely be on the way, so the assailants were likely working fast. We needed to end this.
“Fuck!” Sham shouted again when the driver’s door yanked open.
Arlo and I rang off shots until we both ran out of bullets and he was hit a second time. This time it was lower, in the side. He slumped back, the loss of blood slowing him down.
The next wave of men rushed to the car, and the first guy tried to reach in. I was already on my belly in the back floorboard,reloading. Sham turned swiftly, putting the first guy down. The minute the next man got close, I let off a round of shots. The bullet whipped past my security, and punched into the man’s throat. He jerked back mid-step, one hand shooting to his neck trying to stop the blood already streaming through his fingers. Stumbling back he dropped hard to the pavement.
“Got him.” For half a second, I felt the tiniest bit of relief. It vanished just as fast, since the chaos around us resumed almost immediately.
Sham was still swinging, fighting any nigga getting too close and firing off shots. There was a lot of bleeding, and shouting. When he got hit again—this time in the thigh — he dropped to one knee, still trying to block the door with his body.
The shotgun hit next, blasting over and over, until the side glass finally gave. It exploded inward, fragments raining over me. My arm caught a piece, slicing through my forearm. But I didn’t scream. I didn’t have time to scream in this ambush. I clenched my teeth and tried to keep firing.
