Page 62 of British Bratva: A Russian Mafia Romance

Maybe another day they would have been, but right now we were only after one thing.

The deep red paintwork and chrome trim glinted in the low sun as I waved the boys closer. I felt Elizabeth’s arms release from my waist. No doubt she was copying the cocky shit riding pillion while he wielded a crowbar in one arm, the other hand gripped onto the handle at the back of the bike, leaning back for balance.

They came in obnoxiously close, near enough to shred the immaculate metalic burgundy paint, and from the way I saw Sandra’s eyes flicker to her mirrors and her knuckles whiten on the steering wheel, she already knew she was in trouble.

The car started to accelerate, until one of the kids zipped into the lane in front of her, weaving erratically across her lane while his mate looked back, jeering, laughing. There was never going to be any getting away. She glanced across, out of the side window and I could see the fear in her eyes.

Up close to the window, I could see a manila folder on the passenger seat with a navy blue pen drive on top of it. Sandra gunned the engine, trying to make a break by pulling away into the fast lane.

Two of the bikes behind crept around, engines buzzing like crazed hornets as they boxed her in. The panic must have been settling in, just the way the adrenaline had well and truly kicked in within all of us.

I worked alone, but there was something unique about being part of a team and having a daring plan like this fall together. I could feel Elizabeth’s body tense with it, and I knew she was feeling the rush, the buzz that could be all too addictive.

Right now, we were all invincible. Just as long as no one made a mistake.

I revved the engine, zipping in closer, pulling in along side the passenger door again. Sandra glanced across, reaching for her mobile phone on the dashboard.

Even if she called the police, we’d be long gone by the time they got here. Rapid response took longer than that to mobilize. We just had to split up and get out of sight of the helicopters before they could scramble them.

On the back of the bike, Elizabeth gestured to the kid with the crowbar, and he handed it over.

Glass crunched, crumbling to sugar cubes, and Sandra screamed. I concentrated on the road, hands firm on the bike’s handles to keep it steady. Elizabeth was worth a thousand times more than any list could ever be and the harsh concrete was spinning fast beneath us, ready to strip skin from bone if I made one false move.

The first moped came in close again, dropping back ahead of us to slot into a dangerously tight space ahead of my bike and I let out a growl that no one could have heard. If the dickhead lost control and skidded, we were all dead.

Elizabeth shifted on the back of the bike, and I countered the wobble, leaning out the other way as she stretched across, inside the car. When I glanced over, the data stick was just out of reach, and Sandra was making an attempt to bat her hand away.

Elizabeth grabbed her fingers, twisting them sharply enough she let out a yelp and the car swerved dangerously, making the moped on the far side of the car drop back to avoid getting sandwiched between the car and the guard rail.

I was glued to it, eyes on the road, the car, Elizabeth. They say bikers see five moves further ahead than car drivers, and I was damn well testing that theory out. Everything was a knife edge calculation, angles and speed and braking distance. Caution was gone. All that mattered was getting it right.

Elizabeth came out with the folder, holding it high. One of her boxing mates was right there, tickling the treads of our rear tire with the damn mudguard on his rally bike, and she handed it back to him with the ease of a relay runner passing a baton.

“Got it?” I shouted against the roaring wind.

She shook her head. “Still need the stick.”

I gritted my teeth, leaning the bike back in to steer us close enough for her to make another grab. With her helmet on, all Elizabeth could do was reach her arm in. She couldn’t get eyes on what she was reaching for.

In the distance the roar of sirens started up. Racing down the other side of the central barrier, a barrage of police cars were on there way. They’d be at the roundabout in minutes, racing along to catch us.

We needed off at the next exit.

Elizabeth straightened up again, and I revved, ready to cut and run.

“Leave it!” I barked, but she had other ideas.

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