Page 43 of Primo DeLuca

Another glance in the mirror confirmed that there wasn’t one vehicle trailing us, but two. The second vehicle was a dark gray BMW.

“That being said, I need you to get down,” I told her before reaching over, moving her seatbelt strap from over her shoulder, and pulling her down until the side of her head was resting against my thigh.

“Primo, what’s about to happen?” she questioned, her voice strained with tension.

“We have two tails. I believe it’s members of the same crew that came after me the night we met.”

I stroked her lovely face with the back of my fingers, her wide, frightened eyes holding mine. “Whatever you do, don’t get up unless I say it’s okay.”

Her shaky, “Okay,” sounded. Her breaths rushed out while one of her hands clung to my shirt at my lower back and her other to a chunk of my thigh.

“When I said I’d protect you with my life, you believed me, right?”

“Yes. I believe you.” The confirmation reflected in her eyes reinforced her words.

All the windows came down, the wind hitting me in the face like a teasing slap. A glimpse of my reflection in the rearview mirror revealed my tight-face and stress level, not for my own well-being but for Nevah’s. I hated that she was involved in this part of the deadly business I usually handled alone. The idea of her enduring even a second of it tugged at my heart, ripping pieces away.

However, I’d been trained to be tough, unbending, and savage blood pumped through my veins. There was more than family in my life to fight for now, and I’d fuck up the devil and run hell before I let anyone take Nevah away from me.

The pursuing vehicles were closing in on us, and The Mustang GT500 we had stopped and traded the Nissan for answered my demanding request for speed, the engine roaring with strength and readiness. The BMW took a few major roadway risks to catch me, growling with its bumper gearing up to ram mine.

The force of the momentum when they hit connected with my bumper on the second attempt, sending our bodies lurching forward before the screeching tires sounded. My seatbelt and the one around Nevah’s lower body kept me from smashing into the steering wheel and her into the dash display. The tight straps yanked hard enough to hurt. My arms worked against opposing forces, twisting and turning to keep us from crashing into other unsuspecting drivers.

The BMW that rammed us had done it at the detriment of their own vehicle, not considering that they would give me the upper hand they assumed would be in their favor. I’d wanted them to hit us so that I could turn the steering wheel just before they struck again.

My defensive driving took us out of their path and led to them having to slam on the brakes. Their tires screamed and spat out smoke from the burning rubber to avoid a high-speed crash with an RV.

Once they straightened, they geared up again and successfully rammed us this time. The hard bump turned out to be the exact boost we needed. We swerved into the lane to my left that was thankfully clear. The tires released a boisterously long screech, protesting my sudden braking. The momentum of the turn had us at its mercy inside the vehicle. My arms burned with the effort it was taking to get us aligned in a position of opportunity, which was facing our attackers.

We turned at least a half-circle before the vehicle came to a stop on the edge of the median. My silenced pistol was out the window, and two slugs were released as quickly and as rapidly as my heartbeats. Death was on a mission, moving towards the BMW driver’s head.

The man was so focused on controlling his vehicle that he was too late to react to what was already in play. The impact of the first bullet when it struck him in the head released a spray of blood so visually dramatic, it didn’t even appear real. The second bullet landed in his chest, the force of the impact shoving his body into the seat. He jerked, disrupting his motor functions enough to start the car’s rapid acceleration.

His slumped body continued to steer the car, his hand likely death-gripped around the steering wheel, and his leg locked in place on the accelerator. The car rolled past us and its trajectory had it heading for the concrete barrier about three car lengths ahead.

The Lincoln was making its rapid approach. The dark shadows of the driver and passenger became more pronounced by the time I got us moving again.

The target’s body in the runaway and now crashed BMW had somehow found a way to lay on the horn, his last act before dying. The horn bellowed a continuous death shriek into the sky. Nevah squeezed me to her like her life depended on it, her eyes shut so tightly I could see them trembling even in the midst of battle.

My foot stomped on the gas hard and fast, gunning the engine, my actions lifting Nevah about as high as my chest. We shot off like a bat in danger of catching a fireball to the ass thrown from the devil’s hands.

The Lincoln gave chase, zooming around cars to keep up with my own evasive maneuvering.

Thump! Thump! Thump!

The bullets struck but didn’t penetrate the hull of my car. Since there were two individuals in the pursuing vehicle, one had the advantage of shooting while the other drove.

“Nevah, I need a favor.”

“Yes.” The word sounded just above a whisper.

“Stay down, but I need you to reach up and grab my phone. Your thumbprint will unlock it. Dial Franco, number six on the list.”

I sensed her eyeing me when she used her thumbprint to get into my phone, but she didn’t comment. She would learn that I didn’t snooze on anything because being lazy in this family and in my line of work was a hazard to one’s health.

“Primo?”

Thankfully, Franco answered after my fiancée did what I’d asked of her before placing her head back against my thigh.

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