Page 57 of Hostile King

Intermittent gunfire explodes in echoey cracks and the hovering helicopter circles over the parking lot in the distance struggling to find a risk-free spot to settle.

My pulse pounds and my breaths become heavier. “We need another plan.” I point out, the exertion taking its toll on me. “We’ll be sitting ducks waiting for that thing to finally land. It’s taking too long already. They’ll watch us get on board and blow it out of the sky the second we’re in the air.”

“She’s right.” Tomás grunts. “They’d take out every Souza successor with one blast. We can’t all be in the same place.”

His right knee gives way, almost pulling me down with him as he stumbles. I force myself to stand strong and take some of the weight, sweating with the effort.

“We’re fucked if we’re together. Split up.”

“Christ.” Shane takes a beat to steady Tomás before we heave him away from the lines of cars and veer over to the sidewalk. “We gotta get out of sight,” he grits out. “Don’t stop, kid.”

Beyond the green trees lining the length of the pavement, there’s a narrow avenue and a set of traffic lights. I stagger forward, tripping up the curb while doing my best to keep my hand on Tomás’ leaking wound.

It’s not easy sharing the weight of him, with me being so much smaller than the two men, but my cortisol levels are sky high giving me strength.

“Over there.” I nod to the street sign, panting from exertion and feeling my knees turn to jelly. “This way Shane. Keep up.”

A sharp whistle from behind has Shane glancing back over his shoulder. “Dré wants us to turn back,” he bites out.

“No. We can’t.” I shake my head, feeling lightheaded yet keeping my feet moving. “I'm sure they’ve spotted the incoming helicopter by now. We’d have a better chance of getting out of the city if we go this way.”

“We don’t have a backup plan. Tommy needs a fucking paramedic.” Shane snarls, his breathing labored. “He’s not dying on my watch.”

“Trust me,” I pant. “I’ve got a plan.”

And I do, even though the thought of it makes me sick to my bones.

The light changes from sunny to shady, dropping the temperature with it when we stagger around the corner and leave the main street in the sunshine. Parked alongside the sidewalk is a faded bubblegum pink and lime green postal service truck clearly not used for delivering parcels anymore.

“If you’ve got skills, Shane, now’s the time to use them. Can you hijack that truck?”

One corner of Shane’s mouth lifts. “Can I?” he questions in a sarcastic guffaw as he hauls Tomás over to the rusty truck and helps me prop him against the roller door at the rear. “I stole my first BMW when I was fourteen. I can hot wire anything. It’s my party trick.”

His eyes glint, quickly moving from Tomás’ pale face to follow through on the challenge I’ve set him. I raise my brows when he shoots the lock, twice, and rolls the door open. “Get in,” he deadpans.

I expect to find letters or parcels stacked within built-in shelves, instead it’s an empty shell with only a hot musty aroma of decay. The floor space allows Tomás to sprawl on his back and gives me room to work on the bullet hole.

Shane secures the shutter, plunging the small cabin into wishy washy darkness. After a heart palpitation, he throws open the driver’s door, jumps inside and checks the sun visor for keys.

“Give me a second,” he calls out. “I’ll have to work my magic on this old fucker. She’d better fire up like a hot little kitty and not choke on us.”

His voice is a distant warble under the rush of blood coursing through my veins and deafening my thoughts. Tomás flits in and out of consciousness, his lashes fluttering as he wars with himself to stay vigilant.

My dress is already saturated in blood and there’s nothing else around to use. When the engine sputters to life and the truck rattles violently, I peer through the front headrests to the large windshield where Shane is seated.

“I need your shirt. If you have a belt, take it off too. It might come in handy.”

“So, what’s this plan of yours, kid? Teresa will rip my balls off if something happens to Tommy. Please tell me you’re not winging it?”

He acts quickly, drags the mask off his face, rips his T-shirt over his head, unbuckles his belt, and tosses it all over his shoulder.

“Of course, I’m winging it!” I snap. “No one told me you guys were going to blow people up.” I fold his sweat laden t-shirt a few times. “And by that, I mean Bianca. Is that how you treat every inconvenience? You stick an incendiary device under their vehicle.” My belly cramps with the sheer cruelty. “So yeah, Shane, I’m trying my best to get Tommy somewhere safe given the circumstances.”

My fingers feel numb even though they’re moving, and my lungs burn from every quick inhale of dry, stuffy air. If I didn’t know any better, I’d think I was having a panic attack. Those aren’t something I’ve ever really known, not until now.

Sweat trickles from my forehead, the beads catching in my eyebrows and rolling down my temples. What if I fail and he dies like this? The truck rattles and suddenly my synapses jolt, causing waves to crash through my system. It awakens my instincts and propels me back into action.

He needs my strength when he’s weak.

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