Dom gunned the engine again.
The three cars stayed hot on their heels.
“Keep an eye on the side streets,” Dom said. “There could be more, and they could come from anywhere.”
Through the streets of Cape Swan, Dom zigged and zagged, taking turns unexpectedly, doubling back, even screaming down an alley between a couple of apartment buildings, and still, the motherfuckers stayed on them.
Sergei’s pulse was out of control. At every turn, he expected flashing blues.
But finally—an on-ramp.
Dom floored it. The engine whined. The speedometer needle drew a rapid arc, and the darkened scenery blurred past them.
And in the side mirrors—headlights.
“Who are these fucks?” Sergei shouted over the road noise. “Cusimanos or Maisanos?”
“You want to stop and introduce ourselves?”
“Good point. Hurry up and get out of town.” He clicked the safety off his pistol. “Then I can start shooting at them.”
“Working on it.”
Sergei took off his seatbelt and climbed between the seats into the back.
“What are you doing?”
“Putting myself where I can shoot them. Obviously.”
“You might want a seatbelt.”
“Can’t shoot with one.”
“And if I wreck?”
“Don’t wreck.”
“Sergei, for fuck’s sake. Are—”
“Simple solution.” Sergei wrapped his arm around one of the backseat headrests, and used it to steady himself. “This is gonna get loud.”
“Great.”
“Sorry.”
If Dom responded, Sergei didn’t hear him—he squeezed the trigger, shattering the back window and deafening him. Sparks flew off the fender of one car. The driver swerved a little, but recovered quickly.
Sergei glanced around, orienting himself. As his hearing returned—sort of—he shouted to Dom, “There’s a sharp curve up ahead. Take it as fast as you can without spinning out.”
“Got it.”
Sergei held the headrest for support, aimed for the front passenger side tire, and curled his finger around the trigger.
Just before he knew Dom was going to hit the curve, he fired.
The tire blew out. The car swerved, colliding with the one next to it, and as Dom’s car swept around the curve, all Sergei could see was glass and metal going in all directions.
“You get ’em?”
“Two won’t be going anywhere for a while, but there’s still—yeah, there he is.”
One car lurched forward, and Dom accelerated down a straightaway before whipping around a switchback. The other car didn’t lose them, and he didn’t go off the road, but he lost some ground. Even more when he had to slow down for an S-curve that Dom took at full speed.
The road straightened out again.
A bullet pinged off the frame. Another off the trunk, a little closer to Sergei’s head than he liked.
The headlights were blinding him, so he adjusted his position. He slid forward, resting his forearms on the rear dash and leaning out through the broken window.
Sergei fired.
From the other car, a bright flash.
Something thumped against his chest. Heat drilled its way into his ribs.
The gun tumbled from his hand. Headlights went everywhere. Sergei dropped onto the backseat. Tires shrieked. His hand went to his chest.
And came away wet.
Cursing in his native tongue, he kept one hand against the wound—fuck, that’s way too much blood—and with the other, tried to search the darkness for his weapon, but pain turned his vision red.
“Sergei? Sergei, are you—”
“Just drive,” he ground out. He braced himself for more nauseating pain, and searched for the weapon, but then Dom swore, and the world lurched.
Sergei clutched his chest and distantly heard himself crying out in pain.
Everything shifted to one side. Then the other.
More gunfire. An engine roaring too close.
Another blast, and Sergei’s ears rang again.
Impact. Wobbling.
Tires squealed and the world listed.
Weightless. Bang.
Nothing.
Chapter 36
The airbag hit Dom hard enough to stun him.
Everything was still.
His ears were filled with cotton, and his head throbbed. He wiped blood from his lip, and he murmured, “Sergei?”
No answer.
“Sergei?” He craned his neck gingerly. The backseat was empty.
Oh God. Tell me he wasn’t thrown out.
Then a shadow caught his eye. He felt around for the dome light, turned it on, and swore.
Sergei hadn’t been thrown, but he was between the front and backseats, motionless, with a lot of blood on his clothes and smeared across the upholstery.
“Oh shit.” Despite the pain, Dom scrambled out of the car. He scanned the area—the other car was wheels up. The night was silent except the idling engine and the whine of one tire still spinning uselessly in the air. He kept his gun close just in case, but his highest priority was Sergei.
He pulled out his phone and speed-dialed Rojas. As it rang, he pulled open the door, climbed back into the car, and touched Sergei’s neck. Still a pulse, thank God. “Sergei? Can you hear me?”
Sergei stirred, mumbling something.
“Stay with me, Sergei, I’m—”
The phone clicked. “Dom? What’s wrong?”