Part 62 (1/2)

”No!” Fallon yells, but it's too late. Pierce brings his leg down hard on Fallon's thigh. I see the leg bend grotesquely before I hear the flesh-dulled snap of his femur.

Fallon mewls out in agony, grips onto his leg with wide, terrified eyes.

”f.u.c.king told you I'd break it,” Pierce snarls. He shoots toward the Russians on the other side. They hit the deck again. He rubs the grip of the gun hastily on my s.h.i.+rt, then tosses it, and grabs my hand again.

We run toward the large shutter-doors, but on the way Pierce pulls me to the side.

”Look away,” he says, and I do, and moments later I hear the sound of shattering gla.s.s.

Fire alarms scream to life.

There's screeching grinding, metal on metal. The whole building rumbles. Heavy steel doors begin to lower from the roof. I look at them, confused.

”Come on,” Pierce huffs, and he tugs me forward again. The doors closing from the ceiling seem like blast-doors. They're obviously designed not just to keep everything out, but to keep everything in.

It clicks in my head. This is a chemical plant! These are security measures to prevent outside contamination. It's containment.

”Faster!” he roars, tugging me harder. I run as fast as my feet will take me, but we're still so far away from the big doors.

”Come on, Pen!” he yells, and I try, but I'm at the edge, and if I attempt to go faster I might just fall.

The blast doors are shutting down fast, and I will myself, force myself to run faster. I was never a quick runner, I was never good at sports, but I push, I push, f.u.c.k if I push.

”Yes!” I cry as I clear the doors ducking. Just milliseconds later, and we'd have been crushed at the hip. They slam shut hard, shaking the ground beneath my feet. The whole plant must be in lockdown. Fallon, the Russian mobsters, they're stuck inside.

I turn to Pierce, look up at him, and that's when I see his face is completely red. The cut on his head has opened even wider, and it's just pouring a torrent of blood out.

”Oh no,” I groan, and I want to tell him, but he looks away, tugs me again, and we're running again, this time toward the collection of parked cars. They're all expensive, all completely conspicuous.

Mobsters.

”Which one?” I say, breathless.

”They wrecked my car,” Pierce growls. ”Take the best one.”

Chapter Thirty Six.

Mercedes... BMW... Jaguar... Maserati... it's a tough choice.

”Come on!” Penny screams. ”Who f.u.c.king cares which car we take?”

In the distance, red lights flash. No doubt they are fire engines.

”The Jag!” I say, and run to the door. I look inside. ”f.u.c.k, no keys.”

”Here!” Penny yells. ”This one has keys.” She's standing by the BMW, and I run to her, climb in. She gets in with me. I start the car, tear out onto the road.

We pa.s.s fire trucks that wail past us. They are followed by ambulances and... police cars.

”Why are the police going?” she asks.

”That was an old fight site. They must have been watching it. Fire alarms go off, they think a fight is going down and someone started a fire by accident.”

”We're lucky they didn't stop us.”

”Penny, are you hurt?”

”No, I don't think so.”

”Check! Those bullets you fired ricocheted.”

She pats down her body, then shakes her head. ”No.”

Thank f.u.c.k.

Blood is streaming into both of my eyes.

I try to blink it out, but it's no use. ”Pen,” I say. ”I have to stop. Hold on.” I pull the car over, and then lift my foot up and tear a small piece of tape from my ankle. It's still sticky as f.u.c.k; the heat from my body has melted the glue.

”Here,” I say, handing her the piece of tape. I lean forward, wis.h.i.+ng I could see her more clearly. But she's just a blurred, red outline.

”You want me to tape your cut?”

”Yeah,” I say. ”Wipe the blood away with your sleeve, and then put the tape over the cut.”

”My sleeve is not clean. You might get an infection.”

”I need to stop the bleeding,” I say. ”Hurry up.”

She nods, and moments later my forehead is burning as she wipes across the split skin.

”Oh my G.o.d,” she says, swallowing. ”I think I can see your bone.”

”Tape it!'

She places the tape over the cut, and I whip my head back, lean it on the car seat. I press the tape into the cut as hard as I can with my palm, wincing.

I turn to her, and grin. ”Good, because the last mile I drove I couldn't see s.h.i.+t.”

”You're pretty messed up.”