Boom! The deafening sound vibrates through me, rattling every bone in my body. Stunned, I watch the guards’ SUV in the back fly up, exploding in mid-air. Its gas tank must’ve been hit, I think dazedly, and then I hear Julian shouting my name.
My ears ringing, I turn and see him thrusting something bulky at me. “Put this on!” he roars before throwing two of the same items at my parents.
Bulletproof vests, I realize in disbelief.
He just handed us bulletproof vests.
The thing is heavy, but I manage to get it on, even with the limo swerving all over the place. I can hear my parents frantically instructing one another, and I turn to see Julian already wearing his own vest.
He’s also holding an AK-47—which he thrusts into my hands before turning to lift a big, unusual-looking weapon out of the stash. I stare at it, puzzled, but then I recognize what it is.
A handheld grenade launcher. Julian had shown it to me once on the estate.
Shaking off my shock, I climb up on the seat, cradling the assault rifle with unsteady hands. I have to do my part, no matter how terrifying it may be. But before I can roll down the window and start shooting, Julian pulls me down to the floor again.
“Stay down,” he roars at me. “Don’t fucking move!”
I nod, trying to control my rapid breathing. The adrenaline sizzling through me both speeds everything up and slows it down, my perception foggy and sharp at the same time. I can hear my mom sobbing and Rosa and Lucas yelling something at the front, and then I see Julian’s face change as he turns toward the front window.
“Fuck!” The expletive bursts out of his throat, terrifying me with its vehemence.
Unable to stay still, I rise up on my knees again . . . and my lungs cease working.
On the road ahead of us, just a few hundred feet away, is a police blockade—and we’re barreling toward it at race-car speed.
Chapter 34
Julian
The cold, rational part of my mind instantly registers two things: there’s nowhere for us to turn, and the four police cars blocking our way are surrounded by men wearing SWAT gear.
They were expecting us—which means they’re in Sullivan’s pocket and here to kill us all.
The thought fills me with terrified rage. I’m not afraid for myself, but the knowledge that Nora may die today, that I may never hold her again—
No. Fuck, no. Ruthlessly, I push the paralyzing thought aside and quickly assess the situation.
In less than twenty seconds, we’ll reach the police barricade. I know what Lucas intends: to ram into the two cars that have the widest gap between them. The gap is only two feet wide, but we’re going 120 miles an hour and the car is heavily armored, which means momentum is on our side.
All we need to do is survive the collision.
Gripping the grenade launcher in my right hand, I yell at Nora’s parents, “Brace yourselves!” and drop to the floor, surrounding Nora with my body.
A few seconds later, our limo slams into the police cars with bone-jarring force. I can hear Nora’s parents screaming, feel the inertia of the impact dragging me forward, and I tense every muscle in my body in an effort to stop the slide.
It works, barely. My left shoulder slams into the side of the seat, but I keep Nora safe underneath me. I have no doubt I’m crushing her with my weight, but it’s better than the alternative. I can hear the metallic ding of bullets hitting the side and windows of the car, and I know they’re firing at us.
If we were in a regular car, we’d already be riddled with holes.
As soon as I feel the limo speeding up again, I jump to my feet, noting out of the corner of my eye that Nora’s parents seem to have survived the impact. Tony is cradling his arm with a pained grimace, but Gabriela seems merely dazed.
I don’t have time to look closer, though. If we’re to have any chance of surviving this, we need to take care of Sullivan’s men, and we need to do it now.
The grenade launcher is still in my hand, so I press a button on the side of the door to activate the hidden opening in the roof. Then I stand up in the middle of the aisle, my head and shoulders sticking out of the car. Lifting the weapon, I point it at the cars pursuing us—which now include one police cruiser on top of the fifteen Sullivan vehicles.
No, thirteen Sullivan vehicles, I correct myself after doing a quick count. My men managed to take out two more of them in the last couple of minutes.
It’s time to even out the odds some more.
Bullets whizz by my head, but I ignore them as I aim carefully. I only have six shots in this launcher, so I have to make each one count.
Boom! The first shot goes off with a hard kick. The recoil hits my shoulder, but the grenade finds its target—the police cruiser that’s right on our tail. The car flies up, exploding in the air, and lands on its side, burning. One of the Hummers slams into it, and I watch in grim satisfaction as both cars blow up, causing one of Sullivan’s vans to careen off the road.
Eleven enemy vehicles left.
I aim again. This time my target is more ambitious: one of the remaining Hummers farther back. It has a single-shot grenade launcher mounted on its roof; that’s what took out one of our SUVs earlier, and I know they’ll use the weapon again as soon as they reload.
Boom! Another hard recoil—and to my disgust, I miss. At the last second, the Hummer swerves sharply, ramming into one of our SUVs with brutal force. I watch in helpless rage as my men’s car flips over, rolling off the road.
We’re now down to five guard SUVs and our limo.