Page 40 of Rebel
“Give me ten seconds!”
“You’ve got five.”
I snatch the drive, shove it into my pocket. He’s already moving, cutting toward the stairwell. Gunfire erupts above, bullets pinging off the railing. Carter fires back, controlled and surgical.
“Go!” he shouts.
We burst through the side exit, glass raining down as a bullet takes the window out behind us. Outside, French’s van fishtails onto the street, but there’s no time to reach it.
“Separate routes!”Divine barks. “Lose them, regroup at safehouse Delta.”
Carter and I cut down opposite alleys before converging again at the intersection. Two black SUVs tail us, headlights slicing through the smog.
I spot a Harley Davidson CVO Road Glide RR sitting ina parking spot in front of a store. Without missing a beat, my feet move toward it. Luck is on my side when the steering column is unlocked. I flip the ignition and fire her up. She purrs under my ass.
I look behind me at the approaching vans.
“Backseat’s crowded,” I mutter.
“Then drive faster,” Carter growls, sliding onto the stolen bike behind me.
I gun the throttle. The engine screams. Tires burn rubber as we launch into the street. Bullets snap past, echoing off glass and steel. We weave through traffic, wind tearing at our clothes. Carter fires over my shoulder, three quick shots that take out the SUV’s front tire. It skids, then crashes into a lamppost. The second one keeps coming.
“Hang on!” I shout, swerving into a side street.
The alley’s too narrow, littered with dumpsters and neon reflections. We slide sideways, sparks flaring under the tires, and burst out into an abandoned industrial block. The bike fishtails, then catches.
The SUV’s headlights flare behind us.
“Carter!”
He fires backward, two shots, clean. The driver slumps, horn blaring as the vehicle spins and smashes into a support pillar. Metal shrieks. Silence follows.
We coast to a stop in front of a crumbling warehouse. My pulse is a thunderstorm. My hands won’t stop shaking.
Carter climbs off, scanning the shadows. “You hit?”
“Just breathing too fast.”
He walks over, tilts my chin toward the light filtering through broken windows. His thumb brushes dirt from my cheek. “You did good.”
“You say that like we didn’t almost die.”
He smirks faintly. “Almost doesn’t count.”
The air between us shifts. Too close. Too quiet. The world smells like gunpowder and adrenaline, but under it, him. Soap, sweat, danger.
“You shouldn’t have come,” I whisper.
He studies me, eyes unreadable. “And let you walk into that server room alone? Not a chance.”
I should pull back. I should say something sharp to break it. Instead, I look up. His hand slides from my chin to my throat, not rough, just steady.
“Rebel.” It’s not a question. It’s a warning.
My breath catches. “Yeah?”
“Stop thinking.”
