Page 59 of South of Justice

Bullets punched into the gravel nearby.

She raised the Colt with one hand and fired—once, twice—forcing the shooters to duck again.

Ryan moved, sprinting low across open ground. A round skipped off the dirt just behind his boots. He vaulted the hood and slid into the driver’s seat in one fluid motion,ducking low below the dash.

His hand went straight to the ignition. Nothing. No keys.

“What are you waiting for?” Lucía shouted, braced behind the open door, gun up again.

“They took the fucking keys,” Ryan hissed, crouched in the footwell. He slammed a fist against the steering column.

He drew the folding knife from his boot, snapped it open, and stabbed it up into the plastic under the wheel. It cracked. Wires spilled loose. His hands shook, but he stripped two wires with the blade, twisted them.

Sparks jumped. The engine coughed, sputtered.

Died.

Another shot punched through the rear window.Shards exploded across the seat. Lucía ducked instinctively but stayed in place.

Ryan cursed under his breath, found another wire, twisted it tight. “You’re not dying here,” he muttered. He wasn’t sure if it was to her or himself.

He found the starter line, crossed it with the others. Another spark. The truck gave a choking roar and caught.

“Move!” he shouted.

Lucía scrambled into the seat, gun still clutched in her hand and slammed the door. Ryan swung his pistol up and fired two shots through the half-shattered windshield. The return fire cut off.

He jammed the truck into gear and hit the gas. The tires screamed. A final round shattered the side mirror as they tore down the road, dust boiling behind them.

“Hang on.”

Lucía slumped against the seat, lips pale, hands wet with blood. “That was no coincidence.”

“No,” Ryan said. His knuckles whitened on the wheel. “That lead was planted.”

“And we took the bait.”

THIRTY-SEVEN

Ryan drovelike the devil was on his heels, which, judging by the bullet holes riddling the truck and the woman bleeding out beside him, wasn’t far from the truth. The rearview mirror showed nothing but empty road and swirling dust behind. No one was tailing them, at least for now.

Lucía was slumped against the passenger seat, her face ghost-pale, lips bloodless. Her fingers clutched a balled-up T-shirt she’d taken from her backpack against her shoulder, blood soaking through the fabric in sticky waves. Her breath came in shallow, rasping gasps, each one more labored than the last.

“You still with me?” he asked, knuckles white on the steering wheel as he took a sharp curve too fast.

“Yeah,” she whispered, voice thin and shredded with pain. “Bullet’s still in, I think. Burns like hell.”

“Don’t talk. Just hold pressure. We’ll stop soon. I’ll get a look at it.”

They hit a patch of uneven road, and the whole truck jolted. Lucía let out a strangled sound, curling further into herself. Ryan’s gut clenched. He needed to get her off the road, now.

He scanned the roadside and spotted a narrow dirt turnoff veiled behind scrubby trees. Without warning, he yanked the wheel and veered off. Gravel spat up under the tires as the truck rumbled to a stop beneath a cluster of mesquite.

He killed the engine then jumped out and sprinted around to her side. The door stuck, then gave. Lucía tried to move but slumped sideways, the blood loss catching up to her. He caught her just in time, bracing her against his chest.

“Shit,” he muttered. “Come on, Lucía. Stay with me.”

He laid her out carefully on his jacket, spread across the dirt and gravel. Her skin felt clammy beneath his fingers, breath fluttering like a baby bird. She winced as he peeled back the blood-soaked T-shirt, revealing a wound high in her shoulder—angry, swollen, still seeping red.