36. 36 – Luciano
36 – Luciano
T hey appear in the distance behind us; a long line of bright white lights that flicker in the mirror next to my window as I lean forward before twisting in my seat to look behind.
It’s the middle of the fucking night. There’s only one reason a row of lights would be heading our way.
“Stefan.” My voice is tight. “How long until we get back?”
He glances in the rearview mirror, his voice tight. “Fifteen minutes.”
Fuck.
He presses down on the accelerator, the car speed increasing until we’re flying down the road. The others behind us in the convoy do the same as I yank out my phone.
Dom answers on the first ring. “Luc.”
“They’re coming. We’re fifteen minutes out, and they’re coming up behind us.”
Dom hangs up.
I don’t say anything as the speed of the car creeps up further. “We’re going to make it.”
“Maybe,” he says grimly. “But they’re going to be right fucking behind us.”