30. Lorenzo
LORENZO
The car is already running when I burst into the garage.
I shove through the pantry door with my gun in my hand and blood sliding hot beneath the strip of cloth tied around my neck. Every breath scrape, but I keep moving.
The engine is on.
Victoria is behind the wheel.
For half a second, I stop.
Her hands are locked around it so tightly her knuckles have gone white.
Mrs. Abena is in the back beside the door, clutching her bleeding arm.
Elsie sits in the middle, crying without sound now, her little face wet and shocked.
Olivia is pressed against the opposite door, one hand over her mouth, shaking so hard I can see it from here.
Victoria looks up and sees me.
Relief hits her face first.
Then fear.
“Lorenzo—”
I cross the garage in three strides, one hand pressed to my neck, the other holding the gun low.
The garage doors are still shut.
No sightline outside. No way to know how many men are waiting.
No fucking time.
I reach the driver’s side and yank the door open.
“Move over.”
Her eyes drop to the blood soaking my collar. “You’re bleeding too much.”
“Move, Victoria.”
Her mouth trembles, but she climbs over the console immediately, sliding into the passenger seat. I drop behind the wheel, toss the gun into my lap, and slam the door shut.
The engine growls beneath me.
I tap the accelerator once.
The car jerks forward an inch.
I press harder.
The engine roars louder, filling the garage.
Victoria grabs the dashboard. “The door?—”
“I see the fucking door.”
I throw it into gear.
Then I floor it.
The car launches.
Wood explodes.
The garage doors burst outward in a shower of broken panels and splintered hinges. A man stands too close on the other side, his rifle half-raised, his eyes wide with the last mistake he’ll ever make.
The hood catches him full in the chest.
The impact shudders through the entire car. His body disappears beneath us with a sickening crunch I feel through the pedals.
Elsie screams.
I don’t stop.
A shot cracks from somewhere behind us.
Then another.
One round punches into the trunk with a metallic cough. Another snaps past the rear glass and disappears into the trees.
Too far. Too rushed. Not a clean shot.
I take the bend out of the driveway hard, tyres screaming over gravel. The back end fishtails, clips the low stone border, then catches again.
Behind us, the house drops away.
The road opens.
I steer with one hand and press the cloth harder against my neck with the other. Warm blood slips through my fingers. I hold pressure for three seconds, then grab the wheel again before the car drifts.
Pressure on the wound.
Back to the wheel.
Check the mirror.
Eyes on the road.
Again.
Again.
Victoria twists in her seat, looking through the back glass. “Do you see them?”
“No.”
My eyes flick to the rear-view mirror.
Road.
Trees.
Smoke behind us.
No car.
That doesn’t mean shit.
My gaze drops lower, to the back seat.
Elsie is staring at me.
Her face is pale beneath the tear tracks. One little hand clutches Mrs. Abena’s cardigan, the other grips the hem of her jumper. Her lips tremble, but she doesn’t cry again.
My daughter.
That thought hits harder than the bullet.
Victoria notices where I’m looking.
She doesn’t say a word.
I force my eyes back to the road.
Mrs. Abena groans from the back seat.
“Keep your arm up,” Victoria says, twisting toward her. “Press here. Hard.”
“I am, child,” Mrs. Abena breathes.
Olivia lets out one broken sob and swallows it down fast.
“Don’t fall apart on me now,” I say.
Her eyes meet mine in the mirror.
She nods too quickly.
The road bends through bare trees and long fences. No sirens. No neighbours. No one stupid enough to step outside and look.
Two minutes pass.
Maybe less.
Maybe more.
My pulse has become a clock I don’t trust.
Then a car appears in the mirror.
Black.
Fast.
It tears around the bend behind us, tyres screaming, closing the distance. Two civilian cars are stuck between them and us, but the black car rides the middle line, forcing its way through.
Victoria goes still. “They found us.”
“I know.”
The cars ahead of them panic and keep driving straight.
I don’t.
I wrench the wheel left so hard that Victoria slams into the passenger door.
The tyres shriek.
Elsie cries out behind us.
The black car overshoots the turn by a second, brakes hard, then swings after us.
Now I know.
They’re not backing off.
They’re either ours to lose?—
or ours to die with.
A line of traffic waits ahead near a narrow junction. Too many cars. Not enough room. A delivery van blocks half the lane.
I cut left before we reach it.
There’s no road there.
Only a break in the fence and a wall of woods beyond it.
“Lorenzo!” Victoria grabs my arm.
I drive straight through.
Branches slap the windshield. The car drops off the shoulder and slams over frozen mud before barreling between the trees. The suspension jolts hard enough to rattle my teeth.
Mrs. Abena cries out in the back.
Olivia curses and grabs Elsie before the child pitches forward.
I fight the wheel.
Tree trunks flash past so close they could rip the doors clean off. The black car doesn’t follow right away.
Cowards.
Or maybe smarter than they look.
I keep driving.
Deeper into the woods.
Mud spits beneath the tyres. The engine strains. The car bucks over roots and dips, but it keeps going. I thread us between trunks, brake, turn, accelerate, correct, pushing the car through whatever ground gives me a chance.
Pressure.
Wheel.
Mirror.
Trees.
Blood.
Victoria’s voice cuts in beside me, tight and shaking. “Your neck.”
“I’m fine.”
“You’re not.”
“Not now.”
The cloth around my throat is soaked through. I feel it now—not pain exactly, but heat. Wetness. The steady pull of blood no matter how hard I press.
My fingers slip on the wheel.
I tighten them.
Elsie whimpers in the back.
That sound keeps me awake.
I drive until the world starts to narrow at the edges.
The trees blur.
The windshield looks farther away than it should.
My right hand stays on the wheel. My left hand lifts to my neck again, but I miss the wound and press against my jaw instead.
Victoria catches my wrist.
“Lorenzo.”
Her voice changes.
She knows.
I pull free and grab the wheel again, but the car drifts right.
Too far.
Too slow to fix it.
The front bumper slams into a narrow tree with a heavy crack.
The car jerks to a stop.
My chest snaps hard against the seat belt.
For one second, nobody moves.
Then Victoria is on me.
“No.” Her hands are everywhere—my face, my shoulder, my neck. “No, stay with me. Stay with me, please.”
I try to answer.
Nothing comes out.
My head falls back against the seat.
The roof shifts above me. Or maybe it’s the trees. I can’t tell anymore. The air tastes like copper.
Victoria presses both hands to my neck now.
“Olivia, help me! Abena, keep Elsie back!”
Elsie.
I force my eyes open.
The back seat wavers in and out of focus.
Mrs. Abena has one arm around her despite the blood on her own sleeve. Olivia is crying again, quieter this time, trying to do something useful, trying to press where Victoria tells her.
Elsie leans forward.
Her eyes find mine.
Small eyes.
Mine.
Jesus Christ.
I lift my hand.
It takes everything I have.
There’s blood on my fingers, but not much on that one. I reach between the seats.
Victoria says my name, but it sounds far away now.
Elsie’s hair is soft beneath my fingertips.
I touch one curl.
Then her cheek.
Then the trembling line of her mouth.
She stops crying.
I try to smile.
I need her to see it.
You’re safe.
I don’t know if I say the words.
I don’t think I do.
But Victoria makes a broken sound beside me, like she hears them anyway.
My hand falls.
The edges of the world go dark.
Victoria’s voice is the last thing I hear.
“Stay with me, Lorenzo. Please. Please.”
I want to answer.
I want to tell her I’m still here.
But the darkness crashes over me.
And I black out.