Page 39 of Lord of Pain
"Is someone really trying to kill us in the middle of 39th Ave?" I grip the dashboard.
"It's all about opportunity," Roman says, too casually for my comfort.
"What can I do?" I ask.
"Keep your seatbelt on and bend over, wrap your arms around your knees. They're going to start shooting." He says this with a terrifying confidence that is immediately reinforced as his back window cracks into a jagged spiderweb as a bullet hits it. And then another. Roman takes the next left on two wheels, the sports car handling the turn better than the truck, which skids onto the sidewalk and into a brick building before reversing out onto the street again.
"That stupid son of a bitch isstillcoming after us?" The truck's grille is hanging off one side and the headlight is shattered, but he's moving up on us again.
"They are," Roman agrees. "They know that if we weren't trapped on a crowded street, I could hit the gas and we'd disappear in seconds. Here, though, the heavy truck is giving them an edge." He pulls his gun out of the holster in his jacket.
"Do you want me to try to shoot them?" I ask. "You said I was a natural. I could see if I could get them off our tail." I really don't want to.
"You're keeping your head." He sounds pleased. "I've got it, but thank you." He rips the steering wheel into a violent right and the car's rear wheels spin as he pulls us into a ridiculously tight U turn.
We are speeding down the streettoward the truck.
Sweet Mother Mary, it's truck vs. sports car. I'm pretty sure we're going to lose in a head-on collision. I swallow my scream, watching the truck get closer. It's only been seconds and Roman's abrupt maneuver seems to have startled the other driver and he's not getting into our lane yet. Roman's window goes down and as he passes them, he fires three shots through their windshield. Three precise strokes of his finger on the trigger and I see a huge splatter of red go across the side window as we pass it.
The truck rolls to a stop, crunching into a car parked at the curb. There's dead silence for a moment as Roman puts his gun back in the holster. His phone rings and he pushes the speaker.
"Brother, are you alive?"
"Clearly," Roman says, "since I picked up the phone. The threat has been neutralized, but we need someone on the scene to identify those stupid fucks."
"I have a team in pursuit. They're two blocks away," his brother says. "They'll be there before the police arrive."
"Good," Roman says, still expressionless like they were talking about picking up their dry cleaning or going out for drinks after work. "See if you can pull a survivor from the truck."
"We will," the man says. "I'm assuming you're leaving the site because you have your Violet in the car. It's killing you that you can't go after them yourself, isn't it?"
"Dmitri, don't be such a colossal prick," Roman scolds. "Just get me someone to question." He puts the phone back on the magnetic holder on the dashboard and puts his hands on the steering wheel at ten and two, driving as sedately as he can with the Bugatti's bumper dragging behind us.
My mouth is opening and closing. I don't have enough words to form a coherent sentence yet. Out of all the issues here that I should be addressing, one fights its way to the forefront.HisViolet? His family thinks we're together?
Finally, "Was that one of your brothers at command central?"
"We don't call it that," Roman says. "Yes, that was my brother Dmitri."
"Oh," I say, trying to sound like I hadn't just been in a shootout. "He seemed very concerned about you. That's nice to have a family that cares about you that much."
"He does." Roman says it with such certainty that my heart aches. It's wonderful that he has people firmly at his back. "I apologize, darling, we won't be meeting with my father today. I'm going to have some work to do."
I think about what he said about 'retrieving' someone from the wreckage. My toes curl as a chill goes through me. "So, is this like… like playtime, then?"
Never taking his eyes from the road, he lifts my hand to his mouth, kissing the back and then the palm. It's disconcertingly intimate.
"Yes darling. It's playtime."
Chapter Seventeen
In which who knew that C4 explosives were such an aphrodisiac?
Roman…
"Do what you love and you'll never work a day in your life."
It's the dry tone of my cousin Nikandr. He's tall and blonde, like his father Yuri, but he has his mother Tania's sharp sense of humor.
