The limo is scarred already from the gunfight. The minivan is ruined. An Italian roars out into the night as a bullet catches him in the shoulder.
“Hazel.” I touch her face, but watch the lot. “Stay with me. Don’t freak out.”
“What did I just tell you?”
“Stay low,” she says, her voice surer now. “Use you as a shield.”
I sidestep from behind the trash can, using one hand to aim my pistol and the other to make sure Hazel is behind me at all times. One of the helmeted bikers across the street notices me and directs a wash of bullet fire in my direction. I curse myself for not wearing my bulletproof vest. And I thank the devil that this man can’t aim for s**t.
I take careful aim. The first shot thuds into his chest. The next tears through his helmet and sends him toppling to the floor.
“
