Alex:
Trixie clutched my waist like she was trying to fuse herself to me. Her trembling fingers dug into my jacket as I ripped down the empty streets, engine screaming a warning the city didn’t care to hear. The air smelled like rain on asphalt and trouble.
The Rebel’s garage wasn’t far—five minutes if I ignored the lights. I ignored them.
Her breath was hot against the back of my neck. “They’re gonna follow, aren’t they?”
“Not if I beat them there,” I said, though we both knew that wasn’t the truth.
She’d told me the story between stop signs, her words tumbling out like gravel. Spent the night with some dude a few blocks from here. Took a morning walk of shame to find food. A Phantom spotted her, and suddenly she was ringed in chrome and smoke.
And Carl—Goddamn Carl—was with them.
