CHAPTER 5
1264 Words
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*Chapter 5 - Ambush*
The second we stepped outside, I knew we were too late.
The street was too quiet. No cars. No people. Just rain and the buzz of a streetlight that was about to die.
Damian froze with his hand on my arm.
“Back,” he whispered.
But the back door slammed open.
Two men. Suits. Earpieces. Guns already out.
“Hands up,” one of them said. Polite. Dead.
Damian shoved me behind him. “Run.”
I didn’t. I couldn’t.
The Vant moved fast. One grabbed for me. Damian hit him. Hard. Elbow to the throat. The man went down choking.
The second one raised his gun.
Damian tackled him. They hit the wet pavement and rolled.
“Damian!” I screamed.
A third man came from the alley. I didn’t see him until it was too late.
He grabbed my wrist. The same wrist Damian had held all night.
“Ms. Reyes,” he said. “Mr. Vex would like a word.”
I kneed him. I’d done kickboxing for two years to deal with drunk guys at the club. It worked. He let go, swearing.
I ran.
Behind me, Damian was still fighting. I heard a grunt. A punch. Glass breaking.
“Don’t you touch him!” I yelled and grabbed a trash can lid from the ground. I swung it. It caught the third man across the face.
He stumbled.
Damian was on his feet in a second. Blood on his lip. Fury in his eyes.
“Car,” he barked.
We ran.
The sedan was still at the curb. Damian fumbled for keys, got in, slammed the doors. I dove into the passenger seat.
The Vant were already moving.
Damian peeled out. Tires screamed. We shot down the street with two men chasing us on foot and one on a radio.
“Are you hit?” I gasped, twisting to look back.
“No.” Damian’s hands were white on the wheel. “You?”
“I’m fine.” My heart was hammering. “The USB?”
He patted his chest. “Still here.”
We took a hard left. Then another. The city blurred past. Wet signs. Empty intersections.
A black SUV pulled out behind us.
“They found us,” Damian muttered. “Of course they did.”
“What do we do?”
“We lose them.”
He floored it.
We flew through red lights. Down one-way streets the wrong way. The SUV stayed behind us. Two cars back. Then one.
“They’re not letting go,” I said.
“Then we make them.” Damian jerked the wheel. We cut through an alley so narrow the mirrors almost scraped the walls.
The SUV tried to follow. Too wide. It screeched to a halt, blocked.
For 10 seconds I thought we were free.
Then another SUV came from the other side.
Damian cursed. “They had two teams.”
He slammed the brakes. Reversed. Spun the wheel.
We fishtailed out of the alley and onto a main road.
The SUV was right there.
Damian looked at me. “Hold on.”
He swerved.
The SUV clipped our back bumper. Metal screamed. The car spun.
I screamed too.
Damian fought the wheel and somehow, somehow, we straightened out.
“Are you okay?” he asked, not looking at me. Eyes on the road.
“I’m okay.” I was lying.
The SUV was still there. Gaining.
Damian reached into the glove box. Pulled out a gun.
I stared at it. “You have a gun?”
“I have a lot of things,” he said grimly. “Stay down.”
He rolled down the window and fired.
Once. Twice.
The SUV swerved. Backed off.
“Damian!”
“I’m not killing them,” he snapped. “I’m shooting tires.”
Another shot. The SUV veered and crashed into a light pole.
Silence.
Damian rolled the window up. His hand was shaking.
I reached over and put my hand over his. “Hey. Breathe.”
He did. Shaky. Then nodded.
We drove. No one followed.
For 20 minutes neither of us spoke. The only sound was the rain and the damaged car rattling.
Finally Damian pulled into an underground garage. Dark. Empty.
He killed the engine.
And collapsed back into the seat.
I realized he was bleeding. From his temple. A shallow cut.
“Damian.”
“I’m fine.” But he wasn’t.
I grabbed napkins from the glove box and pressed them to his head. He hissed.
“Sorry,” I whispered.
“Don’t be.” He closed his eyes. “You saved me back there. With the trash can lid.”
I laughed. It came out watery. “You’re welcome.”
Damian opened his eyes. Looked at me. Really looked. “You didn’t have to. You could’ve run.”
“I wasn’t going to leave you.”
He didn’t say anything to that. Just reached up and covered my hand with his. The one holding the napkin to his head.
We sat like that for a minute. Two idiots in a busted car with blood and rain.
Then Damian sat up. “We need to move. This garage isn’t safe.”
“Where to now?”
He pulled the USB out. Held it up. “Mara. She has a safe house. Off the grid.”
“Will she help us?”
“She will if she wants to stay alive too.” He got out and came around to my side. Opened my door. “Come on.”
We walked through the garage. My legs were shaking. Adrenaline crash.
Damian noticed. He slipped his arm around my waist. Not romantic. Just steadying.
I leaned into him.
We found a taxi two blocks over. An old guy who didn’t ask questions.
Damian gave him an address.
The ride was silent. Damian kept his hand on the USB in his pocket. I kept watching the mirrors.
The taxi dropped us in front of a laundromat. 3 AM. Closed.
Damian knocked. Three times. Pause. Two times.
The door opened.
A woman stood there. 40s. Short hair. Sharp eyes.
Mara Ellis.
She looked at us. At the blood on Damian’s head. At me.
“Get inside,” she said. “Now.”
We did.
The laundromat was a front. Behind the dryers was a door. Behind that, an apartment. Computers. Monitors. Files everywhere.
Mara locked the door. “You’re bleeding.”
“I’m fine,” Damian said again.
Mara ignored him and looked at me. “You’re the DJ.”
I nodded.
“She has the drive,” Damian said.
Mara held out her hand. “Let me see it.”
Damian gave it to her.
Mara plugged it into a computer that wasn’t connected to anything. She scrolled. Her face got paler and paler.
When she finished, she looked up. “This is it. This is everything.”
“What do we do?” I asked.
Mara met my eyes. “We publish. Tonight. All of it. Before they can stop us.”
“And then?” Damian asked.
“And then we pray,” Mara said. “Because once this goes live, your father will burn the city down to find you.”
Damian looked at me.
I looked at him.
And for the first time since this started, I wasn’t scared.
I was ready.
“Do it,” I said.
Mara nodded and started typing.
Outside, somewhere far away, sirens started.
The run wasn’t over.
It was just beginning.
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- Writer
