“Don’t be a dick,” I muttered but I let him lead me out through the doors and into the morning sunshine. It was the sort of morning where birds were in the trees chirping at the sky, and people seemed to be walking with a smile on their faces. It was a Disney kind of morning, and although he pulled me along by the arm like a child, I felt a thrill at being touched by him.
I knew I was going down a dark path. I knew I was tumbling head over heels into something I should’ve been running from, but the way his hands touched my body, the way he smirked at me, the way he acted like he owned any room he walked into made my heart flutter, my body sing out with need. I couldn’t resist it, even if I remembered my father wrapped in plastic that night, the gunshot ringing out and echoing off an abandoned, empty school.
I could still see Dante’s face from that night, stern but empty.
“Get in,” he grunted, opening the SUV’s door. I climbed into the passenger side and he slammed it shut before heading around and getting behind the wheel.
“Why are you in such a rush?”
He shook his head. “I’m not.” He started the car and checked for traffic then pulled out.
“Tell that to the way you just dragged me down the street.”
He laughed. “Sometimes you walk too slow. Anyone ever tell you that before?” We came to an intersection then turned, heading along the usual route.
I shook my head. “Nope. Nobody’s been that much of a dick.”
He grunted in response, a little smile on his lips. “You’re with the wrong man if you’re looking for pretty lies.”
“I think I’d rather have pretty truth.” I hesitated before running my hands down the leather seat. “And I’m not with you.”
He glanced at me, head tilted. “You sure about that?” he asked, and I stared back into his eyes.
A second later, at the intersection just ahead, two black trucks pulled up and came to a screaming, screeching stop. Men were sitting in the beds of the trucks, two in each, with more men inside the cabs. I stared at them, my jaw dropping, as Dante slammed on his brakes to avoid smashing into them. The SUV came to a screaming halt and my body lurched forward against the strained seatbelt.
For a moment, nothing happened. The air hung heavy and silent and all I could hear was my heart and Dante’s steady breathing. I watched him as his face dropped, a sudden stillness coming over his body.
Then the men in the truck beds moved. They raised weapons, rifles, some kind of machine guns. I didn’t know what they were, but I knew we were dead, we were both dead. They were ten feet away and there were four of them. I saw grim faces, one of them was in sunglasses, the other three had shaved heads. One big, crooked nose, one scar along a forehead, one had tattoos on his cheeks and throat. They were all pale and wore simple jeans and heavy denim jackets.
“Down!” Dante shouted. He unbuckled his seatbelt and grabbed me by the back of my neck. He unbuckled my seatbelt next and shoved me forward in one swift motion, his body diving across the center console to shove me down onto the floor, covering me with his massive arms and chest, as the guns opened fire.
It was like fireworks going off just above our heads. Booming explosion after booming explosion, intense and unreal, shattering the air and tearing through the car. I felt glass shatter and I heard Dante grunt. I didn’t know if he was shot, or cut, or what was happening. All I could do was cover my head, my eyes squeezed shut. I could barely breathe, my body scrunched down so tight against the floor, but Dante didn’t move.
And just as abruptly as it began, the gunshots stopped, and silence came back into the world, pierced through with a ringing in my ears.
“Dante?” I said, pushing up against him. “Dante!”
He grunted and frowned at me. He was alive, but he was bleeding. The windshield had shattered from multiple gunshot wounds.
“You’re hurt,” I said, but I couldn’t hear myself. It was like talking under water, except I was gasping for air and my body felt sluggish and broken.
He shook his head then touched his side. His shirt was soaked with blood, his jacket ripped clear through. He grunted and pulled a shard of glass out.
“You need help,” I said, head dizzy.
“Stay down,” he said, staring in my eyes. “Do you hear me? Don’t fucking move.”
I nodded, my mouth hanging open, and he sat up.
I stared as he pulled a gun from his back. It had been tucked into a holster pushed into his belt. I didn’t know how I never noticed it before, but as soon as it was in his hand, it was like the gun had never left him. He leaned against the door as I moved my head up to look out the windshield.
Two of the men in the right truck were still in the back. Their guns were smoking and held up in the air. One was saying something and the other just shook his head, squinting at their car. One man from the right truck was coming toward us, his gun held out, angled toward the driver’s side. Dante was staying low and still, but I saw his hand on the door handle.
“Dante?” I groaned, trying to whisper.
He didn’t look at me. The other man from the right truck was coming around my side, a few feet behind his partner. He was frowning and said something in a language I didn’t understand. My ears were still ringing, screaming at me, and I wanted to get away. I wanted to
