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“Run.” Roman’s command came out in a hoarse whisper. His next was louder—cracking on its way out as he pushed himself up off the ground, pulling Pax and Shay with him.“RUN!”

Everyone bolted.

Donovan and his people, being in the path of the destruction, had been forced to take cover.

It was the first blessing they’d had in hours.

The second was the smoke—thick plumes covering their escape.

“Faster!”Roman ran like hell, crushing Pax’s hand in his grip. Clare was shouting Paxton’s name—begging him to come to her. Roman refused to lighten up on his grip, knowing exactly how this would end if his father got his hands on any of them. What was happening in this city—the pandemonium, the monsters, the gunfire, the goddamnwaritself.

It was nothing compared to Don. What he was capable of doing.

Shay ran with him, Paxton’s free hand in hers, the others booking it to their own vehicles. It did not escape him that this might be the last time they ever saw each other.

Roman slid to a dust-choked stop beside the car and ripped open the door. “Get in, get in!”

Pax climbed between the front seats and squished into the back, Shay already in the passenger’s seat.

Roman got inside and started the engine. “Shay?” he ground out as he threw it in drive. She knew what he was asking as his eyes flicked to the mirror—to the others.

“I did it,” she replied, her words breaking on a sob. “I did it, but I didn’t want to do it! He could kill them! Roman,he could kill them!”

His heart raced as he looked in the reflection. At Ivy, Tanner, Kylar, and Eugene, who were already peeling away in the other car.

Down the road, Don, his wife, and his Shadowmasters had returned to their own vehicle and were speeding after Max, Dallas, Dominic, and Blue.

It had worked. He’d taken the bait.

Don had taken the bait and was now chasing an illusion.

Max floored it,his breath sharp as a knife in his chest.

Donovan was coming after them, his headlights drawing near.

Dallas and Blue were in here with him, Dominic in the truck bed.

The reason? Apart from the lack of space.

The gun he was aiming at Donovan’s car.

It was a spur-of-the-moment idea that had flashed into the Angel’s mind while they’d sprinted down the road. One they’d had zero time to discuss. Trust was all they could do.

Shay’s illusion—the magic that would wear off within seconds if they were unlucky, minutes if they were blessed—kept Don and his men from spotting the Angel of Death as Max steadied the car on a straight stretch of road, giving Dominic a clear shot.

“Come on, Dominic,” Max whispered, pushing the truck so fast the magic coursing through the engine hummed. The smell of candle smoke floated through the vents. “Come on.”

Max knew the only reason the asshole hadn’t already used his power to blast them off the road was because he really believed Paxton was in here. Believed he’d kill his kid if he subjected him to a collision of such sheer magnitude.

“Come on,” Max whispered, heart pounding. Dominic was a great shot—Max knew he wouldn’t miss. He was not just an Angel of Death, but an ex-Fleet soldier. He could do this.

The headlights brightened. The car was close.

Dominic fired.

The front-left tire on Donovan’s car exploded.

He careened out of control, spinning in a complete rotation, the other car with the rest of the Shadowmasters screeching to a halt behind him as Don’s car blocked both lanes.