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Then he’s standing on the stoop, wide-eyed and deadly.

Popping off a few shots, I drive him off along the side of the house, taking cover behind the woodpile. It buys me precious seconds to reach Vanya.

“Keys?” I eyeball the convertible BMW Z4. Clearly my brother gets a paycheck.

“Still in the ignition.” Of course he has no reason to do otherwise out in the middle of nowhere.

I peek over the hood, looking for a sign of Ero. A few moments drag by and I rise up farther, expecting another volley.

Nothing.

“Shit.” Ero always did have absurd backup plans in place. No way he’s just letting us go.

“What?”

“Get in the car!” The sound of a horn in the distance sends a thrill up my spine. I crawl over the seat, and Vanya keys the engine.

“I am still drunk on tranq!” she shouts, pissed as a wet cat in a cucumber patch.

“Too bad! I gotta disable the computer on this car or he’ll be able to track us even if we lose him.”

Vanya grunts as she peels out, down the cliffside road at a breakneck pace.

And sure enough, right as we reach the main road, two trucks come flying over the hill, Ero hanging on the back of one. He must have called in support while we were talking.

That or he keeps a squad of Mocro in his backyard.

At least he has friends to play with.

Warm wind blasts through the window tussling my hair as I fiddle with the wiring under the dash. I’m about to just yank them all out when Vanya slaps my hand.

“Wait! Look up directions to Casablanca!”

“Just go north!”

“You are such aman! Do it!”

With a frustrated snarl, I tap the screen on his fancy dash, punching in the city name on the map app. It blips and shows the path, straight along the road we’re hauling ass down.

“What did?—”

“Finish that sentence.Please,” Vanya snaps, smiling menacingly. Why does that smile make my testicles shrivel up so tight?

I’m about to make another unwelcome comment when bullets whiz through the car past us from either side. So much for the computer. We’re not losing these guys any time soon.

“Fuck!” Vanya slams on the breaks, dropping back.

I duck, pulling her across me.

We get tangled, no one watching the road.

Poking my head up, I watch the trucks veer around in front, trying to block us. Even worse, the men in the back of the trucks, including my brother, aim automatic rifles at us as they swerve past. “Switch!” her voice is muffled, her face pressed into my crotch while she keeps her foot on the gas and I steer.

I manage to get my foot onto the gas, squirming under her.

She’s still on top of me, trying to move over when I see our opportunity.

Momentum carries the trucks at breakneck speed past one another in a zigzag, making it extremely difficult for the gunmen to take aim. And leaving a car-sized gap between them for a split second.