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I cut her off with a snarl. "You don't need to understand. You need to obey. We're goin' somewhere safe, and that's all you need to know."

I toss a backpack at her, not caring that it nearly knocks her over.

"Pack. You got two minutes. Anything you can't grab in that time, you're leavin' behind forever. Clock's tickin', sugar."

She scrambles to comply, tears in her eyes. Part of me wants to comfort her, but I squash that notion quickly. Ain't no room for soft feelings in this situation.

"Time's up," I announce, grabbing her arm. "We're gone."

"Wait!" she cries, trying to pull away. "I can't just leave everything behind! My life, my job-"

I spin her around, forcing her to meet my gaze. My yellow eyes bore into hers, my voice a low, dangerous rumble. "Listen good, 'cause I'm only sayin' this once. Your old life? It's over. You go back, you die. You call for help, you die. You do anything other than what I tell you, when I tell you? You die. I'm your only chance at stayin' breathin'. So you can come with me now, or I can leave you here for them to find. Your choice, darlin'."

I can see the fight drain out of her. Good girl.

"Okay," she whispers, defeated. "I'll go with you."

"Smart choice," I grunt, already dragging her towards the door. "Now move. We got a long night ahead of us, and I ain't about to let you slow me down."

We slip out the back door, into an alley that smells of stale beer and jazz. My car's parked a few blocks away. It’s nothing flashy, just an old Chevy that blends in with the countless others in the Quarter.

As we walk, I keep Pamela close, one hand on her elbow, eyes constantly scanning our surroundings. The usual sounds of Bourbon Street with laughter, music, the occasional drunk tourist now feel ominous. Any of these revelers could work for the gang.

We're almost to the car when I spot them. Two guys in dark jackets, trying too hard to look casual as they scan the crowd. My grip on Pamela tightens.

"Don't look," I mutter. "But we've got company. When I say run, you run. Got it?"

She nods, her face set in determination. I guide her around a corner, picking up our pace. The sound of footsteps behind us grows louder.

"Run!" I shout, pushing her ahead of me. We sprint down the narrow street, dodging startled pedestrians. I can hear shouts behind us now, getting closer.

My car comes into view, a battered sanctuary in the chaos. "Get in!" I yell, fumbling for the keys. Pamela dives into the passenger seat as I slam my door shut. The engine roars to life just as our pursuers round the corner.

I floor it, tires screeching against cobblestones. In the rearview mirror, I see one man raise a gun.

"Get down!" I roar, pushing Pamela's head below the dashboard. The rear window shatters as we careen around a corner, leaving the French Quarter behind in a squeal of rubber and gunfire.

The truck roars through the streets of New Orleans, engine snarling as I weave through traffic like a man possessed. Beside me, Pamela clings to her seat, knuckles white, hair a wild mess from our earlier scuffle.

“Oh my Lord! They shot at us!”

I take a hard turn, tires screeching, and she yelps. "Quiet," I growl, eyes flicking between her and the road. "Unless you're bleeding, I don't have time for it."

"I-I'm fine, by the way," she stammers, then adds under her breath. "You green brute."

I bare my teeth in what might be a grin or a snarl. "Good. Means I can drive faster."

The speedometer climbs as I floor it as the truck eats up pavement. I fish out a battered pack of cigarettes, lighting one up with practiced ease. The smoke fills the cab, and Pamela coughs, waving her hand in front of her face. "Those things'll kill you," she mutters.

I take a long drag, blowing smoke in her direction. "Sweetheart, there's a long list of things tryin' to kill me. Cigarettes are the least of my worries."

I reach for my flask, taking a swig of bourbon without missing a beat. Pamela's eyes widen in horror.

"You can't drink and drive!" she exclaims, reaching for the flask.

I yank it away, fixing her with a hard stare. "I can do whatever the hell I want, sugar. You want out? Be my guest." I jerk my thumb towards the door, the truck still hurtling down the road at breakneck speed.

She shrinks back, properly cowed. "N-no, I'll stay."