Page 196 of Fractured Loyalties

Before I can answer, Kinley’s first shot splits the air. One of the men jerks back, dropping his rifle over the edge. The other two open fire, bullets snapping off metal and cement, sending sparks down like a cruel imitation of snow. Elias moves—fast, fluid—using the sedan’s hood as cover while returning fire with controlled precision.

I duck low, yanking the driver’s side door open. The engine coughs to life under my hands. Lydia backs toward us, still shooting in tight, efficient bursts. Jori dives into the back seat, keeping his head down.

Elias drops into the passenger seat without warning. “Go.”

The tires screech against the stained concrete, and we shoot forward toward the far exit ramp. Shouts rise behind us, boots pounding along the upper level. A round cracks the rearwindow, glass spraying across the back seat. Jori curses and ducks lower.

“Faster, Mara,” Elias says, not shouting, just certain.

I push the pedal harder. The bay narrows to the ramp, the incline curling us up toward the night. Somewhere past the last bend, our SUV waits in the dark. But the way the air feels now—thick, charged—I know we’re not out yet.

The sedan’s engine strains as we climb the ramp, each turn of the wheels echoing through the concrete throat behind us. My grip is welded to the wheel, eyes flicking between the curve ahead and the fractured glass of the rear window. Shadows move above, rifles barking short bursts that chip the car’s paint and scream off the frame. A shot takes the side mirror, the metal snapping away into the dark.

Elias braces against the door to return fire, his jaw set against the pull in his injured shoulder. “Keep it straight,” he orders, voice a steel line in the chaos. “No sudden turns.”

We crest the ramp, the night swallowing us in a rush of cold air. For one breath, I think we’re free—until an engine roars from below. Headlights flare, carving through the black, closing fast.

“On us,” Lydia calls from the back, sliding a fresh mag home.

“Not for long,” Elias says, nodding toward a narrow break in the fence ahead. “Cut right.”

I wrench the wheel. The sedan lurches over a shallow ditch, jolting hard onto a dirt track hemmed in by clawing branches. Behind us, the pursuing beams stutter through the trees, relentless.

The path bursts into a clearing. There—our SUV, crouched low in the overgrowth exactly where we left it. Relief is a hard punch in my ribs.

I slam the brakes. Kinley’s out before we’ve fully stopped, sprinting to the driver’s seat of the SUV and he starts the engine. Just as the sedan stops, Jori bails from the back, keeping low, his hands over his head as he sprints to the SUV. Elias gets out and yanks my door open. “Move.”

I’m moving before the word finishes, but before I can fully step out, the chase vehicle bursts from the path, suspension groaning as it clears the ditch. Its headlights rake the clearing, pinning Elias in their glare.

He raises his weapon.

This time, the shot isn’t a warning. It’s the full stop.

The muzzle flash sears against the dark, and the pursuing car jerks hard, one of its headlights winking out. It swerves, tires clawing at the dirt before slamming into the tree line with a grinding shriek. Steam billows from the crumpled hood, white and ghostlike against the night.

Elias doesn’t wait to see if they’ll climb out. He’s already dragging me toward the SUV, his body between me and the wreck. As I sprint, I veer back to the sedan we brought here, drawing my knife and sinking the blade into one tire, then another. Air hisses out in sharp bursts, ensuring it won’t be going anywhere if our pursuers survive the wreck. Lydia’s voice cuts through the rush of blood in my ears, sharp and urgent, “Move, move, move!” as she occupies the passenger seat.

I dive into the back seat just as Kinley puts the car into gear, Elias coming in behind me. The SUV surges forward, swallowing the ground between us and the far tree line. Branches whip at the windows. Behind us, movement stirs in thewreck—figures spilling out, shouts cutting through the thrum of the engine. A shot cracks, hitting somewhere low on the tailgate, but it’s distant now, fading with every yard.

Inside, the air is thick with adrenaline. Elias leans back, breathing hard, one hand pressed to his shoulder. His knuckles are pale around the pistol still gripped in his other hand. He doesn’t speak. None of us do.

The trees close in, shadows folding around us until the clearing and the wreck are gone. Kinley takes a hard turn, finding the old logging road that will carry us away from Volker’s reach, at least, for now. My pulse pounds in time with the ruts in the path, but my focus is on Elias, on the blood darkening the edge of his coat.

He catches me looking, eyes unreadable in the dash light. “It’s not over,” he says. It sounds like a promise. Or a warning.

And I believe him.

Kinley keeps the wheel steady, jaw locked, eyes locked on the tunnel of black ahead. The suspension groans with every rut, and the whole frame shivers as we cut deeper into the woods.

Inside, the SUV feels smaller than it should. The air is thick with heat from our bodies, the metallic tang of spent rounds, and something sharper—Elias’s blood, drying into his shirt. His thigh presses against mine with each jolt, not just for balance but because he’s not letting the space between us grow.

“Lose the lights,” he says, voice low but certain.

Kinley kills them, and we’re swallowed by darkness. The only glow comes from the instrument panel, painting everyone in faint green. Lydia shifts, watching out her window, rifle angled toward the shadows between the trees.

I glance back at Jori. He’s pale, shivering, but conscious. His head tips toward me, then past me toward Elias, like he’s weighing questions he’s not ready to ask.

“You’re bleeding again,” I murmur, not to Jori but to Elias.