Total pages in book: 80
Estimated words: 77579 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 388(@200wpm)___ 310(@250wpm)___ 259(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 77579 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 388(@200wpm)___ 310(@250wpm)___ 259(@300wpm)
“Details,” he demanded, voice rough, his breath catching, like me moving him along with me was causing a lot of pain.
“They’re in the alley. I think,” I said. “There was just one in my apartment,” I told him.
“Knocked him out,” Venezio said.
It wasn’t a question, but I answered anyway.
“Yes. Come on,” I said, pushing the door open with my shoulder, and pulling him through with me. “We need to get a cab, or—“
“Car is on the street,” he said, face twisting in pain as I pulled him out onto the sidewalk.
“Where?” I asked, trying to look around. Cars were everywhere. They always were.
“Corner,” Venezio ground out. “Black one,” he added.
It wasn’t the same one as Miko drove, but there was something similar to it. Black, tinted, expensive, looking.
“Okay. Alright. Let’s go,” I said, pulling him with me, finding myself a lot stronger with the hope of escape just a few yards away.
My muscles screamed and my breath grew labored as I pulled a man easily twice my size, and only partially holding up his own weight, to the car.
“Can’t drive,” he said, shaking his head. “Leg’s fucked up,” he added.
“Okay. Alright,” I said, reaching for the passenger door handle as I got there, and yanking it open.
And it was right about as I shifted him toward the opening that there were shouts.
Followed by footsteps.
“Get the fuck in,” Venezio barked at me.
I didn’t stop to give it any thought as I watched the three other brothers running out from the alley, faces twisted in identical masks of anger.
I flew around the hood of the car, yanked open the door, and dropped inside.
Just as there was a muted pop pop pop sound.
Out of the corner of my eye, I watched the brothers scatter even as Venezio dropped into the seat with a grumble.
“Turn it on,” he hissed as there was another pop pop pop.
He didn’t hand me a key, so my hand found the button, pushing it, but nothing happened. “Step on the brake as you do it,” he said, voice rough. I tried the right one first, then the left, finally feeling the car come alive as Venezio slammed his door, and hit the locks.
“Drive!” he demanded.
“I don’t know how,” I admitted, voice catching.
“Christ,” he hissed. “Step on the gas. The right pedal,” he explained as he reached for the gear shift, and put it in drive.
I pressed my foot tentatively into the gas, feeling the car lurch forward, just as one of the brothers jumped in front of the car.
Venezio reached over, grabbing the wheel, and yanking it to the side.
“Gas,” he hissed.
So I slammed my foot into it again, and the car flew forward.
There was a sickening thud as the side of the car rammed into whichever brother it was there, but the wheels didn’t drive over him, so I figured he probably lived.
“Hands on the wheel,” Venezio demanded. “Ten and two,” he added. “And ease up on the gas.”
I did as I was told, seeing him moving out of the corner of my eye, dropping his gun into his lap, and reaching for his phone.
“Brake!” he yelled, making me slam my foot into the other pedal just in time not to run the red a few blocks away. “You’re gonna be fine. Just fucking relax,” he said. “You tap the gas with your toe, not your whole foot. Press the brake with all your toes, but don’t put it to the floor all at once, ease it down,” he said. “Boss,” he said, making me look over to find him with his phone to his ear. “Shit went down. Yeah. No. I’m… I’ll live. She’s… a little busted up,” he said, looking over at me. “What do you want me to do?” he asked.
I felt like I was leaning closer, wanting to hear Cosimo’s response.
I wasn’t disappointed.
“Bring her here,” he said.
With that, the call was over, and Venezio was back to giving me surprisingly calm instructions while I tried not to kill us as I drove across town.
Occasionally, his arm shot out, grabbing the wheel, correcting our course when I was sliding too far one way or the other.
“Slow down,” he demanded a while ahead of the turn he wanted me to take. “There,” he said, turning the wheel for me. “Now accelerate. Good. You’re getting it,” he said, his face twisting when he tried to adjust in his seat.
“Are you okay?” I asked.
“Don’t worry about me,” he said. “Left up here,” he said, nodding out the windshield. “You okay?” he asked, reaching toward the wheel again to help me turn as I slowed down, then accelerated into the turn.
“I don’t know,” I said. “I think I’m bleeding,” I added, feeling wetness on my face.
“You are,” he said. “What happened?”
“He hit my head into the window,” I admitted.
“Right at the next block, then pull halfway down and we’re there,” he said.