The door swung open, and it was Aylin. It took every ounce of control not to fire where I’d been aiming—right at her chest.


    She stood there, blue eyes blazing with an urgency that hit like a live wire. Her dark hair framed her face in wild waves, and her dress hugged every curve, but this wasn’t some dainty number. It moved with her, almost like it had its own mind, clinging and shifting with each step, a shadow draped over her that looked just as dangerous as she did. In her hand was a long-barreled revolver, gleaming under the dim light, all cold metal and bad intentions. She held it like she knew how to use it—and like she wouldn’t hesitate if anyone got in her way.


    Her eyes widened as she took in the sight of me slumped against the wall, half-conscious. For a split second, a hint of those doe eyes softened her gaze, a crack in her armor.


    “Jack,” she whispered urgently, and rushed over, slipping her arm around my waist to help me to my feet.


    “What are you doing here?” I rasped, wincing.


    “Never mind that,” she muttered, her tone sharp. “We have to get out of here.”


    Using her as a crutch, we stumbled down the hallway, each step a struggle as my legs fought to keep up. We made it to the end, pushing through an exit door just as I heard the heavy footsteps and shouts of Cat’s men echoing behind us. The rain picked up again.


    Aylin spun on her heel, firing her revolver down the hallway at an unseen foe, each shot ringing out in the confined space. With a final push, we burst into the night air. Outside, an old, beat-up Pontiac waited, engine sputtering. One headlight was out, and the other flickered like it was clinging to life, though it wasn’t doing much to cut through the dark.


    Gunshots rang out, followed by shouts. “He’s here!”


    I fired in the direction of the voices. She shoved me into the passenger seat, slamming the door and diving into the driver’s side, yanking the wheel as she floored it, her door still ajar. With a thunderous roar, the car lunged forward, belching sulfuric smoke from the exhaust, rattling like it might fall apart at any second as it tore down the street.


    The tires screamed in protest as we tore down the rain-slicked streets, the night swallowing us whole. The old car rattled and groaned, held together by little more than sheer will and a prayer, every bump and jolt a reminder of just how close we were to falling apart.


    Adrenaline surged through me, my voice unsteady as I shouted over the roar of the engine. “What the hell have you dragged me into, Aylin?”


    Aylin, chest heaving, shot me a look of pure steel. “Thanks, Aylin. I owe you, Aylin. You saved my ass back there, Aylin,” she snapped, voice dripping with sarcasm as she mimicked me.


    This wasn''t the woman I''d met just a few days ago. This wasn''t the helpless dame I''d found drenched outside of Murphy''s. This woman would have chewed up and spit out all of those men.


    I studied her, watching for any crack in that fierce facade. I’d seen enough to recognize the flash of fear behind her eyes, like a storm brewing just beneath the surface. She was hiding something, something lethal. If I didn’t figure it out soon, it was going to get us both killed.


    “Thanks for the assist, Aylin,” I said, suspicion tightening my voice. “But what’s the deal? Who the hell are you, really? Because something tells me ‘Aylin McGuffey’ isn’t even close.”


    For a brief second, her mask slipped. There was a flicker—guilt, maybe—crossing her face. “What gave it away?” she muttered, eyes fixed on the blurred lights and shadows speeding past the window.


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    “Just a hunch,” I said, piecing it together aloud. “The McGuffey estate—you claimed you were close. But no photos of you anywhere, no mention of you in any family interviews or the police report. Just a name and a lie.”


    The air between us felt like a coiled spring, ready to snap. Streetlights cast fleeting shadows across her face, and her eyes—laced with regret—revealed more than she’d ever said.


    The car belched an explosive backfire from the exhaust, coughing a cloud of black smoke.


    “Where’d you dig up this beauty?” I asked.


    “Forgive me,” she shot back, swerving around a stalled truck and barreling through a red light. “Next time I steal a car to save your ass, I’ll pick something that meets your high standards. How about a Bentley?” Her attempt at a smile was brittle, gone as fast as it came.


    “So, you gonna spill or do I need to start pulling teeth? Who are you?” I demanded, my voice edged with something dangerous.


    "I don’t think you’re in any position to be making threats," she said, nodding toward my side, where my hand clutched the wound.


    I tapped my gun gently against the seat, a half-hearted threat. She rolled her eyes, unimpressed. I shrugged—she’d called my bluff, and we both knew it. I wasn’t going to fire on her, and she knew it as well as I did.


    She sighed, the weight of it heavy. “You really want me to answer that? There’s still a chance you walk from this, you know. Might not feel like it, but the shot’s there. If I tell you, that door closes. Permanently.”


    “Go on,” I said, my voice steady, though my grip on the gun tightened.


    But before she could answer, we were jolted forward—a sickening thump as another car slammed into our rear bumper. Wump! Again, the black sedan rammed us, relentless, its headlights glaring like a predator’s eyes locked on its prey.


    “Shit!” Aylin spat, slamming her foot on the gas. The decrepit car screeched forward, weaving through traffic, lurching and bouncing over potholes and puddles. The sedan stuck to us like a bloodhound on the hunt, headlights glaring in the rearview.


    My pulse pounded in my ears. They weren’t stopping until we were dead. Aylin’s knuckles whitened on the wheel, her face a mask of grim concentration as she careened down alleys and sidewalks, tearing through the city and breaking every rule on the books. But the sedan stayed with us, relentless as death itself.


    I reached into the glove compartment and grabbed her gun, a solid piece of steel. Leaning out the window, I fired three shots. Bang! Bang! Bang! One of the sedan’s tires exploded, sending it skidding off the road and into a ditch.


    Jack, Frank’s voice muttered in the back of my mind, low and rasping.


    A shot of relief surged through me. Hells, Frank, you can’t just disappear like that.


    What have you done with my skin? I’m full of holes.


    Makes two of us, I shot back, feeling the ache in my ribs and shoulder. I felt Frank’s energy course through me, like a dark, electric current. The torn leather of my jacket began to stitch itself back together, seams knitting slowly, and the sharp edges of my pain dulled, the ache numbing to a intense but bearable throb.


    Jack, there’s something I need you to see, he said, his tone uncharacteristically serious.


    What is it?


    Jack… it changes everything.


    We swerved onto an empty street, finally shaking off the last of our pursuers. The headlights behind us faded, swallowed up by the night. I let out a breath I hadn’t realized I’d been holding, sinking into the cracked leather seat as a fleeting wave of relief washed over me.


    Just as I let myself believe we’d shaken them, we barreled into an intersection—and then, out of nowhere, a pair of headlights tore into my periphery, blinding and relentless, cutting through the darkness like the cold edge of a scythe swung by a vengeful god.


    “Watch out!” I barely got the words out before the other car slammed into us with brutal force.


    The impact was devastating. Metal twisted and shrieked as we lurched sideways, the world tilting, tumbling in a violent blur. Time slowed, each second stretching painfully. The roar of the engine became a distant hum, swallowed by the night, as darkness crept into the edges of my vision.