I don’t see the guy with the long hair again. I hear him swear, and then the sound of glass crunching under his shoes as he bolts after Kaitlin. She has a clear minute on him now, though. Hopefully that’s enough. Do I care if the spoilt brat dies? Fuck no. She deserves it, I’m sure, but her father, my boss, will be less than happy if I allow her to end up with a bullet between her eyes. And I don’t like displeasing my employer.
“You comfortable back there?” the guy in the front yells. I can just about hear him through the privacy screen, which has somehow not shattered. He and I must be in pretty much the same situation. His chair has driven back, pinning me in place, which probably means something has driven through the front of the car, pinning him, too.
“I’m just grand,” I shout. “You’ll forgive me if I don’t stick around, though.” I can see how I’m going to get out of this mess. I need to twist my body through the narrow gap between where I’m sitting and where Kaitlin was sitting. Problem is, the car’s compressed in such a way that I have to pivot to slide myself through, and to do that I’m gonna need to dislocate my shoulder. Won’t be the first time it’s happened, which means it’ll be slightly easier to accomplish, but it’s still going to hurt like a fucker.
“Why don’t you just stay put, sweetheart? I’d like to have a word, if that’s all right with you?” the guy in the front shouts. I can hear the sarcasm dripping from his voice, combined with the same frustration I’m experiencing right now.
“I guess we’ll just have to see who gets out of here first, huh?” I can’t waste anymore time. I doubt this guy actually does want to talk to me. He’s probably going to run after his friend, but not before executing me, if only to make sure I can’t describe him to the boss. I take a deep breath and begin twisting my body. I manage to slide one arm through the gap and then my head, and then I’ve reached the point where I can’t go any further. How do you prepare yourself for the pain of a dislocated shoulder? Short answer is, you don’t. Especially if you know what’s coming. You take a deep fucking breath, close your eyes tight, and you either do it or you don’t.
I’m a doer. Or more appropriately, I’m a stubborn bitch and I won’t let these two bastards get the better of me. A scream rips from my vocal chords as I pop my joint out of place. The pain is worse than I remember—I think for a second I’m going to throw up—but I don’t have time to stop. If I hesitate, that means he wins. I’m now able to wriggle through the gap, so I kick and scramble my way through until I can heave myself one-handed out of the window. On my back, staring up at the sky, I rotate my arm, take another deep breath and I yank my shoulder back into place.
I might as well have torn the damn thing off. I hiss out a curse word that would make a hardened criminal blush. I’m nearly blind with pain, but it’s time to get up. Time to move. Time to get the hell away from this car. There are people on the bridge, watching on anxiously. Groups of men and women, standing well back, no one rushing forward to help. That’s undoubtedly got something to do with the gun in my hand. Or the gun the long-haired guy was holding before he went charging off after Kaitlin. They all must have heard the shot I fired at him, too.
A tall, blonde woman, fingers pressed to her mouth, looks like she’s about to step forward, but then she steps back instead, horror washing over her face. I know why. It’s because that motherfucker’s climbed out of the car and is standing right behind me. Must be.
I don’t waste time looking. I push myself to my feet, spinning around, raising my gun. He’s standing right behind me, a smug look on his blood-covered face. “You feel like having that chat now, sweetheart?” He smirks, as though he has the upper hand here, even though he isn’t holding a weapon.
I know his type. The type who think female bodyguards exist so they can hand over tampons and keep their ward entertained by gossiping about boys. This guy’s about to find out the hard way that I’m a little different. Cocking my gun, I aim for his right eye. “You can either turn around and hold up your hands, or I can create a sixth hole in your head, asshole. Up to you.”
He looks away, laughing under his breath. The idea of me shooting him seems to be really fucking funny. “You’re gonna shoot me? Here? In front of all these people?”
“You think I’m worried about getting busted by the cops? I’m not.” As if on cue, sirens begin to wail in the distance. It’s going to be hell for their cruisers to get onto the bridge, though, what with the pile-up our accident has caused. I have a little time.