What do we do now ? I ask instead. We can’t keep these handcuffs on forever.
Veah’s face betrays nothing as she says, There is . . . one thing.
What ? I say. Mass murder ? Cow slaughter ? Offering to the gods ? Listen, we can flip a coin to choose who gives up their firstborn.
A small, cocky smile tugs at her mouth, and she bites her bottom lip. I’m not planning on having any biological children.
You’re not planning on having any . . . It takes me a moment to get it, and stupidly, I blush. Well, neither am I.
Did we just come out to each other ?
It looks like offering up our firstborn children is out of the question, she says, and I almost want to smile with her. At the surprising fact that she’s actually . . . funny.
Her lips curve again, her teeth catching on her lower lip. Don’t look, Kaya. Do. Not. Look.
I can resist the charms of a rogue Mafia assassin. I can resist the . . .
My eyes fall on her mouth again. The tender pink of her soft lips. I imagine closing the distance between us and kissing her until I see stars.
Damn it. You looked.
I swallow. NervousI’m nervous. I am not a middle-school teenager in the girls’ locker room. Sowhat was your idea ?
You’re going to have to hold still.
Fifteen minutes later, I am trembling from head to toe.
Is this really our only option ? Bravery is great and all, but when my hand is laid out and there is a sword raised high in the air, every instinct in me yells Run !
The crescent-shaped blade glints under the hot Californian sun in the instant before she brings it down between us.
That’s going to leave a dent, I mumble.
The hood of the car is now scarred with a long, sword-shaped slice. But the handcuffsthe handcuffs are broken.
It worked, Veah says, as though she can’t believe it.
You didn’t think it would work ? I demand.
There was no way to be one hundred percent
My wrist is still chafed and raw, but I’m free. I’m free. I’m
The sound of a vibration whistles through the air. A steady, pounding sound that comes closer, roiling the air.
What’s that ? I whisper.
Veah is ice-still. She doesn’t even look up. Her eyes meet mine and she yells over the growing sound of the engine. Get in the car !
But we We just got these handcuffs off !
Overhead, I can see the source of the sound. A helicopter.
A goddamn helicopter. Shit, I swear. Oh, hell no.
The Mafia has a helicopter ?
The black wings of the sleek craft become sharper as it surges forward. From the other side of the red California desert, it is speeding fastway too fast.
There’s no time. But still, I hesitate. We were just freed.
What I mean to say is, I don’t have to do this anymore. I don’t have to be chased because of you anymore.
I should have known better. We’re in the middle of the desert.
If the helicopter comes closer, it will be able to pinpoint me. And if they have an order for both of us, then I’m still in danger as long as they can associate me with Veah.
I have to lose myself in a crowdin the city.
But to do that, I have to get in the car with her first.
Come on ! Veah calls. What are you waiting for ?
A bloody miracle, I think, but I get in the car with her anyway. It seems it’s becoming a pattern now.
I exchange a glance with Veah. She’s so beautiful it hurtseven when she seems furiously determined. Her eyes narrow, her full lips tightening, and she concentrates on the road ahead. Slamming on the gas pedal.
Can we outdrive a helicopter ? I ask, gasping as we fly past the red desert.
Have you ever been in a car with me before ?
And to that, I think, Sure. Okay. I mean, you did murder a truck driver and cause an explosion. But yes, please, let’s continue.
By any chance, I say, panting as she swerves dangerously in a circle, do we know where we’re going ?
She licks her lips. She should definitely not look this happy while we are being chased by Japanese mob bosses. The airport.
I send up a quick prayer to the sky. Once we get to the airport, I’m getting out of here.
Whatever it takeseven if it means ditching herI have to run.
And now that I’m free of the handcuffs, there’s nothing holding me back.
Once I get the chance, I have to take it.
The wind whips against my face. The Californian breeze tastes like salt and sunlight. The windows to the convertible are rolled down, and as we speed past the city of Santa Monica, I can’t help but forget about the danger and the fear and our imminent deaths.
Free. I feel free.
But the feeling doesn’t last. Somehow, although Veah managed to outdrive the helicopter, we are still being followed.
Keep an eye on that car, Veah says, her eyes flicking up at me through the mirror.
I’m trying, I say through clenched teeth.
My wrist still aches from where the handcuff was, only an hour ago.
The traffic of downtown Santa Monica pulses, a living, breathing labyrinth of convertibles and people still dressed in bathing suits, honking with too-tan hands and all-star American smiles.
The Yakuza must be getting frustrated.
My head falls back on the seat, a groan tipping out of me.
I can’t believe I’m saying this, but drive faster.