Chapter 1 - The Alley Escape
The 1998 Honda Civic shrieked in protest as Mave hauled the steering wheel around, its tires spinning wildly on the greasy, rain-slicked asphalt of the alleyway.
In the rearview mirror, the high beams of the massive black SUV flared into blinding white lances, cutting through the heavy sheets of November rain. The vehicle accelerated, its heavy grill nosing into the narrow gap between the dumpsters with terrifying speed. Whoever was driving didn't care about collateral damage; they wanted whoever was bleeding in the passenger seat dead, and anyone connected to them erased.
"Hold on!" Mave shouted, though it was impossible to tell if the wounded man beside her even heard her.
He was slumped hard against the passenger door, his breathing shallow and rattling. The massive Cane Corso was crowded across the back seat, its heavy paws planted firmly on the floorboards as it let out a deep, chest-vibrating growl that rattled the car's rusted window frames.
Mave slammed her foot down on the gas pedal. The Civic’s transmission whined, gears grinding in agony before the car finally surged forward, spitting gravel and dirty water as it burst out of the alley and fishtailed onto the main boulevard.
Behind them, the black SUV leaped out of the alleyway, tires smoking. But Mave knew these streets the way a stray cat knew the cracks in a sidewalk. She flicked off her headlights, relying entirely on the dim, yellow glow of streetlamps and her memory of the potholes, and yanked the wheel into a sharp right turn down a narrow, unlit delivery lane that city buses couldn't fit into.
The SUV overshot the turn, its brakes screeching in frustration.
Mave drove for three miles, weaving through a labyrinth of forgotten industrial blocks and dead-end warehouses, until the rhythmic thud of her own heartbeat finally slowed down enough for her to breathe. She pulled the car into the shadowy alcove of a derelict auto repair shop, killed the engine, and dropped her forehead against the sticky plastic of the steering wheel.
Silence rushed in, broken only by the steady drumbeat of the rain on the roof and the wet, ragged gasps of the man in the passenger seat.
"Hey," Mave breathed, lifting her head. "Are you still with me?"
The man slowly shifted. The pale gray eye fluttered open, gleaming with a feral, dangerous focus despite the blood soaking his chest.
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"You shouldn't have done that," he rasped, his voice a gravelly scrape. "You brought a target straight to your back."
"Well," Mave said, wiping a strand of wet hair from her face, "my back was already pretty crowded with bills and bad luck, so what's one more target?"
