Chapter 333: Expensive Corpse

Lucas heard her question and only one name came to mind.

Durnik.

That bastard was capable of this. Public streets. Guns. Panic. He would not care who got caught in the middle as long as the result landed where he wanted it.

Lucas kept the car moving up the ramp, feeding it what little it still had. The Bugatti was already wounded. The ruined rear tire had been screaming against the concrete for too long, rim grinding, steering pulling harder with every meter. Then the engine started breaking up under him.

The surge died.

The car slowed.

Slowed again.

A final ugly shudder ran through the body, and the power fell away completely.

"No."

Lucas tried the start once.

Nothing.

Again.

A weak click. No catch.

Again.

Silence.

He hit the wheel once with the heel of his hand.

"Come on."

Nothing.

"You expensive piece of~"

He cut himself off, tried one more time, and got the same dead response. The Bugatti sat on the ramp like a beautiful corpse. All that money, all that engineering, and right now it would not even cough for him.

Lucas gave up.

He shoved the door open and stepped out into the concrete cold. The rim of the dead tire was still ticking faintly from heat and friction. Far below, somewhere near the entrance, engines and voices were still moving.

He went around to Rechelle’s side.

She was more awake than before, but not clear. The alcohol still had its hands on her. When he opened the door, she looked at him like the world had not finished loading.

"We walking?" she asked, soft and wrong for the moment.

"Yes."

"I don’t like walking."

"I don’t like being shot. Let’s go."

He got her out. She staggered the second her feet found the ground and grabbed his arm with both hands. When he tried to move her up the ramp at speed, she dragged against him immediately, steps lagging, body soft and uncooperative.

"Rechelle."

"I’m coming..."

"You’re not."

He stopped, turned, and dropped in front of her.

"On."

She blinked.

"What?"

"Get on."

Somehow she understood enough. She draped herself over his back, arms around his shoulders, and Lucas hooked his hands under her thighs and lifted. Her weight settled against him at once. Soft. Heavy. Her chest pressed into his back as she clung on, warm even through the clothes.

Any other time, his brain might have made something stupid of that.

This was not any other time.

He started up the ramp.

Each step was work. Rechelle kept shifting, half-conscious, cheek near his shoulder, breath against his neck. She was confused more than scared now, murmuring incomplete thoughts into his shirt while he climbed.

"Why... are we running?"

"Because people with guns are rude."

"Oh."

A pause.

"Are you mad?"

"Yes."

"At me?"

"At a bastard who keeps making my nights expensive."

He kept climbing, lungs steady, mind not. If it had only been him, he would have turned around and handled it directly. One man, open ground, no liability. He could work with that. But Rechelle on his back changed the math completely. Every corner had to be safer. Every decision had to be cleaner. He could not afford a hard fight while carrying someone who could barely stand.

So he cursed Durnik under his breath instead.

If that bastard had sent this, Lucas was going to take the debt out of him piece by piece. Not only for the car. But for putting her in the middle of it when she could not even understand the danger properly.

Lucas hit the upper floor hard, still carrying Rechelle on his back.

Rows of parked cars stretched under the dim concrete lights. Sedans. SUVs. A couple of expensive ones that looked too complicated for what he needed. He did not have time to be picky. He needed wheels, a working engine, and a way out before the men below finished sweeping the ramps.

He stopped beside a plain dark sedan and let Rechelle down carefully against its door.

"Stay."

She slid a little, caught herself, and blinked at him like he had asked her to solve a riddle.

"I’m tired."

"I know. Sit."

She sat. Mostly.

Lucas moved to the sedan in front of them, checked the street side once, then set his stance and punched the driver’s window with everything he had left in his arm.

The glass exploded inward.

Shards sprayed across the seat and floor as the alarm detonated into the quiet structure.

WEE-OOO! WEE-OOO! WEE-OOO!

The sound was enormous in the enclosed floor. The sedan’s indicators started blinking like the car itself was panicking. In the silence of the building, the alarm felt twice as loud, bouncing off concrete pillars and low ceilings until it became a continuous scream.

Lucas clenched his jaw.

"Of course," he muttered. "Of course you scream."

He yanked the door open through the broken frame, swept the worst of the glass off the seat with his sleeve, and dropped into the car. The alarm kept wailing in his ear at full volume.

WEE-OOO! WEE-OOO!

"Shut up."

He ripped open the storage compartment under the dash and started searching. Papers. A manual. A cheap pen. A packet of tissues. Nothing useful. He shoved it all aside, jammed his hand deeper, and finally closed his fingers around a flat-head screwdriver.

"Yes."

He leaned under the steering column, forced the plastic cover with the screwdriver, and tore it free. The ignition housing resisted him. He set his shoulder, yanked harder, and ripped the assembly loose with a sharp crack of plastic and metal. Wires spilled out in a messy bundle.

WEE-OOO! WEE-OOO!

"I heard you the first time," Lucas snapped at the alarm, breathing hard.

He separated the wires he needed, used his teeth to strip the insulation when the screwdriver proved too slow, spat the plastic bits aside, and twisted the first pair together. The dashboard lights flickered. Hope jumped in his chest.

He touched the starter wire.

The engine caught~

~then died.

"Don’t you dare."

He squeezed the connection again, adjusting the contact with his thumb.

The engine turned, coughed, almost failed, then caught properly and held. The whole car shivered alive under him.

Lucas let out a short, furious breath that was almost a laugh.

"Good girl. Finally."

He shoved the door open, ran back to Rechelle, and got an arm around her before she could slide fully to the ground.

"Come on."

"Is that our car now?"

"It is tonight."

He half-carried, half-dragged her to the passenger side, pulled the door open, and pushed her in. She dropped into the seat with a soft, confused sound. Lucas reached across, brushed the worst of the broken glass off the driver’s seat in two rough sweeps, and got behind the wheel.

The alarm was still screaming.

WEE-OOO! WEE-OOO!

He ignored it, forced the sedan into gear, and stamped the throttle.