Chapter 336: Still Flooring It

They left Bullet on the asphalt and ran.

There was no clean way to dress it up. One of their own was bleeding in the road under rising sirens, and the mission that was supposed to be simple had turned into a public mess. The driver cursed through his teeth as he forced the jeep back up to speed, eyes locked on the fading shape of the stolen sedan ahead.

It should have been easy.

Mapped. Paid. Finished before midnight.

Then one man pulled out of nowhere and tore the whole plan apart.

"We end them first," the driver said.

No one argued.

Behind the jeep, police units were already in the hunt. The night had produced too many calls, too many gunshots, and too many reports of a black sports car tearing through the city with a heavier vehicle on its tail. Units were moving to cut roads. Dispatch was feeding updates. The net was starting to close whether the hunters liked it or not.

They still did not slow down.

If it came to surrender, it would come after Rechelle and the man protecting her were down. Not before.

---

Lucas’s sedan appeared again farther up the road, a damaged dark shape weaving through late traffic. The jeep climbed after it hard, engine loud, body still marked from the earlier slam.

Then the road ahead changed.

Police had thrown a spike strip across the lane.

The jeep’s driver saw the mat of teeth late, cursed, and yanked the wheel. The vehicle lurched hard right, clipped the edge of the strip with a violent metallic chatter, and nearly lost the rear end before he dragged it straight again. One tire caught enough damage to start thumping, but the jeep stayed alive and kept coming.

"Pigs are on us!"

"I don’t care. Keep on that sedan."

Above them, a new sound rolled over the chase.

A police helicopter swept in low enough for the rotor wash to press against the street. Its spotlight slammed down over the jeep in a hard white circle, turning the vehicle into a moving target under the night sky. The beam tracked them through turns, bright enough to bleach the road and throw long black shadows off every curb and sign.

A voice barked through amplified speakers:

"Pull over! Stop the vehicle now!"

The jeep ignored it.

More police cars poured into the surrounding grid, lights painting the buildings red and blue. Intersections ahead started filling. Radios cracked with overlapping commands. From the air, the helicopter kept them pinned in that white circle like a hand from the sky.

None of it changed the order inside the jeep.

Find the sedan.

Kill the targets.

Deal with the rest after.

---

When Lucas’s car came into clearer view again, the men in the jeep moved as one.

Windows dropped.

Weapons came up.

Hands locked tight around grips as they leaned toward the openings, waiting for a clean angle on the rear of the sedan. The helicopter light still held them. Sirens stacked on every side. The damaged tire thumped under the frame.

They still prepared to fire.

In their heads the job had only one acceptable ending left: Rechelle and the man who had ruined the night going down before the city finished closing around them.

Guns came up and the night tore open.

BRAK-BRAK-BRAK-BRAK~

BANG~BANG~BANG~

Rounds hammered into the stolen sedan in a continuous violent rain. Metal punched and folded. Sparks jumped off the trunk and rear quarter. One long burst walked across the back of the car and erased the rear glass completely, sending a storm of fragments through the cabin in a sudden cold rush of air.

Lucas felt the sedan give up another piece of itself under him.

The last good rear rubber was already gone. He was driving on rim more than tire now, the whole back end shaking hard enough to make the steering wheel buzz in his hand like a live wire. The car wanted to wander. It wanted to break loose and die in the middle of the road.

He did not let it.

"Down!"

Rechelle was clearer than before, clear enough to understand the order without needing it twice. Lucas’s free hand caught her shoulder and forced her lower in the seat as more rounds cracked past and into the bodywork. He stayed low with her, one hand locked on the wheel, both legs feeding the pedal, eyes only half on the road because the rest of him was busy keeping the wreck pointed forward.

The rims screamed on asphalt.

The steering fought him in hard, ugly kicks.

He held it anyway.

---

Behind them, the jeep kept firing while trying to close.

That was the mistake.

A spike strip waited in the lane like a black jaw. The driver saw it late, still divided between the wheel and the gun in his other hand. He tried to correct with one arm and shoot with the other, and the jeep paid for the split focus immediately.

The spikes took the tire.

The blowout was sudden and mean. The heavier vehicle lurched, hopped, and lost its line completely. The driver yanked too hard. The jeep rotated once, twice, then a third violent spin across the road in a cloud of tire smoke and locked brakes, coming out of it half-dead and facing the wrong way.

By the time he tried to reverse and force the chase back open, the police were already there.

Units boxed the angles fast. White light. Blue light. Red light. Doors opening. Weapons up. The damaged jeep tried one stubborn shove through the closing space and found no gap left to buy.

Then the SWAT van pulled across the final lane and stopped hard, turning the last exit into a wall of armored weight.

That ended it.

Inside the jeep, the men understood the same truth at the same time. Guns went down against the floor and seats. Hands came up into the spotlight and the helicopter beam, empty and high.

The hunt behind Lucas broke there, pinned under sirens and steel.

Ahead of them, the ruined sedan was still moving on pure stubborn force, rims grinding, rear open to the night, Lucas low in the seat with Rechelle held down beside him, still flooring what remained of the engine because stopping had never been part of the plan.