The Monster (Boston Belles #3) - L.J. Shen Page 0,92

The Bentley sped up, kissing our bumper once and sending us flying forward with a jerk.

“Shit,” Sam muttered. “Unbuckle yourself, duck your head, and cover it with both hands, Nix.”

“What?” My blood froze in my veins. “Wh-why?”

“Just do it.”

“But—”

Sam didn’t wait for me to finish my sentence. He took a sharp left turn, driving over the manicured lawn of someone’s front yard as he sliced through a junction, not stopping at a traffic sign, and sped through a side street. The first bullet pierced the rear window and popped into the AC unit, where it got stuck.

“Motherfucker,” Sam hissed, still completely calm. He grabbed the back of my head roughly, dipping it further down, leaning toward me to ensure I was tucked away as carefully as possible. The car skidded, and I knew that the fact it had been snowing and the road was extra slippery didn’t work in our favor.

“On the floor, Nix.”

“Sam,” I screeched, terrified, “don’t lean toward me! They’ll shoot you if you do.”

“Better me than you.”

Another shot pierced through the rear window. It made it shatter completely. The glass came down in a sheet. Sam jumped on top of me, his torso covering my body, blocking me from harm, but still somehow driving.

“What are you doing!” I moaned. “You’re going to get yourself killed. Drive!”

He floored the accelerator. The car started to sound like a plane taking off. Then, without warning, he swiveled, making a sharp U-turn and speeding up again. Since my head was tucked firmly below my seat, I couldn’t tell if we lost whoever was after us or not.

“You okay?” he asked.

“I’m fine.” I chanced a look at him through my periphery, noticing that his arm was bleeding. He caught a bullet while pushing me down to the floor. He took a bullet for me.

“You’re bleeding,” I said.

He groaned but didn’t say anything.

“Are we safe?” I asked.

Sam didn’t answer. I could tell he was concentrating on deciding which turn he was going to take next. I guessed driving home was out of the question. He was hardly going to lead his enemies to his doorstep.

“Who are they?” Tucked under the passenger seat, I pressed, my knees knocking against my chin as my teeth chattered. I’d never been this scared in my life. The kind of fear that seeps into your bones and burrows into your soul.

“Bratva. The Russians.”

“They own Brookline,” I murmured. I knew that. Everyone knew that. My parents hadn’t allowed me into their neighborhoods fearing I’d get kidnapped for ransom.

“Not anymore.”

“They’re trying to kill you because you took over their territory?”

“Conquered, fair and square. If they find you in my car, they’ll have a merry good time milking your daddy for money. But they’ll gang-rape and torture you first. Which is why you need to stay the fuck down and let me handle this.”

I heard another shot fired toward us. I squeezed my eyes shut, keeping my head bent, just like he told me. Sam took another sharp turn. He opened the glove compartment above my head, knocking my forehead in the process. He took out a gun, stopped the car, then reversed fast. He turned around and started heading in the Bentley’s direction, releasing the gun’s safety, a devious smirk on his face, his eyes zinging with determination.

He is playing chicken.

I wanted to claw his face to ribbons.

The buzzing coming from the Bentley became louder, and I knew they were close. Sam stretched his arm outside his open window and fired two shots.

Time and space hung above our heads, suspended.

I heard a scream. A moan. Then footsteps over damp concrete, the crunching of the snow underneath someone’s feet. Someone running. Fleeing. Sobbing.

“You can come up now,” Sam murmured, stone-cold. Numb, I slid back to my seat, buckled up, and moved a shaky hand over my raven hair.

Sam slowed his vehicle, and I noticed he was following a man. I only saw the back of him. A scrawny figure with blond messy hair and a prominent limp. He wore baggy sweatpants and matching hoodie. The glow-in-the-dark type. Sam directed his gun at his head, holding it steadily.

“Are you going to shoot him?” I whispered.

“Only cowards shoot people in the back, Nix. I’ll shoot him in the face. Respectfully, of course.”

I didn’t know if he was being sarcastic or purposely crass. Either option seemed completely unsuitable for the ears of a lady. But that was the essence of Sam Brennan. He would take a bullet for me without even thinking twice about