Pt. 1
Jamie Riley

The windshield was shattered, fractures crawling across the glass like veins. Jamie’s world had narrowed to a single strip of road ahead. A sharp pop cracked through the chaos, then a violent lurch. The rear tire had blown, rubber shredding, rim grinding against asphalt. Metal screamed as the car twisted, the back end swerving out of control. Still, Jamie didn’t ease up. His foot stayed pinned to the gas. 

Tino started moving, scrambling over the console with glass crunching under his palms. Blood striped his temple, dripping down his cheek as he hauled himself into the back. His shoulders were low, body folded tight to avoid the window. Shards glittered across the seat as he slid back, gun in hand. 

The first burst of return fire cracked out from their car. Tino fired from the backseat, half sprawled across the torn upholstery, legs tangled awkward beneath him. The recoil kicked up his arm, but he didn’t flinch, squeezing off another round. Jamie kept the wheel as steady as he could, eyes slicing between the road and the mirror. 

“Hit the driver!” 

“Where the fuck else would I be aiming?! The fucking trees?!” Tino was yelling, his voice high with adrenaline. 

Jamie didn’t bite back. His mind was already running ahead of them, pulling apart the options, what little there were. No turn-offs, no cover, a shredded tire dragging them down with every stretch of road. They weren’t outrunning anyone like this. Behind him, Tino kept firing, the sound raw and frantic, but Jamie tuned it out. Tino’s gun wasn’t going to save them if they stayed predictable. Straight road. Easy target. They needed a curve, a ditch, something.

His eyes cut to the roadside, searching through the blur of motion. Trees, open stretches of dirt, nothing useful, until the road bent, just barely. A shallow curve, maybe two, three hundred meters out. It wasn’t much. It wouldn’t lose them, not with the car limping like this. But it could shift the angles, break the rhythm. Maybe give Tino a better shot. Maybe—

“FUCK—! Motherfucker—!” The words tore out of Tino like they’d been punched straight from his lungs. The gunfire cut off mid-burst.

Jamie’s head snapped toward the mirror, but there wasn’t much to see, just the blurred outline of Tino twisting, shoulders caving in, one arm yanked tight against his ribs. 

“Are you shot?” Jamie shouted, hoping his voice cut through the mayhem. Tino didn’t respond. Jamie’s eyes stayed locked on the road, but his chest coiled tighter, every instinct screaming at the silence behind him. “Are you shot, Tino?” He asked again, louder this time. 

“The fuck do you think, Jamie?!” Tino’s voice cracked out from the back. “I didn’t trip and fall back here!” 

Jamie’s grip on the wheel didn’t waver. There wasn’t time to deal with it now. The car was barely holding together, and there was still some distance left to the curve. Panic clawed at the edge of his thoughts, but he shoved it down, buried it under habit. “Can you still shoot?”

Tino’s words came rough and breathless. “Yeah.” 

“Good.” In a quick motion Jamie ducked low before slamming the glove compartment open. His hand closed around his pistol. He tossed it back to Tino without looking. “When we hit that curve, you light them up.” The curve was just a slight bend, but it was all they had. “Get ready.” 

Tino didn’t answer, but the sharp click of the gun cocking was enough.

The curve was on them fast, sweeping left, the cracked asphalt pulling tight to the tree line. Jamie eased off the gas just enough to keep control, steering hard into the turn. The car fought him, blown tire grinding, frame rattling, but he held the line. Behind them, the chasing car couldn’t take the turn as cleanly. It drifted too wide, and for a moment, its front end swung into view through the broken rear window, just enough for the driver’s side to be visible.

“Now!” 

The guns cracked out, Tino squeezing off shot after shot until the guns clicked empty. The momentary dip of the headlights in the mirror told Jamie enough without having to turn around; the other car slowed. Maybe hit, maybe just spooked. Jamie straightened them out as they came off the bend. In the mirror, the headlights hung further back now. His eyes cut to the backseat.

“Tino?”

“Still here,” Tino forced out. “Just fucking drive.” 

Jamie’s knuckles flexed on the wheel as he risked a glance back, twisting his body just enough to see over the seat without easing up on the gas. Tino was slumped across the shattered glass, one hand pressed hard against his side. His hoodie was soaked dark beneath his palm. More streaked his face, clinging to his temple and jaw where the glass had caught him earlier. But it was the mess at his ribs that turned Jamie’s insides cold.

“Fuck,” Jamie muttered under his breath, tearing his eyes back to the road. His hand slipped off the wheel for half a second, reaching for his phone. He realized his own hands were bloody too, but figuring out where it came from wasn’t a priority. Thumbing through the contacts, he hit Vic’s name. The dial tone barely buzzed once before it picked up. 

“Vic, we got hit.”

“Who?”

“Don’t know. Tino’s hit.”

“Where are you?”

“Out past Hillcross. Just off the south side.” He looked over his shoulder again, making sure Tino was still awake. “We’re moving, but the tire’s gone. Car’s fucked.”

Vic didn’t waste time. “Kiko’s three kilometers east of you, just off Locuston. You know it?”

“Yeah.”

“Good. Get there. And keep your head down. We’ll figure the rest later.”

The line went dead. Jamie shoved the phone back in his pocket. He risked another glance at the backseat. “We’re going to Kiko’s. He’ll fix you up.” 

Tino had shifted, or tried to. A low, rough groan slipped out of him as he moved, like the pain broke through before he could swallow it down. 

“Stop moving,” Jamie ordered, eyes snapping back to the road. “You’re just making it worse.”

Tino let out a short, breathless laugh, strained and bitter. “Worse than what? Being fucking shot?” he rasped, voice raw from the effort of not falling apart.

They made it in one piece, but just barely. Kiko’s place wasn’t ideal, but there wasn’t time to be picky. When Jamie pulled up to the curb, Reyna was already waiting. The moment the car stopped, Jamie was out, rounding to the backseat. He yanked the door open and barely caught Tino before he collapsed. Reyna slid into the driver’s seat without a word, the wrecked car was her problem now. Jamie hooked an arm under Tino, steadying him as gently as he could while hauling him out of the car. 

The front door cracked open before they even reached it. Kiko stood there, tension written all over his face. “Inside,” he hissed, stepping back fast, glancing down the street as if expecting a parade of flashing lights to roll up any second. “Hurry up, I don’t need my neighbors seeing this.” 

Kiko wasn’t part of the crew, not officially. On paper, he was a real doctor, emergency medicine, licensed with a clean record. A man with shaky morals and steady hands. He worked long shifts at a public hospital and no one had any reason to suspect he’d ever let gang shit through his front door. He didn’t like having crew business in his house, but he liked owing them even less. The crew paid him well, enough to keep him from thinking too hard about the kind of people he was saving.

Medical supplies were already laid out and ready, gauze, gloves, stitching kit. “Gunshot?” 

“Yeah.” 

Kiko moved quickly as he cleared a spot on the table with one swipe of his arm, knocking over a stack of junk mail. Together, they lifted Tino onto the kitchen table. Tino let out a sharp, broken breath as his back hit the surface, the wood creaking under his weight. 

“How long ago?” Kiko grabbed a pair of scissors and cut the shirt away. 

“Fifteen minutes ago. Twenty, maybe.”

Kiko peeled the fabric back and leaned in. “No exit wound.” He grabbed a bottle of alcohol and a clean cloth, wiping his hands first, then the blood around the wound. Tino flinched violently at the sting. Kiko pulled on a pair of gloves, the latex snapping loudly. Jamie knew what was coming before he even saw the forceps.

“Bullet’s still in there,” Kiko said. “Deep.”

Tino let out a shaky laugh that turned into a cough. “Good news, huh?”

Jamie could see it in Tino’s eyes, that flicker behind the forced smirk, the way his fingers clenched tighter around the edge of the table. Like if he kept his mouth moving, it would distract from the fact that he was barely holding it together. Kiko dropped the bloodied cloth, grabbed the sterile tray, and positioned the light directly over Tino’s side. The metal glinted.

“I need him still.”

Jamie stepped forward, pressed one hand flat against Tino’s shoulder, the other against his opposite hip. Tino’s breath was coming fast now, sweat clinging to his skin like glue. Kiko picked up the forceps and went in. Tino’s whole body jerked the moment the metal touched flesh, a ragged sound tearing from his throat. Jamie held firm, tightening his grip without a word. Blood welled up fast, and Kiko wiped it away with quick, practiced hands before plunging back in.

“Almost there,” Kiko muttered, more to himself than anyone else. 

Tino let out a string of half-formed curses and choked groans, his jaw clenched so tight it looked like it might crack. Another twist of the forceps sent his body arching off the table, until Jamie shoved him flat again.

“Hold him!” 

“I am holding him! Fucking hurry.”

Metal clinked against metal, finally, as Kiko pulled back, the bullet clutched between the tips of the forceps. He dropped it into a dish with a hollow ping. “There. Got it.”

Tino collapsed backward, as if the last thread holding him up had given way. 

Kiko reached for the suture kit without pause. “I need to close him up before he bleeds all over my floor.” He worked quickly, needle in, pull, knot. Again, and again. Tino barely reacted now, the pain dragging him under in waves. His hands slipped from the table and dangled. “Keep him awake if you can. I don’t want him passing out while I’m stitching muscle.”

Jamie let go of Tino only to reach for the clean towel nearby, pressing it gently against Tino’s temple, trying to get rid of the blood on his face. “You’re good. You’re fine. It’s out now, just stitches left.” 

Tino gave a breath of a nod. Or maybe he just breathed. Kiko finished five minutes later. He wrapped the bandage tight and taped it down. 

“He’s not dying. But he’s gonna feel like it.” Kiko peeled off the gloves and reached for another pair. He picked up Tino’s right hand first, turning it gently under the light. Tiny shards glinted in the skin, some buried deep. Kiko grabbed the tweezers and started pulling glass, each one followed by a flick into the metal tray. Tino winced, head tilting back, but didn’t say a word. Kiko kept going. Pull, flick. Pull, flick. Some pieces came out easy, others had to be dug for. When he finished with one hand, he moved on to the next.

Jamie grabbed the bottle from the counter and shook out two pills into his palm. He tapped lightly against Tino’s cheek.

“Hey. Open your mouth.” Jamie didn’t wait for permission but pressed the pills against Tino’s lips, then raised the water bottle, angling it until a small stream touched his mouth. Tino swallowed with effort, his throat working around the pain. 

After bandaging Tino’s hands Kiko peeled off his gloves with a snap and tossed them in the sink. “He needs rest. No stairs, no stress. If the stitches tear, he’s fucked. Now, get him out before my wife gets home.” 

They helped Tino to his feet before Jamie hooked one arm tight around his waist, the other gripping under his arm. Tino barely held his own weight, feet dragging more than they stepped. 

Tomas was ready outside, waiting with the engine running. He saw them coming and moved fast, pulling open the back door. Jamie guided Tino in carefully, easing him across the backseat. Tino groaned but didn’t fight it, his head rolling against the window once he was settled. As soon as the passenger door shut, Jamie told Tomas to drive to his place.