Chapter 2 - The Woman Who Wouldn't Take Orders
Maya's Honda looked like it had survived three wars.
Vincent stared at the cracked dashboard.
"What happened to this car?"
"Life."
The engine coughed.
Vincent looked at her.
"Does it always do that?"
"Only when it's running."
"Maya."
"Relax."
"I don't relax."
"I noticed."
She turned the key again.
The engine started.
Headlights appeared behind them.
Vincent looked into the side mirror.
"Go."
"I'm going."
"Faster."
"I'm driving a fifteen-year-old Honda, not the Batmobile."
The SUV accelerated.
Vincent reached for his gun.
Maya slapped his hand away.
"Absolutely not."
He looked at her in disbelief.
"Did you just slap my hand?"
"No shooting from my car."
"They're trying to kill me."
"And bullets ruin resale value."
Vincent stared at her.
"You may actually be insane."
"Seat belt."
"What?"
"Put it on."
"Maya—"
She slammed the brakes.
Vincent lurched forward.
"Seat belt."
A black SUV was gaining behind them.
Vincent slowly pulled the belt across his chest.
Click.
Maya smiled.
"Thank you."
Then she accelerated.
She cut through two narrow streets, turned behind a laundromat, crossed an empty gas station lot, and disappeared beneath an old railroad bridge.
Vincent watched her.
"You've done this before."
"Driven?"
"Lost someone following you."
"No."
"Then how—"
"I deliver food after my shift sometimes."
She turned again.
"Rich people use GPS."
She pointed ahead.
"Delivery drivers learn shortcuts."
Five minutes later, the SUV was gone.
Maya slowed.
Vincent leaned back.
Blood was spreading across his shirt.
Maya noticed.
"We need a hospital."
"No hospitals."
"You're bleeding."
"I know."
"That's usually considered bad."
"Hospital means police."
"Police might be useful when people are trying to kill you."
"Not in my world."
Maya glanced at him.
"Your world sounds exhausting."
"It is."
"Then quit."
Vincent laughed once.
"You think it works that way?"
"I quit Taco Bell when I was nineteen."
"That's not exactly the same."
"You'd be surprised."
Vincent suddenly reached toward the steering wheel.
"Turn here."
Maya jerked away.
"Don't touch my wheel!"
"Turn!"
She did.
The Honda entered a narrow residential street.
"Where are we going?"
"Safe house."
"Whose?"
"Mine."
"That's not reassuring."
"Maya."
"What?"
"Why are you still helping me?"
She didn't answer immediately.
Vincent waited.
Finally, she said,
"Because those men saw me."
Vincent became silent.
Maya looked at him.
"They know I lied."
"Yes."
"They'll come back?"
"Yes."
"So until this is over, I'm involved."
Vincent looked through the window.
"Unfortunately."
Maya gripped the wheel.
"Then we're going to establish something right now."
Vincent turned toward her.
"What?"
"I'm not your employee."
"I know."
"I'm not one of your men."
"Obviously."
"And if you threaten me, grab me, lock me somewhere for my own protection, or start ordering me around—"
Vincent almost smiled.
"What?"
"I will leave you bleeding on the sidewalk."
His smile appeared.
"There it is again."
"What?"
"That complete absence of survival instinct."
Maya looked at him.
"I have survival instincts."
"You're threatening a mafia boss."
"I'm setting boundaries."
"While driving said mafia boss to his safe house."
"Correct."
Vincent nodded slowly.
"I like you."
Maya nearly missed the turn.
She looked at him.
"What?"
"I said I like you."
"Don't."
"Don't what?"
"Start."
Vincent's smile widened.
"Start what?"
"Whatever that was."
Before Vincent could answer, headlights suddenly illuminated the Honda from behind.
His smile vanished.
Maya looked into the mirror.
A black sedan.
Vincent reached for his gun.
Maya whispered,
"Friends?"
"No."
"How do you know?"
Vincent chambered a round.
"Because all my friends are dead."
The sedan accelerated.
Maya's hands tightened around the wheel.
Vincent looked at her.
"Still think I shouldn't order you around?"
"Absolutely."
The sedan moved closer.
Vincent lowered his window.
Maya shouted,
"What did I say about shooting from my car?"
Vincent looked at her.
"Maya."
"What?"
"Drive."
She pressed the accelerator.
And this time—
May you like
she didn't argue.
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