Tory had the feeling that maybe, just maybe, Hugo was upset with her. The wind whipped past her face, her long red hair streaming behind her as she pounded the pavement towards her secondary get-away car. It would take months to get back into his good graces, assuming she was quick enough to avoid the savage hit-men pursuing her. Another shot rang out, splintering the bricks near her head as she slid around a sharp corner and yanked open the rusty sheet-metal side door before her.
Ripping the dusty tarp away from the body, Tory slid behind the wheel of the sleek, black Lamborghini, felt the engine roar to life, clutch, pop, brake… first gear. Away.
Expensive, pretty cars destroyed in a maelstrom of bullets: To date, five.
Late nights, complicated very alcoholic drinks, lost friends or potential relationships who assumed she was just being a bitch when she didn’t return their calls, number of times in danger of being exposed as an officer and summarily executed: All countless.
Thrill of putting one more local drug kingpin away for life: Totally worth it.
But I don’t know how long I can keep this up.