Chapter 158

I don’t know how many men we’ve killed.

I don’t know how many hours we’ve been running, shooting, hiding.

Time stopped making sense somewhere between the warehouse and the rain-soaked alley where we lost the last of them.

My hands are sticky—dark red smeared across my knuckles.

Vance’s hands look the same. Worse, maybe.

Nico is slumped in the back seat beside me. He was shot. He’s breathing—shallo