Chapter 8 - The Getaway
Maeve floored the accelerator, the heavy tires screaming against the wet tarmac as the SUV tore away from the private jet.
Gunfire peppered the reinforced rear window, the bulletproof glass spider-webbing but holding firm.
Declan and Roman dove into the backseat through the rear doors just as Maeve swerved wildly to avoid a fuel truck.
“They’re going to pursue!” Roman shouted over the noise, reloading his assault rifle.
Maeve didn't take the main exit.
She drove the SUV straight toward a chain-link fence bordering a dense, wooded ravine at the edge of the airfield.
“What are you doing?” Declan yelled, gripping the headrest.
“We can't outrun their sports cars on the highway!” Maeve yelled back, her eyes fixed fiercely on the fence.
“We have to take the terrain they can't handle!”
She braced herself and drove the massive vehicle directly through the fence.
The SUV launched into the air, crashing down violently onto the muddy, uneven ground of the ravine.
The suspension groaned in protest, but the heavy off-road tires dug deep into the mud.
Behind them, three sleek black sedans stopped abruptly at the broken fence, unable to follow them into the treacherous woods.
Maeve navigated the dense trees with surprising skill, keeping the headlights off to avoid detection.
She drove for twenty agonizing minutes until they reached a deserted, overgrown access road.
She finally hit the brakes, the SUV skidding to a halt in the darkness.
The silence inside the cabin was heavy, broken only by the sound of four people breathing heavily.
Maeve slumped back against the driver's seat, her hands shaking violently as the adrenaline began to fade.
She was exhausted, starving, and her cheap boots were still soaking wet.
Gabriel leaned over from the passenger seat, staring at her in absolute awe.
“Where did you learn to drive like that?” Gabriel asked softly.
Maeve let out a dry, humorless laugh.
“When you grow up on the South Side, you learn how to outrun the cops before you learn how to ride a bike.”
Declan leaned forward between the front seats, placing a heavy, warm hand on her shoulder.
“You saved our lives, Maeve.”
“Again.”
Roman sat back in the dark, his mind racing with calculations.
“Carlo controls the family assets now,” Roman stated grimly.
“He has the men, the money, and the police on his payroll.”
“We are completely cut off.”
Maeve looked at the three brothers in the rearview mirror.
They were billionaires an hour ago.
Now, they were fugitives sitting in a muddy SUV with a broke maid.
“We need cash,” Gabriel sighed, rubbing his temples.
“Untraceable cash to buy weapons and secure a real safe house.”
Maeve sat up slowly, a strange thought forming in her exhausted mind.
She reached into her apron pocket and pulled out a crumpled piece of paper.
She smoothed it out against the steering wheel.
It was the fifty-thousand-dollar severance check Roman had given her that morning.
“It’s written from a personal shell account, not the main corporate ledger,” Maeve pointed out.
“If Carlo hasn't frozen the personal accounts yet, this check is still good.”
Roman stared at the paper in her hand.
“You voided it, Maeve.”
“I wrote void in pencil,” Maeve replied, pulling a cheap pink eraser from her pocket.
May you like
“I can cash it at the 24-hour check-cashing place in my neighborhood.”
“They don't ask questions if you tip them twenty percent.”
