Taken With Trouble (CAUGHT IN CHAOS #2)

8. Chapter 7

Chapter 7

Serena

Liam gave his apartment away to a homeless mother. I saw it happen with my own eyes, but I still don’t believe it. He’s contradicting himself. This man is a selfish criminal; he doesn’t do things like this. Because if he did, then I would feel guilty about locking him up for the next ten years.

So, I’ll pretend I didn’t see it. Easy enough. He’s still a criminal, plain and simple.

It’s not like it matters to me; it’s an apartment I’ll never step foot in again. One with a welded shut window and therefore a fire hazard. How kind was he really?

Liam stops on the next street and lets out an obnoxiously loud whistle.

The sound ricochets around my exhausted skull like a rogue bullet, but it has the desired effect as a taxi pulls to an abrupt stop near us.

“Why did we have to walk this far if we were just going to get in a taxi?”

“Why does anyone do anything?”

“That wasn’t an answer.”

He smirks. “ That wasn’t a question.”

I hate him so much. No, I need a stronger word than hate… abhor, loathe, detest.

Liam speaks to the driver in French then gets in. For a split second, I consider running. But I can’t go home empty-handed. I made a deal with the devil, and I’ll have to pray I don’t lose my soul.

Liam snatches my hand, pulling me back to reality and into the car. Literally. My head hits the frame, and white spots explode across my vision. “Ow.” I groan, collapsing into the seat beside him.

“You’re supposed to get in the car, not go through it,” Liam says in a voice dripping with false concern. “Come here, let Buttercup kiss it all better.”

I pull away fast, resulting in an instant headache. “Don’t you dare kiss me.”

“I’ll be honest, I can’t say I’ve ever heard that from a woman before.”

“Madame?” the driver looks in the rearview mirror, and I grit my teeth.

“I’m fine.”

He nods once before merging into traffic without so much as checking his blind spots. I’m going to die here in Paris, courtesy of Liam Hawthorne, millionaire philanderer con artist.

I punish Liam with the silent treatment. He doesn’t even notice. He points out tourist attractions, emphasizing the most romantic spots as if I haven’t been here before. It’s tiresome.

The driver turns the cab off the main road and into a boatyard along the Seine.

This isn’t right.

Liam curses under his breath, and two seconds later a gun appears through the window that separates us from the driver—the driver who is now trying to kill us. Cool. He can hop in line. I called dibs.

“Okay.” I hold up my hand. “If anyone’s going to take a shot at this man, it’s me.”

“I much prefer my demise to be at her hands as well,” Liam pipes in.

The driver turns the gun on me. “I guess I’ll have to take care of you first, then.”

I kick at the same time Liam brings his fist down on the man’s wrist. We connect with him… and each other.

“Ow!” Liam grunts .

“What did you do that for?” I yell, knocking the gun from the man’s hand.

“I was trying to save you!” Liam reaches forward and smacks the guy’s head into the divider. He groans, and his head falls against the window.

“I don’t need you to save me.” I grab the bag and hop out of the car, clocking my exits, adrenaline racing. Screw helping Liam, and therefore helping myself. I’m getting away from the man with a bounty on his head. He’s a walking death trap.

I can find Liam again, but not if I’m dead.

“Where are you going?” Liam yells at my back. I don’t turn, but I hear the distinct sound of a grunt before the trunk of the cab shuts.

“Home!” I shout, racing to the nearest cross street.

Footsteps pound behind me. “I don’t think so. You have my jewelry box.”

I roll my eyes. “I thought it was the Winthrops.”

“It is. And we have to return it to them.”

I stumble on a crack in the road. “Pass.”

“You can’t pass.”

“I can.”

“Don’t make me stick you in a coffin again.”

I whirl around and grab his neck. “Go ahead and try.”

He eases out of my grip, hands raised. “Okay, let’s get somewhere safe, then we’ll talk this through rationally… without our hands.” He pauses. “Or with them, but in a much nicer way.”

I ignore his flirtatious rationality and narrow my eyes. “You put that guy in the trunk, didn’t you?”

“No comment.”

“I’m an FBI agent. I cannot run around with a killer—”

“He’ll be fine. Someone will hear him soon. Probably the people who were waiting for us on that boat.”

My eyes flick to movement over Liam’s shoulder. Two men dressed in black with tattoos crawling up the right sides of their necks are walking up the dock, their dark, beady eyes aimed at us. They aren’t scrawny French cab drivers. They’re hitmen. “Like those guys? ”

“Go!” Liam yells.

I run, the yells of the men echoing up the alley behind me.

I’m almost to a cross street when I hear the first shot. I don’t look back to see if Liam is with me or not. I run because my life depends on it. Stupid Liam convincing me to help him return the box. Forget him. I’ve got the box; that’s all I need. He won’t be able to resist it, and he’ll come to me to get it back. I’ll trap him and bang . Done. Easy. That is, if he doesn’t get shot since he’s way slower than me. I can’t even hear him anymore. I could turn around, see if he’s been captured, but I don’t. I have to look out for myself. That’s what I’ve trained my whole life to do.

My heart pumps with the adrenaline that will help keep me alive. The fear can either control me or compel me. Right now, I choose compel.

I hit a main road and dive around a car barreling down the street. I race east, toward Paris, jumping over planters and dodging pedestrians who shoot me very dirty looks. I need to get to the embassy. Maybe I can get lost in the flow of tourists heading for the Louvre—

A black car jumps the curb in front of me, and I scream before rearing back, recalculating my options.

“Hop in!”

Liam. Of course it is. He’s sitting in the driver’s seat, looking completely at ease. How did he get a car so fast?

“I’d rather take my chances with the gunmen,” I say.

“In that case, you might want this.” He dangles my 9mm out the window.

“Hank!” I dive for my beloved gun, but he pulls it into the car.

“Get in.”

I have no other choice. Scratch that. I do have another choice, but I’d fare much better with Hank at my side.

I jump into the car and snatch my gun out of Liam’s grasp.

Liam shoves the car into drive and takes off. Bullets pelt the metal of the car and Liam speeds up, dodging around an old van.

“So, you name your guns?” he asks as if we aren’t in the middle of a killer car chase .

“Shut up and drive.”

“I’ve heard that song before. Reminds me, should we play some tunes for this riveting adventure?” He pushes the buttons on the dash, and French pop blares through the car speakers.

“I won’t hear the shots,” I shout over the noise.

“That’s the whole point,” he shouts back. “Makes it more exciting, does it not?”

Two more bullets lodge into the trunk, but barely make a sound.

I refuse to agree with him, but I’ve got to admit, there is something cinematic about this moment. The music makes everything feel less real, and it helps immensely with my nerves.

“Hold on,” Liam shouts a split second before flying over a bump in the road. My head smacks the window, but I blink away the stars.

Engines thunder behind us, and I turn around, observing the situation. “They found motorcycles.” I warn him, calculating the risks in my head. Easier to take out, but much quicker to catch us on a busy road. “One’s coming up on the left.”

Liam’s jaw clenches and he checks the side mirror. He turns right, but the man on the motorcycle stays on our tail. The man raises his gun.

I shoot first. The bullet goes through the back window and into his shoulder. He loses his grip on the handlebars and flips off the bike.

“Nice shot, killer.”

“He’ll live,” I mutter, then train my gun on the next motorcycle. It’s fifty feet behind, but the distance isn’t stopping him from taking shots.

“Can’t you go any faster?” I screech as a bullet flies past my face, shattering the glass behind my head.

“Want to trade places?”

“Gladly.” I’d drive him right off a cliff.

The hitman is thirty feet away now and closing in fast.

“I’m going to do something crazy,” Liam shouts.

Bullets pelt the back of the car, and I duck. “Stop talking and do it. ”

At that moment my stomach drops, and the papers in the backseat begin to float. Uh oh.

We’re airborne.

I should have asked more questions.