Byron flung open the rear doors and Cloire lowered the wooden ramp. Byron hopped on a black Honda and Kilian took his Harley. The engines screamed in the close confines, then the bikes were away, sliding backwards down the ramp. Once on the street, they tore forwards along both sides of the van. "Get ‘em!” Cloire said. Loirot groaned from the back. He’d been shot by Veliswa and was still bleeding. "I need food, or at least some blood. Cloire, would you?" "Fuck off, asshole. My blood's my own." "Bitch," he said. "Goddamned right." It was a moment before she realized that the albino was cursing something at her. "What's it now, Frenchie?" "Cops.” "What'd you expect, asshole? Drive better! Or do you want Danielle to go free?" He bared his teeth. "Get the grenades.” * * * "They've sent bikes to catch up with us,” Danielle said. "Who?" "Kilian and someone else, a big guy ... Byron." "Weapons?" "Can't tell. They're both wearing trench coats. Probably shotguns." "Enough to take out our wheels, then." They had armored flaps that dangled behind their wheels for just such occasions, but they wouldn't be strong enough to resist sustained assault, especially by shotgun.
What do You think about The Living Night (Book 1)?
