Vegas Pete - A Mafia Romance (Completed)

Macau Tay - Chapter 19: Part 1

Macau was in a strange mood, had been ever since he'd found me in the living room two nights ago. He hadn't said much, which was unusual for him. I wasn't sure if he was angry at something I'd done, and I didn't really care. That night I'd promised myself that I'd have to stop whatever was going on between him and me. Christmas was only five days away but we both definitely hadn't caught the holiday spirit yet. There wasn't a single piece of Christmas decoration in our apartment. I'd considered asking Macau to buy a tree and decorate it together, but then the panic had set in again and I hadn't said anything. Instead I'd accepted the strange mood between us almost with relief. Macau was gripping the steering wheel in a steel grip as we drove away from the last Christmas party of the season. The hosts had rented a deserted warehouse and turned into a winter wonderland with fake snow and a real ice bar. Pete and Vegas were still there but Macau's bad temper had caused Vegas to send us away early. He'd probably worried that Macau would end up killing someone again. I couldn't blame him. The road was covered with a fine sheen of frost which glittered in the glare of our spotlights. "You know what's funny?" Macau asked in a tight voice. I glanced toward him, his tense body and dark expression. "Whenever you think I'm not watching, you look like you might be happy and then the moment our eyes meet, it's like 'poof' and the happiness is gone." I wasn't sure what to tell him. "Why do you insist on being miserable?" Before I could formulate an answer, Macau suddenly floored the gas. I was pressed into the seat. "What are you doing? You don't have to kill us because you're pissed." Macau peered into the side mirror. "I'm not trying to kill us. I'm trying to save our lives." Something collided with our trunk. I glanced over my shoulder. Flashlights of another SUV filled the rear window. "Who are they?" I asked. "Russians would be my guess. I noticed them too late. Fuck. This happens when I get distracted by other shit." We were the only cars in this part of the industrial area. Macau twisted the steering wheel and we shot around a corner into a narrow street between two high storehouses. 

"Head down," Macau barked. I obeyed at once. Struggling against my seat belt, I leaned forward. A second later, our pursuers shot at us. The rear window exploded and shards rained down on us. Macau didn't react, he kept driving like a madman. He'd somehow even managed to pull his own gun. I clutched the seat, my head pressed against my legs as I jerked back and forth with every twist and turn of the car. The tires were screeching, gunshots whistling through the air, glass bursting. A new shower of shards rained down on me as the side window in the back exploded as well. "Fuck," Macau  snarled while he tried to get a connection with his phone, probably to call Vegas. Fear was clogging my throat tightly. Fear for my own life was only a small part of it. Seeing Macau in clear line of fire terrified me even more. He couldn't duck his head. One bullet and everything could be over. We turned another corner and I slammed against the door. I squeezed my eyes shut, fighting my rising sickness. More shots rang out and Macau let out a hiss. I peered to the side. Macau was still driving and shooting at our pursuers, but he was bleeding from wounds in his arm and shoulder. That moment another bullet grazed his head, blood spurting everywhere, even on my face. Macau didn't even seem to care; he fired another round of shots. Suddenly we were spinning, the car out of control. I wrapped my arms around my chest as I was thrown around in my seat. Through half closed eyes I saw our car shooting toward a massive wall and then there was an earsplitting crash as we smashed into it. My body jerked forward, the air rushing out of me as I was flung against the safety belt. It cut into my collarbone, and my vision turned black. Then something soft exploded in my face, stopping my impact. I didn't know how long I hung limply in my seat belt, my face buried in the deflating airbag as I tried to catch my breath. My ears were ringing but eventually that faded and silence greeted me. With a groan I sat up, ignoring my throbbing headache. 

Smoke was rising from our crushed hood, slowly filling the car through the broken windows. I blinked to get rid of the dots dancing in and out of my vision. My entire body was sore but nothing seemed to be broken. At least I could move. I turned to the driver's side and stilled. It was dark in the car. Our lights were smashed but from somewhere a distant glow illuminated what was around me. Macau was slumped over the steering wheel. Like many mafia cars, the driver didn't have an airbag because it was a bother during car chases. Blood plastered his dark hair to his forehead, soaked his shirt and dripped down on his pants. So much blood. He must have hit his head against the steering wheel or maybe the dashboard when we'd collided with the wall. Was he dead? He wasn't moving, and I couldn't see if he was breathing. I held my breath, listening for a sound. There was nothing. I blinked, then peered over my shoulder to see where our pursuers were. Their car had smashed into another building and had already caught fire. They were definitely dead. Was our car going to start burning too? I needed to get out. Wasn't this the chance I'd been waiting for? Macau and I were alone. Nobody was here to stop me from running. I could leave and be free. I unbuckled myself, then glanced at Macau again. I needed to check if he was dead, but somehow I couldn't. What if he was really gone? What if he was dead? My throat felt tight and raw. My lungs refused their work as panic settled in my body. God, what if he was dead? What was wrong with me? Hadn't I wanted him out of my life six months ago? This was my chance, probably the only chance I'd ever get. The smell of gas drifted into my nose, and the smoke inside the car was starting to burn in my eyes. Macau was a killer. He wasn't a good man. If you asked most people, they'd say he deserved death. With shaky fingers I reached out and touched Macau's shoulder. He still felt warm but that didn't mean he was alive. Slowly I inched my hand up until I brushed his blood-slick throat. My fingers ghosted over his skin, finding nothing, pressing and searching, until finally a soft pulse beat against my fingertips. I exhaled, relief slamming into me like a hammer. Still alive. He was still alive. Thank God.