Undercover Badge; Next Generation

Chapter thirty nine

Matthew's phone came out as his jacket came off and flew into the back. He looked ridiculously sexy with his shirtsleeves rolled up and that sidearm harness and the semi-automatic strapped around his shoulder. "Wellington, where are they now?" he asked into the phone, bracing against the seat as I swerved around a mini-cooper and swung back quickly to avoid taking out a guy on a moped.

    I raced passed off ramps and bolted through a red light.

"Shit, we missed the turnoff." Matthew hissed, and I stomped on the brakes, swung the steering wheel in an arc and pulled up the hand break, the Mercedes doing a hard 180 with tyres shrieking on asphalt. The hand break was down and tyres were spinning before the turn came to a complete stop and I shot back through the red-light to take the left turn.

"Motherf- Never mind. We're back." Matthew yelled into the phone. "Heading west? Okay, we'll get them now. Thanks, Wel."

"Take the next left." He addressed to me, quickly pulling out the clip of the automatic, checking it and snapping it back into place. Tires protested again at the hairpin turn, car horns and furious drivers roaring into oblivion behind me as I sped away, growl of the engine increasing and crashing each time I shifted up a gear, eyes flicking to each mirror in turn and watching every angle as I bolted trough cars, drawing patterns out of the traffic for ways to escape.

"Listen," Matthew started as he checked his gun. "If this goes south, you need to leave."

I snorted, sped past a little old white haired woman in an ancient BMW, who, surprisingly flipped me off.

     "This isn't a joke, Katherine." His voice was dropping in aggravation.

     "Sure." I deadpanned. I wasn't sure where all of the sass was coming from today but I found I was amused by Matthew's inability to handle it.

     "Katherine." He growled.

I snorted again. "What, Guard dog?" I snapped, sending him a narrow eyed look. "Want me to slink away, maybe whine a little and come running when you whistle? Fuck that."

I thought Matthew's jaw would snap under the pressure. "Turn right." He snarled. I followed the order without a sound.

"I remember when you used to be terrified of me." He hissed. He pulled the hammer back on his gun. "I miss those days." I'd seen Matthew roar in anger, and I knew right now he wanted to. He desperately wanted to throw me out of the car, grab me by the shoulders and shake me.

     "Matthew, I get that you're pissy." I said lowly. "But right now, you need backup and I'm the best you've got." I sighed, turned the steering wheel and skipped a red light. He stayed silent.

Up ahead, I saw two police motorcycles. And flanked between them, was the van Kat and James had been seen in.

       "Oh, joy." My tone was flat, fighting with Matthew forgotten. "A police convoy. This'll be fun."

"They're not real cops." Matthew said, reaching over and putting a hand on the back of my head in a surprise move, he leaned over and kissed my cheek. "We'll finish our discussion later." He grumbled, this time less angry, more resigned. "But for now, we need to be careful, please don't let yourself get hurt. When it goes badly, just start shooting." I nodded slowly.

"Let's go." He said, and I gunned the engine, Matthew rolling down the window and picking himself up to lean out. Soon after, the shooting began.

I don't remember much of what happened after that. I remember Matthew taking out one of the motorcycles, and the other speeding around the van. And I remembered a dark windowed black SUV slamming into the Mercedes on my side out of nowhere. I remembered looking over in shock to see James grinning at me cruelly, wearing a white suit. At least, I thought he was James. But this James had long hair tied back into a man-bun and a well-groomed beard. But the mean in his eyes told another story.

"Matthew!" I yelled, and when he looked over, his eyes went wide. A moment later, Duncan aimed at him, over the roof, and started to fire. I swung the steering wheel toward the SUV, and in spite of being in the smaller car, the power of the engine was sufficient to make the SUV's tires squeal and Duncan's aim to fail. Matthew fell back into the seat.

       "Fuck, fuck, fuck!" he yelled, taking the automatic weapon off his back and ripping the slide back, leaning over me before pulling the trigger. I wasn't prepared for the machinegun fire in the small space of the car, or the heat I could feel come off the barrel near my chest and face. My eardrums throbbed, and Duncan's SUV swerved away from us, off of the road, bullet holes peppering the side.

My ears rang in the sudden silence. "Fucker!" Matthew roared out the window and I wanted to laugh. Rather, I did. Till the back of the van ahead of us opened and a man with a hand grenade grinned with us maliciously, ripped the pin out and threw.

     The rest was where I sort of lost it.

I remembered the heat of an explosion. The sound of shattering glass and squealing metal and then we were airborne and I remembered the feeling of my hair flying as if weightless. Then a screaming, screeching crash followed by grinding as metal dragged against asphalt and we were still upside down. And I remembered myself hitting windsheild glass, hard, and being flung away from the twisted metal contraption, bones breaking as I rolled against tar, muscles tearing and joints popping, skull cracking against the hard road.

But my face was turned the right way, though blood poured from my ruined nose and torn mouth and broken jaw. I watched the van pull over, lights illuminating the darkness and around us, cars swerved to avoid the wreckage we'd created. And Duncan walked to the car and two guys yanked at the door to pull Matthew out. He wasn't moving. He wasn't breathing.

The two guys dragged him to the van, legs and arms dangling uselessly, brood pouring down his biceps and forearms, dripping down fingers, some of which were broken and twisted. His right leg dragged awkwardly, the knee cracked at an angle that told me the joint was ruined beyond repair. His weapon dragged across the tar by the barrel, a disrespectful move Matthew would never allow if he was conscious or alive. Blood spilled over my lashes into my eyes. My blinks slowed as the sticky, warm film poured down my cheek and pooled on the tar.

             They tossed Matthew in the van like he wasn't made of heavy meat and bone and muscle. And I heard crunching, and felt presence behind me. I couldn't turn my head but my eyes widened and blood gurgled past my lips as I protested them taking Matthew away from me. "What a shame." A voice like James' whispered near my ear, and a hand stroked a bloody mess of blonde curls from my forehead. "Their son's girlfriend all dead. What a pretty shame." He sighed, and as I stared at them closing the van doors on Matthew, who was not breathing, I realized that this time it wasn't about me. Duncan didn't know what I was- this was about Kat and James and Matthew.

          And then I felt a hard nudge against my neck, a distinctive click and then a blast reverberated through me and the smell of gunpowder singed my nostrils. I felt blood pour from my neck before the world dimmed, faded, and I died.

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