Free DIRE : SEED (The Dire Saga Book 2) by Andrew Seiple

floor.
    “The gates—”
    “DON’T MAKE HER LAUGH.” I pointed the universal remote at the barriers as we approached, hit OPEN . The bar slid up and we bumped out onto the street, scraping the chassis of the long car against the grade of the street.
    Two blocks later, at a stoplight I stripped the mask from my face, tossed it into the backseat with my briefcase. I shot Bunny a look, but she was slumped in her seat, shotgun between her knees, clutching her side.
    “Adrenaline’s running out, huh?” I’d been there before.
    “Yeah,” she whispered. “I’m bleeding on the upholstery. Sorry.”
    “Don’t be,” I grinned. “It isn’t Dire’s car.”
    She coughed, and there were dark specks on her hand, as the red glow from the light shifted to green.
    “You need a doctor,” I said.
    “No!” She coughed a little more. “No doctors. I’m dead if... hospital...”
    I shifted the caddy back into gear, headed left, and over to stop in front of the Nothing’s Personal.
    Of course he didn’t come out. He didn’t recognize the car!
    I rolled down the window, gestured at the restaurant. Finally, the doors open, and Martin walked out, looking puzzled.
    “That’s uh, that’s not the Fjord.”
    “Nope. Get in.”
    “Aight.” He started around, and I shook my head.
    “Nope. Backseat.”
    “What?” He bent over, looked past me, into the car. It was dark enough, but he must have made out enough details because his eyes got wide under the glasses. “Shit. Shit shit shit. What the fuck you do?”
    “Not her doing. In! In!”
    He folded himself into the backseat, and barely had the door shut before I pulled out, and slid into traffic. Though every part of me wanted to go go go , I forced myself to drive slowly. Unlike Bunny, my adrenaline hadn’t crashed yet.
    The pulsing itch in my back told me it would hurt like a fucker when I did crash.
    “Okay. So who’s the dead guy riding shotgun?”
    “Not dead, not a guy. You’re right on the shotgun.”
    “S’a fucking hogleg,” Bunny slurred.
    “The fuck... wait.” Martin leaned forward. “You’re that Militia chick? What the fuck?”
    She didn’t answer.
    “She’s hurt,” I said for her. “We need to get her back to the lair before she dies. You know first aid, right?”
    “Fuck!”
    “That wasn’t a yes or a no.”
    “I... shit. Holy fucking shit. Wait. There is a baby seat in this caddy! Why the fuck is there a baby seat in this caddy!”
    “Oh. Hm. Is there a baby in it?”
    “No!”
    “Well, that’s good.”
    “Why is there a baby seat in this caddy?”
    “Well, Dire stole it from a family she supposes, come on Martin, focus here!”
    “We are in a fucking stolen car with a bleeding ganger from the worst bunch out there, and you want me to fucking focus?” Martin was practically bouncing in his seat.
    “Yes.” What was his problem?
    Martin buried his face in his hands. “I just asked you to bring the car around. That’s all. Shit woman, from now on I ain’t askin’ you to pick up carryout. You’d come back in a monster truck with dead heroes in the back of it.”
    I sighed. “Look. We get to the lair, you patch up Bunny if she’s still alive. Then you patch up Dire—”
    “What the fuck!”
    “—and we call it a night. Fair?”
    “This shit is not even remotely fair. One job. Bring the car back. Didn’t happen. What kind of shit went down, woman?”
    I brought the car to a screeching halt, right there on the on-ramp to the highway. Martin scrabbled for balance, lurched forward, and I grabbed his shoulder, looked him in the eyes from a distance of inches.
    A chorus of horns started up behind me. I ignored them as I smiled, wide and feral.
    “Martin,” I whispered.
    His eyes went wide. “Uh.”
    “She’s had a rough night.”
    “Uh-huh.”
    “Explanations at the lair. ’kay?”
    “Yuh-huh.”
    I grinned. “Thanks.” I let go of his shoulder, and hit the accelerator, heading up the ramp and out, joining the