Page 107 of Power's Fall

Montana turned, walking backward so Sinaver was a shield between them and the windows. It would be really fucking easy for a sniper to pop his head like a grape.

“What if they planted a car bomb?” Dahlia asked, voice unsteady.

“If they had those skills or planning abilities, we wouldn’t have made it this far,” Montana said. “Get in.”

Dahlia climbed into the back of the van as Vadisk jumped into the driver’s seat.

Montana got himself and Sinaver in, barely closing the doors as Vadisk hit the gas.

“You have grenades?” Vadisk called back as he took the corner at what felt like a hundred miles an hour.

Dahlia and Montana crashed up against the shelves. Sinaver made a muffled sound as his laundry cart careened around.

“Yes,” Montana said once he was upright. He’d grabbed supplies back in the secret room. “Two flash, two sting balls, one actual grenade.”

“Get up here. Dahlia, guard our hostage.”

Montana made his way to the front, sliding into the passenger seat. Dahlia had one arm hooked around a shelving unit to keep her balance as Vadisk drove like they were crash-proof, the other holding her gun on Sinaver.

They were almost to the gate in the wall of the property.

“Ram it?” Montana asked.

“Ram it,” Vadisk agreed with a grin.

“Dahlia, get down,” Montana called back.

His very smart wife didn’t ask questions, just dropped to her knees and braced herself.

The van crashed through the gates like it was a rocket, the guard watching them with wide eyes as they blew past.

“Make it hard for them to follow,” Vadisk said as he cut a sharp turn onto the main road.

Montana grabbed the grenade from his pocket and leaned out the window. “Fire!” He tossed it and ducked back inside.

The grenade hit the road behind them, blowing a massive hole in the asphalt as the sound wave buffeted the van.

Dahlia rose, clinging to the shelf once more. “I can’t decide if this is exciting or terrifying.”

“This thing can’t go fast enough for it to really be terrifying,” Vadisk called back.

Montana leaned to look at the speedometer. Holy shit. How fast did Vadiskwantit to go?

His phone pinged, and a second later, he was looking at a live satellite image of Crimea. Fuck yes, the Grand Master had come through. He zoomed in until he could see it—the white top of the van.

Sirens sounded in the distance.

“Shit,” Vadisk said. “They called the actual authorities.” He glanced at the map on his phone.

Montana looked too, frantically flicking his screen as he tried to find an alternate route. There was no other route to take, no road for them to use as a diversion.

“There’s an intersection coming up, but don’t stop or slow down,” Montana said. “There’s no other traffic, just go. The police are on the other road but if we’re fast enough, we’ll be in front of them.”

Vadisk looked over, brows raised, but didn’t slow as they whipped through a major intersection. A second later, police cars turned onto the road behind them, sirens blaring.

“How?” Vadisk asked.

“Live satellite feed.”