The Heir Behind the Wheel

Chapter 3. Bullets and Rain

"Who are they?" Ethan's voice came out tight, barely controlled. His eyes flicked to the rearview mirror. The black sedan was still there. Still close. "Why are they chasing us?"

The old man said nothing for a long moment. His jaw tightened. When he finally spoke, his voice was low, rough with anger.

"It's a long story."

He leaned forward, his breath fogging the air between them. "All you need to know is this — they don't want me alive."

Ethan's throat went dry. He swallowed hard.

"And don't even think about stopping," the old man continued, his voice sharper now, pressing. "Believe me. They won't just come for me." His eyes met Ethan's in the mirror. Cold. Certain. "You're in this now too."

The words landed like ice water down Ethan's spine.

"So please," the old man said, quieter now, almost pleading. "Drive. Fast. And don't let them catch us."

Ethan's fingers tightened on the steering wheel until his knuckles turned white. His heartbeat was louder than the engine. Louder than the rain hammering the roof.

*How did I end up here?*

Three days ago, his biggest problem was signing divorce papers. Now someone wanted to put a bullet in his skull.

But there was no time to think. No time to panic. Ethan forced his breathing steady and yanked the wheel hard to the left, cutting between a delivery truck and a city bus. Horns screamed behind him. City lights streaked past in wild, blurring lines of gold and red.

He checked the mirror. The sedan was still there. Smooth. Steady. Like a predator that already knew its prey had nowhere to run.

The engine in that car was new. Powerful. Nothing like Ethan's old cab, no matter how many weekends he'd spent keeping it alive with grease under his nails and prayers on his lips.

"Damn it," he muttered through his teeth.

Ahead, the traffic light turned red.

Ethan didn't hesitate. He slammed the brakes — the tires shrieked against the wet asphalt, the whole car shuddering — and in the same breath, he cranked the wheel hard right, swerving onto the wider main avenue where traffic was thicker.

The move bought him space. The sedan fell back a few car lengths.

Ethan let out a breath. Just one. Just enough to steady his hands.

Then his eyes snapped wide.

Ahead, another car was pulling across the road. Slow. Deliberate. Blocking the lane like it had been waiting there all along.

"No way," Ethan whispered.

Before he could react, the window of that car rolled down. Slow. Smooth. And through the gap, he saw it.

The glint of metal. A barrel.

"They're armed!" Ethan shouted, his voice cracking between panic and disbelief.

The rain hit harder, blurring the world into smears of light and shadow. The wipers thrashed across the windshield, but they couldn't keep up. Everything was water and noise and the metallic taste of fear on his tongue.

"Hold on!" Ethan screamed.

One second later—

BANG.

The sound split the night open. The rear window cracked. A spider web of fractures bloomed across the glass, and tiny shards rained down on the old man, who ducked low in his seat with a sharp gasp.

"Go, son! Don't stop!" The old man's voice was raw now. Pure panic.

Ethan stomped the gas. The engine roared, straining, the old cab shaking like it was trying to tear itself apart. The needle on the speedometer climbed higher than it had any right to go.

BANG. BANG.

The next shots were closer. Much closer.

Ethan ducked instinctively, one hand still locked on the wheel. The road was slick, the cars ahead like obstacles in a game he hadn't agreed to play. One wrong move and he'd lose control. Spin out. Die.

"Damn it, damn it, damn it—" he hissed through clenched teeth.

In the mirror, the sedan was right on top of them. Its headlights filled the glass, blinding, pressing, like the mouth of something about to swallow them whole.

Then—

CLANG.

A bullet hit the side panel. The steering wheel jerked violently in Ethan's hands. The car lurched sideways.

"Ah—!" Ethan grunted, fighting the wheel. The rear tires slipped on the wet road, the whole back end fishtailing. For one sickening moment, everything tilted. The world spun.

*This is it. This is how I die. In a cab. In the rain. Because of some old man I don't even know.*

But then his teeth clamped together. His jaw locked.

"No. Not yet."

He wrenched the wheel hard left, aiming for a narrow gap between two buildings — an alley so thin he barely saw it through the curtain of rain. The cab shot into the darkness.

Behind them, the sedan reacted too late.

SCREECH.

Brakes screamed. But the black car still tried to follow, forcing its wide body into the narrow passage. Metal scraped against brick. Sparks flew.

"Hold on tight!" Ethan yelled again.

The alley was dark. Almost pitch black. A single overhead bulb flickered, buzzing, casting weak orange light on the wet ground. The path was tight, full of puddles, lined with dumpsters and parked motorcycles.

Ethan swerved left. Right. Left again. Dodging trash bins and rusted bikes. The undercarriage scraped against the asphalt. The mirrors folded inward, barely missing the walls.

BANG.

Another shot. This one punched through the air inches from the windshield. A small hole appeared in the glass, a crack spreading outward like a frozen splash of water.

The old man cried out, pressing himself flat against the seat.

"Right! Go right!" he shouted suddenly, his voice breaking. "There's a cut-through!"

Ethan didn't think. Couldn't think.

He ripped the wheel to the right.

The tires screamed. The car tilted — hard, too hard — the whole body leaning sideways as it took the corner at a speed that had no business being possible in a space this tight.

Two wheels lifted off the ground.

The car hung there. Tipping. Balancing on the edge.

Ethan stopped breathing. His heart stopped. The steering wheel shook wildly in his white-knuckled grip, and for one endless, frozen second, the world was nothing but the sound of rain and the creak of metal about to roll over.

"Don't let go!" the old man screamed.

Then the tires slammed back down. The car crashed onto all four wheels with a bone-jarring thud, fishtailing once, twice—

And shot forward into the dark.