A few minutes later, on a fairly quiet street, we told the driver to pull over.
He'd barely pulled up at the kerb when Ashur leaned in from behind, clamped a hand over the bloke's mouth and his other on the throat, and held on until the struggling stopped and he went limp.
We jumped out fast. I spared the driver one last glance, slumped over the handlebars. A bouncy Hindi pop track was still playing. It didn't matter what we touched; whatever we laid hands on, we ruined.
I stared at Ashur as he adjusted the pistol at the small of his back. At least he hadn't killed him.
Sirens wailed somewhere ahead. We kept to the pavement, heads down, in the dark, so no one clocked our faces. The sharp reek of spices from a kerbside hot-dog stall tugged at my hunger and weakness.
Ashur halted by a wooden doorway, eyes fixed ahead. I drew a tight breath, palm braced to my side. 'How are we getting out of this mess?'
Still staring straight ahead, he said, voice flat and cold, 'I'm working on it.'
I followed his line of sight and clocked a box van parked at the end of the street, a tall middle-aged man hauling cartons from the back.
I arched a brow, turned to him and said, with a curl of my lip, 'That's honestly your plan?'
He shrugged, pivoted towards me, black eyes locking on mine. Hoarse, indifferent: 'Seems better than your stupid idea. Or did you plan to p… pedal a rickshaw round London all night?'
I stepped in, up on my toes, close enough to breathe his air. 'We made it this far because of me.'
His gaze dragged over my face, then pinned my eyes. He lifted one forefinger and pressed it to my sternum, easing me back. Cool as ice, he turned away to the van again.
Grinding my teeth, I looked over at the Korean doll shop. The window was crammed with pink and white plush toys, and the cartons coming off the van were pink, white, and candy-striped.
I edged after him, shoulder to the stone wall, sliding towards the van's rear corner. The tall bloke came out again, lifted another box, and disappeared back into the shop.
I leaned, slowly, and checked the wing mirror. I narrowed my eyes at the bloke in the driver's seat. 'There's a driver in the cab. He's having a smoke.'
Ashur kept moving, low and steady. 'Get in.'
We ducked our heads so the shop windows wouldn't catch us. I lifted my good leg, caught the lip of the half-open door, and Ashur, without looking away from the street, slipped a hand under my thigh and gave a quick boost.
I slid inside and hustled deeper between the stacks. The cargo bay wasn't huge, but there were enough boxes to hide behind. I worked my way to the back and scanned the labels. When I read the address on the last row, I let out a breath: this van would carry us out of London.
I flashed a signal for Ashur to follow—then saw something at the doors and shifted aside.
I shoved a giant plastic-wrapped pink teddy aside, wedged myself behind it, and sank to my knees. Pain twisted my face. I pressed a hand to my bandage and realised it was soaked through. The stitches had split. I swallowed hard.
The engine coughed to life. Shock jolted me. I stared at the doors. Why wasn't he getting in? Damn it.
I pushed the teddy's plastic away, forced myself up onto both knees, and fixed on the doors. Sweat slid down my spine; my breath came cold.
'Ashur,' I rasped, low. 'Ashur.'
My whole body went numb; even my leg stopped hurting. What if he'd been left behind? We couldn't split—not until I had the papers that would buy my freedom from that bloody Rose Organisation.
A shadow filled the doorway. I ducked back behind the bear and the boxes.
Metal shrieked. The doors slammed. The lock clicked from outside—
and my lungs forgot how to work.
The faint strip of light in the cargo bay died, and darkness swallowed everything.
The van jolted… and I heard the passenger door bang shut.
I lurched to my feet, stumbling through the boxes towards the rear. Ashur had been left behind and this bloody door was locked on me. I shoved cartons aside, yanked my gun from the back of my waistband—ready to shoot the lock if I had to and bail.
Before I reached it, a violent swerve threw me off balance. Pain speared my leg and I hit the floor. As the van rolled, I heard chains rattling. On my knees in front of the doors, I lifted my head—and froze. Ashur had wrenched them open and was clinging to one of the steel doors.
When it swung wide enough, he hauled himself in and dropped carefully beside me onto a stack of doll boxes. I stared, eyes wide. He was up in an instant, slamming the doors shut.
'What the hell do you think you're doing?' I rasped, stunned.
He turned towards me, fixing my furious, rattled face in the dark, drew a breath and said—flat, matter-of-fact, 'A police car was parked right behind the van. I couldn't climb in in front of them. I waited for it to move and came up f… from the back.'
I gripped my side, braced my spine against the cartons and let out a shaky breath.
Propped against the boxes, I said through my teeth, 'I thought you'd left me. I thought you'd played me.'
He held my gaze in the dark. When he spoke, his voice slid into me—cold, uncanny: 'Leave you? That's a good one, little b…butterfly.'