A Night of Fugitives

(Kaz POV)

The world spun as we hit the ground, dust and fear filling my mouth. I could feel the warm trickle of blood seeping through my trousers where the bullet had grazed my leg. But there was no time for pain, not now.

"Get up!" I growled, pushing myself to my feet. Tommy was already up, pulling the dame with him. Her eyes were wide, filled with terror, but there was a fire in them too. She didn't look like she was going to give up, not yet.

We stumbled through the darkness, the sound of the police sirens growing louder with each passing second. The sparkle we'd been heading towards was a window, its glass shattered by the gunfire. Without a second thought, I hoisted myself onto the sill, ignoring the sharp sting of glass cutting into my palms.

"Come on!" I called over my shoulder, reaching out a hand to Tommy. He took it, pulling himself up with a grunt. The dame was next, her small hands trembling as she clung to mine.

And then we were running again, the cold night air whipping past us as we sprinted down the deserted alleyways.

As we sprinted down the deserted alleyways, a glint of chrome caught my eye. Parked in a narrow side street was a sleek, black motorcycle, a Ducati Panigale V4 R. It was a beast of a machine, known for its speed and precision. The owner, a burly man in a leather jacket, was just about to mount it.

Tommy was quick to react. He pulled out his AK-47, pointing it at the man. "Off the bike, now!" he barked. The man raised his hands in surrender, stepping away from the Ducati.

Tommy climbed onto the bike, the engine roaring to life beneath him. The dame followed suit, her arms wrapping tightly around his waist. I was the last to climb onto the bike. And then we were off, the bike cutting through the night like a bullet.

While I was seated at the back, bullets started flying all over the place. A sharp pain shot through my hand, and I looked down to see a bullet wound. The po-po had gotten a shot off. But it was too late for them. We were already disappearing into the night, the Ducati carrying us further and further away from the chaos we'd left behind.

The Ducati roared through the night, the cityscape a blur of lights and shadows. We were a trio of fugitives, fleeing from the law, our hearts pounding in sync with the bike's engine.

Our destination was a safe house, hidden behind an inconspicuous gas station. It was a place we'd used before, a haven in the midst of chaos. As we neared it, I could feel a sense of relief washing over me. But it was short-lived.

As I dismounted the bike, my legs gave way beneath me. The adrenaline that had been fueling me was wearing off, and the pain from the bullet wound in my hand was becoming unbearable. I fell to the ground, my hand leaving a trail of blood on the concrete.

Tommy was by my side in an instant, his face a mask of concern. The dame was there too, her eyes wide with fear. Together, they hoisted me up, each taking one of my arms over their shoulders.

With a strength born of desperation, they dragged me into the safe house, the door closing behind us with a reassuring thud. We were safe, for now. But the night was far from over, and I couldn't shake off the feeling that our troubles were just beginning.

Inside the safe house, the air was stale, heavy with the scent of old oil and dust. The single bulb hanging from the ceiling cast long, ominous shadows on the cracked concrete walls. It was a far cry from the luxury we were used to, but it was safe, hidden from prying eyes.

Tommy quickly went to work on my bleeding hand. He rummaged through an old first aid kit, pulling out a roll of bandages and a bottle of antiseptic. His movements were swift and sure, a stark contrast to the chaos that had just ensued.

"Easy, man," he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper as he carefully wrapped the bandage around my hand. I couldn't help but growl in response, the pain flaring up with each touch. But Tommy didn't flinch, didn't hesitate. He just kept doing what he was doing to my hand.

The dame watched us, her eyes darting between my hand and Tommy's concentrated face. There was a new look in her eyes, a mix of fear and admiration. She was beginning to understand the life we led, the dangers we faced. And yet, she didn't run. She stayed.

As Tommy finished up, securing the bandage with a final tug, I couldn't help but let out a sigh of relief. The pain was still there, but it had eased a bit.

Tommy's frustration was palpable. He kicked the wall of the safe house, his voice echoing in the small space. "What the hell, man! This is too much," he spat out, his words laced with anger and fear. "I swear to the highest, I will make sure the Roadrunners pay for this."

The Roadrunners, our rivals, were the ones who had tipped off the police. They were the reason we were on the run, the reason my hand was now wrapped in a bloody bandage.

I tried to speak, to calm Tommy down, but the pain in my hand held my voice captive. All I could do was grit my teeth and bear it.

But then, after a few minutes, I found my voice. "Tommy, easy man," I said, my voice hoarse. "What if the Roadrunners didn't survive? What if they're in jail now? We're lucky, man. We're still free."

Tommy sighed, the fight draining out of him. He slumped onto the floor, his AK-47 still clutched in his hand. His eyes were distant, lost in thoughts I could only guess at. The anger had faded, replaced by a weariness that seemed to seep into his bones.

The dame was close by, her gaze fixed on my wounded hand. Each time I growled in pain, I saw her flinch, as if she could feel it too. But she didn't come any closer. I wasn't giving her the chance.

"Tommy," I said, breaking the silence. "We're still here. We're still free. That's what matters."

He didn't respond, his gaze still distant. But I saw his grip on the AK-47 tighten, a silent acknowledgment. Like for real he had no choice, we had to maintain and be calm.

The safe house was quiet, the only sound being the occasional drip of water from a leaky pipe. Tommy was slumped against the wall, his eyes half-closed, the AK-47 still in his grip. He looked like he was about to pass out any second.

The dame was in a similar state. She was dozing off, her head lolling to the side. She was about to fall, but I couldn't push her back. My hands were wounded, the bandages soaked with blood.

Seeing no other option, I let her fall onto my lap. She seemed to relax instantly, her breathing evening out as she drifted off to sleep. I couldn't help but watch her, her face peaceful in sleep, a stark contrast to the fear I had seen in her eyes earlier.

As for me, sleep was a luxury I couldn't afford. Not yet. My eyes remained wide open, taking in the dimly lit room, listening for any sound that might signal danger.

With the quiet hum of the safe house as my only company, I reached for my phone. My fingers, slick with blood, fumbled over the screen as I dialed the number of our fellow bikers. The phone rang once, twice, before it was picked up.

"Boss?" a voice on the other end asked, a hint of surprise in his tone.

"Yeah, it's me," I replied, trying to keep my voice steady. "You guys safe?"

There was a pause, then a sigh of relief. "Yeah, boss, we're safe. Laid low as soon as we heard the sirens."

"Good," I said, a wave of relief washing over me. But the relief was short-lived. Through the phone, I could hear the concern in their voices. They knew something was wrong.

"Boss, you okay?" one of them asked, his voice filled with worry.

I hesitated for a moment, then decided to tell them the truth. "Got shot," I admitted, wincing as I shifted my wounded hand. "But I'm fine."

There was a collective gasp on the other end of the line. I could almost see their faces, pale and shocked. But they knew better than to question me further. I was their boss, after all.

"Just lay low for now," I instructed, my voice firm. "I'll contact you when it's safe."

And so, I ended the call, the silence of the safe house settling around me once again. We were safe, for now. But the night was far from over, and I couldn't shake off the feeling that our troubles were just beginning.