The last stop of the day was a boring one. I had to meet with my parole officer. It was short and sweet. Don’t leave the state. Don’t associate with criminals. Don’t do it again.

Check. Prove it. Check.

We talked about stopping at the Piper to see if Leathers was there and feeling chatty, but both agreed that it might be better to digest everything at home before we took the next step. Misty angled the car towards home, and I settled down with my eyes closed, feeling the fresh shave on my jaw, trying to figure out what to do, and how to do it.

The flags were as red as a firetruck and big as a football field. We got back to the house just past dark; Misty slowed to a crawl before turning into the driveway. The front door was ajar, a window broken. For a second, we both just stared in silence.

“They knocked over Lynette,” she murmured, her knuckles white on the steering wheel.

“What?”

“Lynette,” she said, pointing to one of her lawn flamingos. “Never mind. Oh…oh…oh SHIT!”

Like a cramp letting go, reality came crashing down around us. And before I could react, Misty was diving across the seat, scrambling for the glovebox and unbuckling her seatbelt at the same time. The shine of metal gleamed in the dark car as she pulled out a gun and turned, one hand on the door.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” I barked, grabbing her hand before she could unlatch the door and do something very stupid.

“Purrloin!”

Fuck. I wish I was too rough, too tough and too cold-hearted to give a damn about a housecat. I wished that I could force Misty into the passenger seat and drive us off into the night.

But dammit, the cat had grown on me.

“The door is…”

“She doesn’t go outside,” Misty hissed. “I’m not taking that chance. I’m getting my fucking cat, Rev.”

“No, you’re not,” I said, reaching out and taking the gun from her hand. “I am. I’m your bodyguard, remember?”

She said something, but I didn’t hear it because I was already out of the car and stalking up to the door. Stupid. Stupid. You’re stupid. You’re so. Fucking. Stupid. The smarter part of my brain was very, very angry at the dumber part. But the dumber part was at the door, pushing it open just enough to slip inside. The lights were off in the living room, but a yellow glow inched around the corner of the hallway. The living room itself was a mess, shattered glass on the floor, the couch cushions ripped apart, lamps overturned.

“Pick it up!”

It sounded like it came from the study, a low masculine voice, ripe with frustration.

“Man, I’m fuckin’ allergic to cats. You pick it up.”

A second voice, whining. I crept closer, carefully avoiding anything that might crunch under my shoes. A bead of sweat trickled down from my ear to my chin.

“I’m not getting scratched,” the first voice ordered, clearly belonging to the man in charge of this break-in. “Take a fucking Benadryl. We’ve still got half a house to search.”

Purrloin howled, loud and long.

“Maaaaaan, fuck it! Fuck it! Just shoot it! I’ll go into anaphylactic shock!”

“You shoot it, then, pussy.”

“Shootin’ a fuckin’ cat…maaaaan…I’m gonna have nightmares!”

A thug with a heart of gold. How sweet. But apparently, nightmares weren’t a big enough threat to stop him from doing the deed, because just as I was about to come blasting around the corner, a gunshot rocked through the house. My heart stopped.

God dammit. They shot Misty’s fucking cat.

No, they didn’t.

Because a second later, a grey blur came screeching and yowling around the corner, sweeping through my legs and scrambling over the wood floor.

“Fucking shit!”

“Forget it, it’s just a fucking cat!”

“Tell that to the boss, stupid motherfucker. He wanted that cat dead or alive, remem…”

I was backing up as the voices drew near, both men in hot pursuit. I guess whoever was running this game knew that hurting Purrloin was a good way to get Misty’s attention. One of them turned the corner, his eyes going wide with shock as he saw my shadow in the dark room; the sudden stop had his partner running into him, pushing him forward. I fired one shot at his knee and spun backwards towards the door.

“Who the fuck are you?”

The one I’d shot was howling on the ground, his partner aiming his gun at me. He didn’t wait for me to answer his question. We fired at the same time. My shot went wide, but his blazed a trail of burning metal across my bicep. I was almost at the door, my heart racing, the smell of gunsmoke burning my nose, Misty’s screaming in my deafened ears, pain barely registering as adrenaline throbbed through my veins. Another step backwards and Purrloin screeched as I stepped on her tail; if only she knew that her momentary pain was saving her life.

Another bullet breezed over my head as I swooped down and caught the scruff of her neck before throwing myself out the door in a glorified crouch. I hit the ground running. Misty was jetting towards me, screaming something, then pointing; when we met in the middle, I tossed the scratching, screaming bundle of cat into her arms and grabbed her elbow, pulling her along behind me. A bullet hole scarred the Bel Aire’s baby blue paint job. Millions would be rolling in his grave over that little transgression, and I was in no mood to join him down there.

“Get in the car!” I shouted as another bullet seared past us to crack the backseat window. I leap into the open door happy to find the keys still hanging in the ignition. Misty might not want me behind the wheel of her father’s most prized possession, but in the heat of the moment, I was in no mood to argue over who was driving.

Everything screeched at once: the cat, the girl, the man in the doorway, the tires, and my own bloodied body. We were going to be okay; we were going to be fine. I was behind the wheel, and I was going to get us out. This was what I did. This was where I belonged. A car pulled into the street behind us, but it would never catch me. Four years couldn’t rob me of the muscle memory I needed to get us from the streets to the highway, from the highway to the country road, from the country road to the safe house.

C’mon, motherfuckers, I thought, a grin splitting my face, feeling like a madman and knowing I looked that way too. Misty was trying to manage Purrloin and fasten her seatbelt at the same time, a wise choice given my rapidly increasing speed and the sharp turns I took at every opportunity. There was no pain. No fear. Nothing. I was almost glad that they were matching my pace. I wanted to play. Gunning the engine, I saw high beams behind me, and that grin grew even wider. Let’s have some goddamn fun.