Blue Jmac - Bonnie

Bonnie moved. She was on her feet before the thunderclap faded, the chair leg in her hand. She drove it into the kidney of the nearest guard, then grabbed his dropped pistol. J-Mac had already rolled, used the rope to loop a guard’s ankle, and yanked. The man went down hard, and J-Mac was on him, freeing his own hands with a brutal twist.

They sprinted into the storm, the shouts of Corrigan’s men fading behind them. The rain would wash away their footprints, their scent, their mistakes. By morning, the only thing left of Bonnie Blue and J-Mac would be a whispered story—and another pile of cash, safely in hand.

Bonnie Blue knelt on the cold concrete, her red hair plastered to her skull, wrists tied behind her back with a zip tie that bit into her skin. Across the vast, echoey space, J-Mac was in the same position, his broad shoulders hunched, a thin line of blood tracing from his scalp down his temple. He caught her eye and gave a tiny, almost imperceptible shake of his head. Don’t provoke them.