“On occasion.” He raked windblown hair from his eyes. His wrist cuffs wrapped halfway up his forearms, like the ones from the ninja girl’s pack—real leather that bent when he did, studded with real silver along the seams. The latest uptown fashion? They were worn but well-cared for, and I coveted them for their beauty. “Where’re you getting off? Make it close.”

He’d got me out. Now I was extra baggage.

The rain started up again as we left the park, its brooding blanket of cloud ready to give us a pounding. Dark Boy turned west on 59th, along the ranks of newer towers. Glittery, tire-slicing rubble choked the gutters. When we cruised past the Columbus Circle entrance to the Souk, four security trikes fired up to roar after us.

Dark Boy whooped, flipped them the finger, then hunched into the rain and gunned the engine, his leather-clad wrists pressed to the handlebars.

“Soukies!” I yelled. “What’s their problem?”

He was gleeful. “I’m their problem! They hate me!”

Easy to imagine Dark Boy misbehaving at the Souk. And now if I didn’t think fast, he’d dump me in the open, a handy decoy to distract the pursuit, and I’d be in trouble all my own.

“65th and 11th!” I hissed in his ear.

“Fuck! Nothing closer?”

“Best I can do.”

“What’s there?”

“Old car park. You could lose them in the upper levels.”

I could almost hear him thinking it over. Unbelievable. I’d just revealed my brand-new hide to the likes of Dark Boy. So desperate, my mouth was working faster than my brain. But it might give us a chance.

“Still see ’em?”

I twisted in my seat to look behind. “Only on the long blocks.”

Dark Boy brushed at his eyes again. “Visibility is crap!”

“So is theirs!”

He laughed, a harsh rat-tat-tat. Enjoying himself again. United in speed and danger, we’d reached a tentative détente. He laid down another zigzag, alternating street and avenue, cutting across empty lots, scooting between piles of rubble. Rain was building up on the pavement, making the cycle sideslip menacingly.

Finally, I dared it. “Maybe slow down a bit?”

“Ain’t no joyride, den rat. You get that we’re dead if they catch us, right?”

Like it really didn’t matter if we were? “No point doing the job for them.”

His back stiffened. “Another fucking sensible woman.”

Me? Hardly. But some woman in his life had been giving him grief. The redhead? I couldn’t see it. “Why’re they so eager? Isn’t it Daniel they’re after?”

Again, his raucous cackle, like the tale was too long to tell. As we screamed up the final stretch of 11th, the blocky garage loomed ahead, the entrance a gaping black hole.

“Turn in here.” I gripped his shoulders like a wheel.

“Who’s fucking driving?”

“Sorry!”