I tighten my thighs around the bike and lean back. “Sit in front of me,” I tell Stacey while one of my guys hangs out the window and fires back. I try to keep my voice steady as I say, “Swing your leg around and I’ll catch you.” “What?” “I need to shield you.” When she doesn’t shift, and another bullet nears us, I grit my teeth. “Move, Stacey.”
