I was seven when I pushed my newborn brother and sister to a hospital in an old wheelbarrow because Mom hadn’t moved in three days. I thought getting the babies there would end the nightmare—until police found a letter beside my mother warning that a man was coming for us.

"RUN, MAYA!" Vance screamed through the ringing in my ears.

Gunfire erupted like thunderclaps—the muffled thump-thump-thump of silenced pistols countered by the loud, sharp cracks of the officers' sidearms.

Miller grabbed me by the back of my jacket, scooping me up under his arm like a football, and plunged backward through the low glass window of my bedroom, crashing out onto the muddy backyard lawn.

Glass shattered everywhere. Miller took the brunt of the impact, groaning as he hit the ground, but he kept his arm securely wrapped around me.

"Are you okay, kid?!" he yelled, pushing himself up, his sleeve soaked in blood from a glass cut.

"I'm okay!" I shouted, holding my hand tightly over my jacket pocket where the silver drive sat.

Behind us, Agent Vance provided cover fire from the broken window frame, keeping Sterling's henchmen pinned inside the hallway.

"GO! TAKE THE TRUCK!" Vance shouted back.

Miller didn't hesitate. He carried me into the darkness of the pine woods, running at a full sprint toward a secondary access trail where their unmarked police SUV was hidden under the trees.

Bullets whistled through the high branches above us, snapping pine needles and bark.

Miller reached the SUV, threw me into the back floorboard, slammed the heavy door, and leaped into the driver's seat. He turned the key. The engine roared to life with a fierce, protective growl.

He slammed the vehicle into drive, smashing through the low wooden perimeter fence and tearing onto the main highway just as Sterling’s men sprinted out of the treeline.

"Where are we going?!" I cried out, pulling myself up onto the leather seat.