–Logan–
I reclined my chair back and glanced at Jane as she reached into her bag for a gun. I wasn't even worried—this woman could snap bones in her sleep.
"I think we have a guest," I grinned at her. "Sorry, Jane, but I don't think this is the best time for your beauty nap."
A hailstorm of bullets followed us. The only part of the car not bulletproof? The windows. Great design choice, right? We totally didn't expect this. I fired off signals to our people to come pick us up, because honestly? We could take care of these guys ourselves—but Jane looked exhausted, and I was feeling too lazy to deal with a clean-up.
"Drive," she ordered. So I drove—still reclined—using the front dashcam feed like a gamer with a steering wheel controller.
Jane turned sideways in her seat to get better aim. She picked up a pillow, held it above her head like a shield, and it was instantly shredded. She checked the bullet pattern, unfazed, and lay back down.
"What?" I asked.
