Beverly squeaked when the bullets slammed into the SUV's rear windshield, only partly aware of Quincy as he spoke over a police radio to another officer.

A shout of, "Down, Beverly!" snapped her from her thoughts, and she flattened herself against the backseat just as the rear windshield finally gave way, flinging glass everywhere when it shattered.

"Stay down," Quincy continued, looking into the rearview mirror before swerving dangerously, the tires squealing in protest the whole time. Beverly snuck a peek over the console, her eyes widening when she realized he'd spun them to face Dennis and Red straight on.

Speeding up as he charged the other, smaller car, Quincy used one hand to snatch a gun from his belt and began to fire back at them. The front windshield shattered as well, and Beverly covered her head with her hands, keeping her eyes shut tight and sending up a prayer for safety (or, at the very least, a quick death).

She started counting to distract herself from the firefight, and hopefully keep whatever was left in her stomach from making an appearance.

1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9—

"Damn it!" Quincy roared, just as something popped and the SUV fishtailed, spinning around in multiple circles, then slamming against another object and flipping over itself at least thrice before it finally came to a stop, leaving its occupants dangling upside-down from their seats.

Beverly blinked blearily, her poor head throbbing with every breath she pulled in. A wet substance dripped into her eyes and she dabbed at it, unsurprised when she saw her fingertips covered in blood.

"Quin'?" she croaked, trying in vain to spot him through the blood obscuring her vision.

There was a groan from up front, followed by, "I think I'm getting too old for this. You okay, Beverly?"

"Peachy." She answered, giggling to herself when she realized how ridiculous she must look, dangling upside-down and dripping in blood. "Ow."

"I bet," Quincy grunted, kicking the driver-side door to shove it open. "Let me cut you down, but I don't want—" he halted abruptly, before the sound of him scrambling from the car penetrated her ears.

More gunshots, and Beverly screamed, wiggling frantically in her seatbelt as she tried to get the stupid thing to release her. It was no use, though—it was jammed, and she couldn't get her weight off to release the pressure against it.

I'm going to die, she realized suddenly, the epiphany stealing her of breath. I'm going to die here, at the hands of two crazy psychos who are part of a drug ring that my roommate was involved in and is run by the CFO of my honorary uncle's company.

The sentence sounded like utter nonsense, even in her own mind, and she couldn't stop another hysterical giggle. After all, it was better to laugh than cry at this point, right?

She had nothing to lose, either way.

A pair of shoes crunched over the glass shards surrounding the totaled SUV, and Beverly's mind went haywire.

I do have something to lose, her heart protested urgently when the door next to her was heaved open, I haven't told Griffin that I forgive him for being stupid, or that I love him to bits; I need Francis to know that he was the best honorary uncle I've ever had; Cynthia has to learn that I'm so sorry for prying into her business, and I should've stayed out of it; Deb has to know this isn't her fault, not really; Alicia was a great friend to me, and I never told her that. I need to remind Abe and Felicity to be good kids, and I need Mom and Dad to know I love them, and I'm sorry for not calling enough.

"So much," she mumbled to herself, watching numbly as a pair of familiar shoes stopped next to the open door. "S'much t'do."

The figure crouched by the door a second later, and she bit back a sob when Dennis's bruised and bloody face came into view. "Hey, darling," he sneered. "Miss me?"

"No," she choked. "No, no, no."

He laughed cruelly. "A shame. Come on." With impatient movements, he jerked a knife out of his back pocket and cut through the belt around her waist, nicking her skin several times as he did so. When the belt was cut away, Dennis watched with no small amount of satisfaction as she fell from her position and landed in a heap on the roof of the vehicle.

Beverly gurgled in pain, choking on an odd, tangy liquid that was coating her tongue. Dennis clucked his tongue mockingly, grabbing her arms and dragging her out of the car, ignoring her cries of pain when her skin caught on the bits of metal and glass covering the ground.

He knelt, fisting a hand in her hair and yanking her upright; he spun them around, and Beverly felt her stomach drop when she saw Quincy's limp body on the ground thirty feet away. She couldn't see Red anywhere, though, and the realization made her nervous.

What are they planning?

"That's a bit of a setback," Dennis told her, his lips dangerously close to her own. "I don't appreciate you going behind my back like that, doll. Once Red gets back here with our ride, we're going to have a little chat about loyalty."

"Screw'ff," she spat, the liquid in her mouth dribbling down her chin. It dripped from there onto Dennis's shiny leather shoes, and he cursed violently.

"God, you're a damn hassle," he sighed, releasing her hair and letting her fall to the ground while he tried to clean his precious shoes; Beverly let herself relax onto the gritty, glass-strewn asphalt, wishing she was able to take nap. "Where the hell is Red?" the question was directed more to himself than anything, but Beverly answered.

"In trouble," she told him, her head angled to the side, away from the car.

"What?" he snapped upright, moving his attention from his shoes to her, before following her gaze.

Dennis's busted Lexus was swiftly approaching, with Red behind the wheel, his face taught with panic. Two police cars followed after the car, no sirens or flashy lights to give them away, and Beverly could practically feel Dennis's face pale.

"Shit." He growled. "Shit, shit, shit, shit!"

Hoisting Beverly up once more, he settled his knife at the base of her throat, his fingers twitching anxiously against the blade's handle.

"N'trouble," Beverly repeated, wheezing out a delirious giggle. "In trouble!"

"Shut up!" Dennis snapped, pressing the blade deeper into her skin.

Red halted the car, and Dennis was quick to run around to the back, pulling open the door to set her in, but freezing when a voice shouted, "Don't move!"

It was Quincy, with blood pouring out of his leg, angling his gun straight at Dennis's head. Beverly would have wept with relief, if not for the very real danger she was still in.

"Same to you," Dennis warned. "I've got the knife against her neck, and we both know what'll happen if I move it."

The other police cars came to a stop, with two blocking them in on the left, and another two screeching to a halt on their right. Dennis and Red were trapped, with no way out.

Dangerous, Beverly's mind whispered. Trapped means they're desperate, which makes them dangerous and unpredictable.

She was suddenly all too aware of the steel pressing into her throat.