GAME OF SPADES

The scent of stale leather and sweat filled the confined space of the Lexus's backseat. Sharique's breath hitched, each gasp a desperate plea for air as Ortiz’s massive hand clamped down on his neck, pinning him. The cold, metallic press of a 9mm, silencer and all, dug deep into his groin, sending a searing hum of pain through his body.
Up front, Felipe drove with a terrifying, unblinking intensity, the city lights blurring into streaks outside the window as they hurtled down the highway. Sharique's heart hammered against his ribs, a frantic, techno beat in the suffocating silence. He was scared as hell, a desperate urge to piss warring with the agonizing pressure.
"I shoulda got the fuck up out of this city when I had the chance," a thought screamed in his mind, sharp and clear above the roaring fear.
