Chapter 133. The Fall of Amanda ‘Not’ Clarke (2)

AMANDA

Someone dragged me out of the cab.

My hand instinctively tightened around the pistol in my grip, and I pushed feebly against the firm hold, but whoever held me was stronger.

“Let go of me, jerk!” I spat, struggling to break free, but to no avail. So I cocked my gun as best I could, aimed it at the person — a cop — and fired.

Boom!

The thunderous sound rang out. The pistol slipped from my shaky hand, and the cop stumbled backward, releasing me.

“Son of a fucking bitch, you'll pay for that,” He growled, reaching for his radio.

I heard him murmur something incoherent, like he was calling for backup, but that didn't stop me from bolting and sprinting as if my life depended on it. Well, it did depend on it. 

Of course, the road wasn't empty, and the sound of sirens soon filled the night, followed by shouts and yelling from officers in pursuit.

Cars honked, and horns blared as people slammed on the