“They’re still following us,” Rivet said.

“I know.” Wrench kept her eyes locked on the river in front of her.

The boat behind them hadn’t picked up speed. It was small and carried no oil cans, unlike the heavily modded oil-guzzlers most big jacker crews liked. If Lacey didn’t know better, she might think it was just a regular civilian boat. The sloppily spray painted emblem on the prow gave it away. Ronan wasn’t flashy, but he wasn’t subtle, either.

Mimi very pointedly did not look out the window at the boat. She crouched in the corner with her notebook and gnawed on her thumbnail. She’d tried for years to break the habit, but never quite managed to kick it.

Lacey did watch the boat. Her nerves jangled. Ronan’s jackers had to know where the Torpedo was headed. They’d been making aimless loops through the neighborhood for hours now, just to throw off potential tails. All that did was burn up a lot of fuel and give Ronan’s patrols a chance to locate them. Now, there was no point hiding their destination. The jackers hadn’t drawn a weapon yet, which seemed like green light to head to Ronan’s hideout.

The little boat didn’t stop the Torpedo as it pulled up alongside the unmistakable stranded train cars. Wrench killed the engine and sat back in her seat. They all waited, motionless, for Ronan’s chaser boat to dock and the three jackers to disembark.

“Well?” The voice was muffled by the cockpit walls, but Lacey heard well enough. It was the tallest jacker, the one who’d been steering. They stood, hands on hips, and glared at the four newcomers. “You getting out, or what?”

Wrench gritted her teeth and went to stand. Rivet wrapped an arm under hers and helped her out of the boat.

Lacey threw Mimi a bracing look. Before she headed out, Lacey grabbed the backpack with Drew’s camera. She didn't want to let it out of her sight.

The jackers did a double take at the sight of Rivet and Wrench. The one who’d spoken earlier took a half step toward them, blinking in confusion.

Lacey hurried to stand next to them. She wasn’t sure of the etiquette in this situation, but she could at least act as a buffer.

In the few seconds it took for Mimi to get out, Lacey took a look at Ronan’s streetcars. Or were they MAX cars? It had been a while since she’d been inside. She looked on the memory fondly. Ronan had known her reputation by that point and told her up front that she was too young for him to sleep with in good conscience. Far cry from most brokers, who weren’t thrilled by the inaccuracy of the rumors that followed Lacey. While they spoke, Ronan had offered her some of his crew’s moonshine and an honest-to-god fresh nectarine. Who knew where he’d gotten it. Regardless, it was a luxury he shouldn’t have wasted on Lacey. She’d been suspicious at first, but it turned out he wasn’t trying to manipulate her. Ronan was just that kind of person.

She hoped he hadn't lost that generosity. They'd need it.

Mimi lowered herself onto the shore. Her feet sank halfway into the damp sand. Normally, she would’ve wrinkled her nose in disgust. As it was, she was distracted by the grizzly bear-sized jacker in front of her.

The black-clad mountain of a person didn’t pay any attention to Lacey or Mimi. All their attention went to Rivet and Wrench.

“You’ve got a lot of fucking nerve,” the jacker rumbled.

“Gotta be honest, dude, I have no idea who you are.” Rivet shifted their grip on Wrench’s shoulders. “Can we please talk to Ronan?”

“Doesn’t matter who I am. Everyone here knows you two thieving shitheads.” The jacker spat on the ground. “If it were up to me, I’d shoot you dead right here.”

Rivet’s false bravado didn’t waver. “Seems like we both know that’s up to Ronan, then. How about we both go talk to him and see what he wants you to do with us?”

The jacker frowned in confusion.

“Well, if you won’t stop us…” Rivet stepped past the jacker, pulling Wrench along with them despite her pained grunts.

Lacey looked at Mimi, shrugged, and took her friend’s hand. The two darted around the jacker and his friends. Once they realized what was happening, though, the jackers let out yells of protest and grabbed Lacey by the arm. One of them stuck out a leg, nearly tripping Rivet. They jumped aside just in time to avoid eating dirt. That didn’t stop them from loudly cursing out their would-be attacker.

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Lacey groaned. She’d really hoped they wouldn’t have to fight.

“Lacey fucking Alameda.”

The sound stopped everyone in their tracks. Lacey’s stomach tensed. It’d been a while, but she could still recognize Ronan’s voice when she heard it.

Ronan stood in the doorway to his MAX car hideout, glowering from underneath his eyebrows. He looked a little thinner than the last time Lacey had seen him.

Mimi let go of Lacey’s hand to give Ronan a timid wave. “Hello again.”

Up ahead, Rivet took a nervous step back. “Hey, Ronan.”

The broker stared for a long moment. He rubbed his dark-rimmed eyes and groaned. “Rivet, Wrench…I’m going to dig your father out of his grave and beat the shit out of him for passing his crazy on to you.” He dropped his hands to scowl at Lacey. “Speaking of graves: aren’t you supposed to be dead?”

“That was the plan,” Lacey said.

In the distance, Lacey could hear an engine’s whir.

Everyone but Mimi noticed the sound at the same time. The jacker behind them turned toward the river, hand going to the sidearm under his jacket.

“I think now is a good time to mention we passed by some of Ducky’s boats on the way here,” Rivet said.

“Get inside,” Ronan snapped. He stepped aside and waited for the Torpedo’s crew to scramble up the sandbar and through the doorway. The jackers took up the rear and closed the doors behind them.

“Four-Stroke, get on the radio,” Ronan said, nodding toward the jacker behind him. “I want to know exactly what’s coming. Mallet, Countersink: you two watch our six.” The other two nodded in unison and headed for the tiny cracks in between the boards covering the windows. “And as for you four…” Ronan looked Lacey and her friends up and down. “I don’t even know where to start.”

“We’re sorry, Uncle Ronan, seriously,” said Rivet.

Lacey did a double take. “Uncle?”

Rivet never got the chance to answer. Four-Stroke's radio crackled to life with a garbled warning. It came too late: a barrage of bullets was already tearing up the plywood walls.

Lacey stumbled backward. Splinters pelted her like rain. The onslaught of pain and noise disoriented her, but Ronan’s presence of mind saved her. He pulled Lacey into a corner with him, their backs pressed against solid metal. She hoped it was bulletproof.

Four-Stroke, the jacker who’d spoken earlier, kicked one of the doors halfway open and poked the barrel of his pistol out. He only got one shot in before the answering fire forced him to take cover.

Mimi dropped to a crouch and covered her head. She moved so quickly that, for a heart-stopping moment, Lacey thought she’d been shot.

Rivet let out a choked noise, wide eyes flicking between Mimi and Wrench. Their throat bobbed as they took a deep breath, then shook themselves out of it. They helped Wrench under the bench at the nearest end of the car. Once she was protected, Rivet drew their pistol and slunk across the ground to crouch beside Four-Stroke.

The engine's growl had grown louder. The boat had to be right on top of them.

Mimi cast Lacey a panicked glance.

Lacey pulled free of Ronan’s grasp and began crawling toward her friend. On her way, she chanced a look through the crack in the door.

Her throat clenched. Lacey had been partially right: their pursuers were close. But she’d been wrong to think it was just one boat. With her limited view, Lacey counted three souped-up speedboats circling the sandbar. Oil bubbled from the overfilled barrels strapped to their fronts and sides, leaving trails of rainbow sludge.

There was no time to figure out what was happening. There was even less time to panic. Lacey didn't stop to think. She grabbed Mimi’s shirt and pulled her toward the wall closest to their boats. Most of the fire was coming from that side. They’d be safer if they could just get up against the walls and away from the plywood.

Mimi scooted under a pair of refurbished seats and resumed her curled-up posture. As she hid, Lacey realized with a sinking stomach that there wasn’t enough room for both of them.

“Open the door back up,” Rivet yelled. “I can’t shoot like this.”

“We don’t need to,” Four-Stroke snapped back. He looked to be fiddling with something under his coat.

The jacker popped into a crouch and pulled out a glass bottle with a rag stuffed in the neck. Rivet’s eyes widened as they realized what was happening. Four-Stroke pulled out a lighter and lit the rag, then stood and kicked the door open. As he moved, he launched the flaming bottle out of the car, then dropped back to the floor.

Lacey pressed her face up against a bullet hole in time to see the Molotov cocktail land right on the gas barrel tied to the nearest enemy boat. The glass shattered, followed by a concussion and a plume of black smoke.

Rivet whooped. Lacey stared in disbelief as the occupants of the now-flaming boat slid into the water on their bellies and headed for the other two boats.

It was a lost cause. Another of Ronan’s jackers had already made it to the door and thrown another Molotov.

This one wasn’t as well placed, but it did the job. Instead of hitting a barrel, the bottle smashed through the windshield and set the cockpit on fire.

“That’s definitely Ducky,” Four-Stroke yelled over the gunshots. “I’d know those boats anywhere.”

Rivet let out a cry of frustration. They threw themself onto their stomach and fired a volley through the gap in the doors. The answering shots missed them by inches. As they fumbled to reload, Four-Stroke kicked open the door to launch another Molotov.

In all the commotion, no one heard the police sirens until it was too late.