the smuggler’s bible


Sawyer is way ahead of the pack, pedaling mightily and weaving between cars, when the feeling comes over her.

She grits her teeth through the lift and tenses for freefall. Headlights spread out to surround her, then swoop together in a rush.

Eyes open. Clouds and buzzing street lamps. A few minutes gone, maybe. Not long. Satan laughs.

“Technically a legal play,” Sawyer says, standing her bike up, “but still a dick move.”

“That’s the secret, babe.” Satan takes a swig from a bottle in a brown paper bag. “The stakes don’t matter if you get to pick the game.”