“Relax, my car can’t possibly flip over.” After switching through several channels, all broadcasting traffic updates, Russell slapped the car radio in annoyance, completely ignoring the ghostly blur of vehicles whooshing past.

Cross deeply regretted it—had he known Russell drove without ever using the brakes, he wouldn’t have dragged him along. Cross was confident in his own driving skills, but when it came to Russell, all he could do was scoff.

Last night’s Double D incident made it hard for him to trust Russell; he was unwilling to put his life in the hands of someone so unreliable.

Then something even more reckless happened. After a drift around a corner with intense centrifugal force, Russell started chatting with him.

“You seem really nervous. Who’s that young guy in the sports car? I’m guessing you two must be pretty close.”

“Just focus on driving. The rest is none of your business!” Cross scowled, not wanting Russell to know too much.

“Let me guess. Even though you don’t look alike, it’s not hard to tell from your ages. Seeing how nervous you are, not even daring to fire your gun, that young man must be your... distant cousin, right?”

Cross: “……”

Cross said nothing, decisively pressing his Magnum Desert Eagle II against Russell’s temple. The latter, recognizing the situation, wisely chose to shut up.

Another ten seconds passed. Explosive heavy metal music blared, Russell gripped the steering wheel with both hands, an excited grin spreading across his face, his eyes shining brightly.

Maybe it was just his imagination, but Cross felt the beat-up car beneath him was going even faster.

Over the pounding music, Russell shouted, “I bet he’s your son. Even if you deny it, it’s useless. You know, my father was an assassin too. I know exactly what you’re thinking, because I’ve been through it all.”

Cross kept a stern face, seemingly venting his anger, leaning out the window to fire three shots at the red sports car ahead. The bullets hit the headlights and rear window. Firefox returned fire, but distracted by driving, she missed everything.

Chapter 11: In the Eyes of a Rookie, You’re Already a Veteran Driver

The contest between top assassins is extremely dangerous, and even more so between Cross and Firefox. Both possess bullet time abilities, able to deliver deadly shots from all sorts of bizarre angles at any moment.

They both knew this well. Firefox, being the one pursued, was at a disadvantage, unable to shake off Cross and finding it hard to fight back. Cross didn’t need to drive himself, but with his son in the other’s hands, he was inevitably holding back.

Seeing the box truck in the rearview mirror getting closer and closer, Firefox gritted her teeth and jerked the steering wheel. The Dodge Viper shot straight from the fast lane into oncoming traffic, going against the flow.

Firefox kept weaving the wheel, dodging car after car coming head-on. This terrified Wesley; the blinding headlights made him dizzy, and his ears were filled with piercing horns. He was experiencing a thrill unlike anything in his life so far.

Life and death at breakneck speed—one wrong move and it would all end in a crash.

Meanwhile, the box truck followed closely behind, pulling off dazzling maneuvers in the wrong lane, perfectly dodging speeding cars one after another. Russell swayed to the pounding music, shouting out the beat, his BABY God-level driving skills making it all look easy. With his hands on the wheel, he felt invincible, as if he owned the world.

Cross had a strong mental fortitude. Realizing Russell was a super driver, he immediately fired at the supercar, quickly hitting the rear tire and slowing it down.

“Oh, my God! He’s catching up—we’re doomed!” Wesley screamed, like a scene where someone gets clubbed from behind while picking up soap, surrounded by a dozen burly black men.

“Quiet!”

Seeing Wesley’s confused look, she shot out the front windshield, handed the steering wheel to Wesley, then climbed out.

Firefox, holding two guns, hooked one foot on the steering wheel and the other on the window frame, her back lying on the hood, launching a counterattack at the box truck behind.

Firefox’s beloved gun was a modified Browning M1911, with orchid tattoos, a lion totem, ivory-colored grip, a muzzle device, and an extended magazine. The 11.5MM caliber bullets packed a massive punch, even more than most submachine guns—lethal even without a direct hit.

Her M1911 combined brutality with beauty, making it one of the most perfect handguns.

In her other hand was a submachine gun. Firing both at once, she instantly suppressed Cross.

Staring at those two long, toned legs right in front of him, Wesley forgot to scream. He wasn’t exactly lovestruck, but he did accidentally get a nosebleed.

“Tsk tsk, turns out she’s a real beauty! Your son’s pretty lucky. Judging by her current pose, those long legs are just about wrapped around his head.” Russell hunched over, focused on driving the box truck, but still couldn’t resist making lewd comments.

“Shut up and drive!”

“I’m driving, aren’t I?”

Cross fired back, and Russell stopped joking around. Whenever he sensed danger, he’d swerve the wheel to dodge. The box truck moved like a swift serpent, weaving and twisting without losing speed, drawing ever closer to the Dodge Viper.