My Milf Conqueror System novel Chapter 185

Chapter 185: The Convoy Intercept

[Jake’s POV]

The FDR Drive erupted into a chaotic, high-speed war zone.

Bullets hammered against the ballistic windshield of the Durango, leaving deep, spiderweb fractures in the reinforced glass. The deafening roar of automatic gunfire echoed off the concrete barriers, mixing with the terrified screams of civilian drivers slamming on their brakes and swerving to avoid the crossfire.

"Keep us steady!" I yelled over the noise, leaning out the passenger window.

The freezing wind tore at my face, stinging my eyes. My side was screaming in agony, the heavy combat corset digging brutally into my stitched wound with every swerve of the SUV. I ignored the pain, locking my arms against the doorframe to stabilize my aim.

The lead utility van was thirty yards ahead, pacing the federal convoy. The two remaining Blackwood mercenaries in the back of the van were laying down a relentless barrage of suppressing fire, chewing through the rear armor of the federal SUVs.

I lined up the sights of my Glock on the mercenary on the left.

Without the System’s targeting enhancements, the shot was nearly impossible. Firing a handgun from a moving vehicle at seventy miles an hour, aiming at a target in heavy body armor.

I exhaled, letting my natural instincts take over, and squeezed the trigger twice.

The first round sparked off the mercenary’s chest plate. The second round caught him just under the rim of his Kevlar helmet, punching through his throat. He collapsed backward into the dark interior of the van, his rifle clattering onto the asphalt and sparking wildly as it bounced away.

"One down!" I barked, ducking back into the cabin as the surviving mercenary shifted his fire toward us.

A hail of bullets shredded the passenger-side mirror, showering me in razor-sharp fragments of glass and plastic.

"They are trying to disable the feds’ engine blocks!" Darius roared, wrestling with the steering wheel as he dodged a civilian sedan that had spun out in the chaos. "If they stop that convoy, they will slaughter the agents and execute Bancroft!"

"Get me alongside the van!" I ordered, ejecting my spent magazine and slamming a fresh one into the grip of my Glock.

Darius didn’t hesitate. He slammed his foot on the accelerator, the Durango’s massive engine howling as we surged forward, pulling up parallel to the passenger side of the Blackwood utility van.

The driver of the van looked over, his eyes wide with shock behind his tactical mask. He jerked the steering wheel hard to the right, trying to ram us into the concrete barrier separating the highway from the East River.

Two tons of steel slammed into the side of our Durango.

The impact threw me violently against the door. The combat corset absorbed the brunt of the blow, but the sheer kinetic force sent a blinding, white-hot spike of agony radiating from my stitched wound. I tasted blood, my vision swimming with static.

"Hold the line!" I gasped, fighting through the pain.

Darius gritted his teeth, his massive arms bulging as he fought the steering wheel, holding the Durango steady against the van’s assault. The two vehicles ground against each other at seventy miles an hour, a terrifying shower of orange sparks erupting between the crushed metal doors.

I rolled down the passenger window completely, exposing myself to the freezing wind and the enemy driver.

I raised my Glock, aiming directly at the driver’s side window of the van. The glass was reinforced, but at point-blank range, it wouldn’t hold forever.

I emptied the entire magazine into the center of the window.

The ballistic glass spiderwebbed, frosted over, and finally shattered inward under the relentless barrage. The driver flinched, throwing his arms up to protect his face from the flying glass.

It was the only opening Darius needed.

Darius slammed the brakes, dropping the Durango back a few feet, and then violently jerked the steering wheel to the left, executing a perfect, brutal PIT maneuver. The heavy reinforced bumper of our SUV caught the rear quarter panel of the utility van.

The van lost traction instantly. It spun out of control, the tires screaming against the asphalt, and slammed head-on into the concrete median. The rear doors buckled, and the surviving mercenary in the back was thrown violently onto the highway, tumbling like a ragdoll before lying still.

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