my personal devil in prada // lydia martin

Fast and furious, with a side of theft and plot twists.

I hold on tight to the leather-padded car door as we squeal around the bend, my seatbelt having been forgotten in the heat of things.

"Faster?" Scott asks, keeping his eyes on the road while Stiles and I look behind us at the black Argent SUV tailgating us.

"Much faster," Stiles confirms. Scott nods, and takes a breath, steels himself for a second before switching gear and pressing harder on the gas pedal. But the harsh growl emanating from the engine makes absolutely no difference as the SUV remains in its uncomfortably close position; the bonnet practically touching the bumper of Derek's car that we've briefly commandeered as a distraction.

"Scott, I don't think you're grasping the concept of the car chase here," Stiles says, his head popping forward between the front seats.

"I know, which is why I'm driving," I say, unbuckling Scott's seat belt so we can switch places, because at the rate he's going we're going to get caught.

The action catches Scott off-guard, and he almost swerves us off the road, proving my point that he's a shit driver.

"No! Do you know how dangerous it is to switch places while driving? We'll get ourselves killed!"

"If you keep going at this grandma's pace then they'll kill us, come on!" He hesitates for a moment, before nodding.

"Oh, god. I'm gonna die," Stiles moans at our interaction, leaning back into his seat.

I lift my leg over the gear stick and press it onto the gas pedal, and put my hands on the steering wheel.

"Now!" Scott immediately hops over my legs into the passenger seat, as I slide into the driver's seat, and immediately gun it down the street at a much faster pace than Scott was going.

I take some random sharp turns, tires squealing in protest at some of the hairpin bends, and I eventually manage to shake the SUV off my ass.

"They're gone!" Stiles yells a bit too loud in my ear.

Turning round to face him, "You do know I am literally a foot away from you, you don't need to shout."

"Eyes on the road! Eyes on the road!" Scott yells from beside me and I turn to face the road again.

"Relax, I've done this thousands of times before."

"When?"

"My brothers taught me, it's fine."

"Well, did either of your brothers brutally die in a car crash?" Stiles interjects.

He... definitely had me there. We'd crashed three times, twice majorly and one fender bender.

"He... almost died," I shrug, half-apologetic.

Scott immediately grabs his seat belt and buckles it in, before tugging to make sure it's tight. He then notices my lack of one and reaches over and buckles up mine too.

"Almo- almost died?" Stiles squawks, "you didn't think to mention that before we let you drive?"

As I'm about to respond, Stiles holds up the buzzing police radio he'd stolen from his Dad.

All units, suspect is on foot heading into the Iron Works.

"Fuck."

I share a look with Scott and Stiles before swerving into a U-turn. I pull into the Iron Works and see Derek squatting behind a rusted outhouse.

I swerve the car, using the friction from the drag to slow down from our fast speed.

Scott opens the car door before flinging himself into the backseat next to Stiles as Derek jumps in next to me, and I floor the gas pedal as the machine gun fire starts, bullets ricocheting off the body of the car.