Moscow. Five years ago.

"Of course. We have ladies of all shapes available." She set the two look books down on the reception desk and politely smiled at the two white men in suits before turning to grab them a swipe card from a drawer behind her. Perhaps it was just well-honed instinct but something about these two Americans made her internal alarm bells ring. Aside from the fact they didn't speak a word of Russian, their pants bore wrinkles at the hip, as if something had been tucked under the waistband, and the collars of their shirts weren't folded properly. "Gentlemen, feel free to peruse while I confirm your room is available."

Chato returned the smile then picked up the two books and moved towards the row of couches against the wall. When the receptionist was far enough down the hallway to be out of earshot, he leant sideways and pretended to talk to Mac. "H, I think she's gonna run."

"Yeah, she's rabbiting," Hobbs responded. Sitting in a car parked in the side alley next to the brothel, he waited and listened to the live audio feed. Finally they were getting to see some action.

Fusco was already in the building, waiting inside one of the rooms. A fake Afrikaner accent — along with a wad of cash — had gotten him three hours with one of the ladies without question. She hadn't told them much but their suspicions were confirmed nonetheless: this place was a front for the Mob.

Luke stepped from his car and ditched his short black wig on the front seat before he began jogging down the alley. The private side entrance was meant for discreet dignitaries, but the staff certainly didn't seem to care. He'd seen six people already come through that door with cigarettes lit and sit on crates positioned either side of the steps. "Fusco, you get behind her. I'll get ahead to cut her off. Wilkes, maintain eyes!"

"She's heading for the stairs that go up to the second floor, Boss, you might wanna hurry." Sitting in an apartment opposite the brothel with only the neighbour's cat for company, Wilkes had little to do but stare at four large monitors. Displayed on them was live footage streaming from a set of infrared camera alongside the brothel's piggybacked internal security cameras.

Nobody could say his team with their near-perfect catch rate were anything other than precise and ruthless. Hobbs had turned chasing criminals into an art form, leaving other teams to wonder where they were going wrong. The truth of the matter was Fusco had once been an elite track and field star. So long as you could outrun the criminals and get in front of them, most of your problems were solved.

Luke pushed the side door open and rushed for the second stairwell. If they could grab her now, it would be as easy as dangling her like a lure and waiting for her brother to bite. Hobbs took the stairs two at a time, while Wilkes reported her movements in his ear as he raced to get ahead. "Mac, Chato, cover the front and back exits."

"Boss, you're almost directly above her," Wilkes said. "Wait, she just went into a room!"

"I don't know who the hell they are." Phone in her pocket and bluetooth earpiece secured, Elizabeth didn't hesitate in grabbing her backpack and slinging it over one shoulder. She got her arm through the second strap and walked back out into the corridor, rushing for the elevator at the end of it. "I just know they're the worst con artists I've ever seen."

"Stop panicking, Elizabeth."

"Remember who you're talking to, rooster," she spat. It was about time she got out of Russia. She was due for a holiday, a break from the mob. She'd been covering for Sarah, the real receptionist, whilst she was on sick leave.

On a regular work day, Elizabeth was in an office cooking the books and laundering money to clean it. And every so often, a couple grand in total disappeared from various accounts and wound up making its way to an offshore account in the Caymans. It was nothing that couldn't be explained by transaction and conversion fees. "We had an agreement. I burn my bridges, you keep the targets off my back."

But when the job called for it, she was in a warehouse manufacturing the bombs necessary for her brother to pull off his heists. As much as she loathed him, her attitude toward paid employment was nothing less than strictly professional. He sent her clean cash via her broker, she delivered what he needed to keep earning that cash; it was also specified he never learn of her involvement.

"Now you really sound like your brother. How is he, by the way? I haven't—"

She ripped the earpiece out and tossed it aside just as the elevator arrived at her floor. The doors didn't open immediately, so she pushed the button again. Nothing. Damn it. Take the stairs. Elizabeth swore under her breath and began walking towards the stairs. Suddenly, the elevator dinged, the doors slid open, and heavy footsteps thudded against the carpeted floor.

"Don't make me chase you, Shaw!"

A man with an American accent, and going off the sound of his footsteps, he was big. The five seconds she could've wasted by looking over her shoulder were instead spent breaking into a run. Elizabeth grabbed the door jamb and swung herself into the stairwell, heart beginning to pound from the adrenaline that was quickly finding its way into her bloodstream with every second that passed.

He charged for the stairs and quickly gained back the distance he'd lost, getting within five feet of her while he gave chase. She knew the building's layout better than he did, but Hobbs' standard of fitness and weekends spent playing rugby for a small Pacific Islander team back home were paying off. "Fusco, she's coming towards you!"

Fusco threw the door open and lunged just as she passed, grabbing ahold of the backpack instead of her arm. He pulled down and she immediately got her hand under the right strap and pushed it off. One arm left to slide free, he drew his pistol and aimed it at her. "Don't move!"

"Elizabeth Shaw," Luke said, approaching from behind with his revolver drawn. "You're under arrest."

She leaned forward, left knee bent as if ready to drop, then kicked out with her right foot. The fake businessman she struck in the groin; at the same time she slipped her left arm free and ran for the nearest open door. "Sorry, ladies!"

Fusco tossed the backpack aside and ran shoulder first into the closing door. Slammed it against the wall with a loud crack. Luke barged past him and into the room, only to see another door open into an adjoining room.

"Nitchka?" one of the prostitutes yelled from their position on the bed.

"I promise I'll call you, Sofya!"

"Shaw, don't make this any harder than it has to be. Your brother's in some deep shit, you're both on terrorism charges, and you just assaulted a federal agent."

Oh crap, they bricked it up. Back pressed against the wall behind the other door, she slowly sank to the floor and reached for the switchblade in her pocket. There should've been a third door leading into an office that connected to a private corridor to allow travel between the brothel and the building next door. There wasn't.

Elizabeth flicked her knife open and clutched it, her breathing shallow so as to not be noticed. The only light came from the gap in the doorway, revealing an exceedingly tall man with brown skin dressed in body armour, and what looked like a tatau on his left arm.

"Assume she's got a knife, boss," Wilkes' voice came through clearly amidst the natural interference from the building itself. "She's on the floor three feet away."

The sound of the door slamming shut distracted her while Hobbs reached down and grabbed her right arm, twisting it behind her back. Switchblade still clutched in her hand, she was pulled to her feet and his grip on her wrist tightened. Elizabeth lifted one leg to push off the wall and received a knee to the tailbone for her troubles.

"Like I said." Hobbs detached his cuffs from his belt and secured one bracelet tightly around her right wrist. She refused to let the knife go, so he dislocated her thumb. The switchblade dropped to the floor and Luke kicked it away. A smug smile on his face said it all: one down, one to go. "You're under arrest on conspiracy to commit an act of terrorism, money laundering, falsification of documents, and being a pain in my ass."

"If you're ever arrested, say nothing. You keep your mouth closed and call me, then wait for me to come. You may not like it, little wolf, but the world is cruel and untrustworthy. Men will try to use you and then kill you when your back is turned. Always be ready for that." Her father's words replayed in her head as she was tugged towards the door, her spine and arm screaming with pain each time she tried to turn around. The charges made no sense. Money laundering and forgery, sure, but terrorism? She was no terrorist. She couldn't even kill someone without it leaving a scar on her psyche.

"Next time, I won't be so gentle." Luke cuffed her other wrist behind her back then pushed her thumb back into place. He kept a firm grip on her shoulder and walked her out, unaware of the still active phone in her pocket.

"Boss, I don't like this. We've got sirens out here and they're getting louder," Wilkes said. "Someone got the cops' attention. We need to go. Now."

"Boys, let's go. Mac, get the car ready. Wilkes, pack it up."

"You know this is gonna piss off the Russians, right, H?" Chato said, an amused tone to his voice.

"Well," Luke said, guiding Shaw towards the elevator. She stepped in first without a word and he pushed the button for the ground floor. "It'll only piss the Russians off if they find out, and I can't imagine they feel particularly friendly towards Miss Shaw here anyway. A nice trip to Cuba should help her realise her options."

He has nothing on you. There's no evidence. All you packed was a passport, clothes, and some cash. Rooster, I hope you're hearing this. Elizabeth groaned and let her legs give out, sending herself into a sideways fall. The fed gripped her wrist at the last minute and stopped her from hitting the ground completely, leaving her to dangle just above the elevator floor.

"I don't feel too good," Elizabeth groaned. She lowered her head so her chin was touching her chest and continued to speak. "I need an apple, or something. My blood sugar—"

The phone in her pocket suddenly vibrated in two quick bursts then fell silent. Message received. The word 'apple' in any context was code for 'burn this bridge'. Cut ties and let her take the fall. The important part of her agreement with Cipher — Owen's employer — was that if worst came to worst, Elizabeth would be the one who shouldered the burden.

Eventually they'd pull strings and free her, Cipher said. Truthfully, prison wasn't so bad. She'd already spent three years of her life in a cell for killing someone. It was only to appease the prosecution's lawyer, as well as the family of the 'victim.' Both still believed her to be in prison to this day; but in comparison to that, this would be a cakewalk.

"You can eat in the car." The elevator opened onto the ground floor and Luke lifted her to her feet. "I'm not carrying you, Shaw."

Elizabeth staggered out, turning when he made it clear she was to go left. The alley exit was open and a large sleek black limousine awaited them with its door open.

"Get in." Hobbs dug his fingers into a gap in her collarbone and increased the pressure till she jerked forward. She stepped in and slid across the seat and Hobbs did the same seconds after. The door was shut behind them and Fusco positioned himself by the driver's window. A granola bar was promptly shoved into Elizabeth's hands.

"Give me a minute and I'll be out front."

"Copy that, Wilkes. Mac, circle the block," Luke said as Fusco tossed him his wig. He slid it on and adjusted it, ignoring a snort of derision from Shaw.

"You look like a rooster," Elizabeth muttered in Russian. She grunted when the wig-tosser clipped her seatbelt into place, leaving her hands to rest against her stomach. Wig-tosser pulled the phone from her pocket and handed it to Luke. The faint smell of burnt circuitry permeated the air as he unfolded the flip phone and held it out.

"You always carry around a broken phone?" Luke queried, eyeing the burnt screen. Scorch marks ringed the screen and the buttons were partly melted. How she'd had that in her pocket without feeling the heat was beyond him.

She shrugged. That explained the sudden heat against her leg while she'd been on the floor of the elevator, and the burning pain. The woman who'd somehow gotten Owen to expose just how corrupt he truly was must've overclocked the phone to destroy it. Ironically, Elizabeth had never concerned herself with the woman's true intentions till now. "It's my lucky charm, if you have to know."

Chato scoffed. "Lucky charms don't work. Been eating them my whole life and nothing's happened."

"Your lucky break was getting on the team," Luke said, watching as two police cars and an ambulance fought through traffic to get down the street and continue past the brothel. "Let's go. Call the plane, tell 'em we're diverting to Cuba before we go home."

"Nice suit, Dub," Mac called from the front seat as they pulled around the front of the apartment building. Wilkes quickly walked down the front steps dragging a suitcase then climbed into the back of the limousine with Luke and the others, leaving Mac to get out and heft the large case into the trunk.

"Any flags on Toretto?" Luke queried.

Wilkes shook his head. "Not yet."

"Alright. He's gotta stick his head out from under that rock sometime. Keep talking to border patrol."

"I'm not going to Cuba," Elizabeth spoke up once the limo began moving again. She leaned forward and glared at Hobbs. "I've done nothing wrong. I am not going to Gitmo, or any damn prison. You want to drop me down a hole, you better make sure I can't crawl out of it else I'll be coming for you."

"Oh don't you worry about that, Princess. The hole I'm dropping you down, even Sadako couldn't crawl outta it." Luke gestured to Fusco who promptly slid a box out from under his seat. He reached down and opened it then tossed a small evidence bag onto Shaw's lap. "Recognise it? We found your print on the hinge. Oh yeah, we know all about your family. Your brother used that bomb to kill a foreign diplomat."

"You're a terrible liar, Agent—"

"Hobbs. So tell me, how do you go from killing in self-defense to making bombs for terrorists?"

"Owen's not a terrorist, he's a soldier and a car thief! He doesn't kill diplomats."

The look in her eyes belied her dismissive tone. It told him she was beginning to doubt herself, her brother; possibly everything. Luke pulled a file from the box and opened it. On the right page were photos of car wrecks and bodies trapped within them. On the left, a photo of Owen Shaw at a distance, armed with a pistol and dressed head to toe in black. At his feet, a man knelt as though begging for his life.

"That's got nothing to do with me. You wanna lock anyone away, lock him up."

"Your bombs make you an accessory." Hobbs raised his voice and turned the page. More wreckages, more bodies. Men in military uniforms dead. Maybe this would get her talking. "He doesn't care who dies, only that he gets what he wants. Tell me how to find him and I'll stop him. Your brother went rogue. Their blood is on your hands!"

"I don't know where he is! We haven't talked face to face in years."

"Then who's your intermediary?"

"Boss, Toretto's face just pinged a camera in Brazil," Wilkes said, holding up his phone. "We've got him."

Elizabeth sank into the leather car seat and stared at her cuffs, focusing on them to tune out Hobbs' voice. She couldn't trust him, Owen, or that bitch on the other end of the phone.

In the beginning, she and Deckard had both told Owen not to do it. Said regardless of the payout it wasn't worth handing over a built Nightshade device. Not if it could lead to so much death and destruction.

After several days of having Deckard on her side, Owen disappeared. He made his choices. So did you, but you didn't kill those men. That blood is on him. And by causing enough trouble to attract his employer's attention, she'd been given a chance to make a deal of her own. There was one condition: when it was over, she walked away and took Owen with her. "Why don't you ask my brother?"

To hell with niceties. Luke grabbed the chain of her cuffs and hauled her forward. "Tell me who you're working for, Shaw, or you can say goodbye to your life. All it takes is one photo and the Russians will send a death squad to hunt you down within hours."

"Goodbye, life," she said, staring at the window behind him. "You can threaten me or kiss my arse for as long as you think it'll work, Agent Hobbs, but nothing will get me to flip on my brother. I don't betray my family."

Luke pushed her back against the seat and released his grip on her cuffs. "Enjoy Cuba, I hear the weather's miserable."