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“Fuck!” the driver grits out. He lets go of the wheel, reaches for the holster at his side, and pulls out a gun. The next sound is a deafening boom that pierces through the silence as the door flies open, leaving a trail of spattered blood across the windscreen.
A scream rips from my throat as my driver’s lifeless body sags into the seat, my ears ringing from the gunshot. I’m frozen in terror, my mind racing as I try to understand what’s happening.
I twist around in my seat, trying to look out the back window again, sucking in a breath when I see a figure standing in the dark—like a shadow with a blackness that rivals the night.
It’s him. I know it is.
I scramble to the far end of the car, my heart pounding so hard it feels like it’s going to burst out of my chest.
It takes me a moment to realize that someone has opened the door on my side and is now yanking at my arm. Without thinking, I grab the other door handle, kicking at whoever is trying to pull me out of the car.
“Let go of me!” I scream, giving another wild kick, hitting them square in the face. There’s a crunch as their nose breaks, and I hear him cursing and yelling, his hands no longer clawing at my legs.
I try to open the other passenger side door, but it won’t budge, leaving me with only one option. I launch back toward the door when the man clutches his nose, blood spilling through the creases of his fingers. Grabbing the door handle, I try to pull it closed when he hunches down, trying to stop me from closing it. But I grab the handle with both hands, grimacing as I use every ounce of strength to yank it, slamming the guy’s head between the car and the door. I do it again, harder this time, blood gushing from his ears and nose. I swing one leg to the side, kicking him back, and I can barely see through the blur in my eyes as I manage to slam the door shut before reaching over the driver’s dead body, yanking the driver’s-side door closed, too, and locking the car.
My breaths are coming out in ragged gasps as I prop myself up between the two front seats, frantically looking out the front and back window.
I glance at the ignition, but the keys are gone. Shit. The man whose skull I fractured must have taken them when he shot the driver.
“Fuck!” I’m trying to figure out what to do when the sound of footsteps trudging through gravel has me frozen. I tense up, struggling to swallow, and it feels like every footstep pounds in time with my heartbeat.
Suddenly, there’s a knock on the back window, and I jump with a yelp, my pulse throbbing in the side of my neck.
“Open up, birdie.”
Oh, God.I suck in a breath, planting my palm over my mouth to keep myself from screaming.
A loud bang shakes the car, the back window shattering, but it doesn’t break. I yelp with fright, my heart leaping up my throat, making it hard to breathe as I stare at the shattered window.
“Open up the car, birdie,” Nunzio commands, his voice deep and gravelly, sending chills down my spine.
“Fuck you!” I scream at him, and his malicious laughter echoes like a demon whisper in the darkness.
“I’m afraid we don’t have a lot of time, so I’m going to have to skip playing games,” he says with amusement. “For now, that is.”
I frantically search for a way out, my eyes darting around the car until they land on the driver’s gun, lying by his feet just next to the brakes. I twist myself around, stretching over the dead driver as far as I can, tears welling in my eyes as I desperately try to maneuver myself over the body. Half his face is covered in blood, his chest, too, and it’s starting to stick to me like hot tar. The metallic stench of death fills my nostrils, seeping into my lungs with every breath. I force myself over him, squeezing through the seats, the edges pressing painfully into my sides as I try to reach the gun.
There’s another loud crack, a gunshot, and the passenger side window cracks and flexes as the bulletproof glass absorbs the bullet's force.
“You can’t stay in there forever, birdie.”
“Watch me,” I grit out softly, inching forward just a little more, my fingertips barely touching the gun.
“You want me to blow up this car with you in it?”
“You won’t.” My fingertips brush over the gun.
“I won’t?”
There’s a rhythmic tap on the front window, a sheet of ice slicing through my spine. I freeze and slowly glance up, and it’s like a bolt of fear zaps straight through me when I see him leaning from the side, tapping his gun against the window. I always knew seeing him again would take me back to that room—naked and unable to stop him from hurting me. I knew looking into his eyes would open the floodgates to memories I’ve worked so hard to lock away. But I never expected the fear and debilitating tremors to claw into me, gripping me so tight, making it impossible for me to move.
“Get out,” he says, tilting his head to the side. “Or I’ll blow up this goddamn car.”
“You won’t kill me.” The words just blurt out of my mouth before I can stop them, and a vindictive smile creeps onto his lips.
“I won’t?”
I straighten between the two front seats. “If you kill me, you kill your baby.”
