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At this time of night, the roads of Boston are fairly quiet, the traffic allowing me to move across the city at a good pace with few red lights. And yet, every time I glance in my rearview mirror, bright headlights glare back at me.
My father’s low-riding convertible isn’t the most conducive in that regard. At least the top is up to give me a bit more coverage from the blinding lights. Still, I can’t help the quivering nerves that pool in my belly every time we come to a turn.
Because whoever this person is seems to be following me.
And they’re staying close.
I can’t get a good look at the car. The light flooding my space is too harsh. But what I do see when we pull up to the next red light makes my heart skip a beat.
As soon as we roll to a stop, the passenger door opens. And a man steps out.
He’s big—like, Mishka big—every inch of his body burly, with wide shoulders and tree trunks for arms. He must be over six feet of towering muscle, and that’s about all I can make out from his silhouette. Because when he starts to approach my car, I’m not waiting around to find out what he wants.
Maybe if I were a different girl from a different family, I could think he’s about to tell me my tail light is out or that my gas cap is open. But when I’m out in the middle of the night without my bodyguards and no witnesses around, my father has taught me better than to look for the good in humanity.
Punching the gas pedal, I floor it, making the tires screech as I fly through the red light, thankfully without meeting any cross traffic. Shouts sound behind me as the big man dashes back to his car. They’re racing after me before he’s even closed the passenger door.
Not good.
If I had any doubts before, I’m certain now that they’re chasing me.
Taking several turns as fast as I can control, I whip the Audi around street corners, doing my best to shake my tail. And every time they vanish from my rearview mirror, I pray that they’ll miss the turn.
But they’re good. Whoever is driving follows me with impressive agility for maneuvering a vehicle as large as theirs, and with the streets as quiet as they are, there’s not much traffic to get in their way.
Left, right, right, two more lefts, I wind down the backroads of Boston, making my decisions at the last moment and hoping to hell that I don’t find any dead ends.
Heart hammering, I lose track of how many turns I take or where I’m even going. Certainly not toward Katie’s anymore. As the neighborhoods grow less and less familiar, an uneasiness settles deep in my stomach.
I need help.
I’m clearly not capable of shaking these guys on my own.
And I can’t keep doing this forever. Eventually, my luck will run out—or my gas.
But I haven’t passed a single cop, and at this point, I’m not a hundred percent sure which way would take me back home.
Trying to keep my eyes on the road, I grasp the steering wheel with one shaking hand as I fumble for my phone. It snags on my seat belt, tumbling from my fingers and slipping into the crack between my seat and the console.
“No!” I cry, my heart stuttering as I glance down, trying to find it. But it’s long gone, lost somewhere I would have to dig around for if I had any hope of retrieving it.
Fighting back a wave of panic, I try to clear my head. My best chance is getting back to my house and the guard stationed out front. I weave back onto one of the main streets and turn in the direction I’m fairly certain will get me home. Then I punch the gas, hoping I can get a big enough head start to outrun my pursuers.
For a fleeting second, I have hope as I glance back and realize the SUV is not behind me.
Relief washes through me, releasing the iron grip on my lungs.
Then the roar of a motor announces their return as they come bursting from an alleyway, across the median that separates us, and onto the road beside me. They must have taken a shortcut, and my stomach plummets as they come flying toward me now.
Their front right fender slams into mine, whipping my body sideways into the door as it drives my father’s tiny sportscar several feet to the right. My seat bucks beneath me as the Audi scrambles up onto the sidewalk.
I only get the briefest glimpse of a light pole through the windshield before it brings me to a sudden, violent stop.
My world erupts in hissing bursts of white nylon as I’m slammed backward against my seat.
Dizziness overcomes me, and my head lolls heavily on my neck as I fight the darkness threatening to overwhelm my vision.
Now is not the time to be blacking out, I scold myself.
