He fires again.
The bullet rips through the passenger side window. The smell of gun powder fills the car. I keep the wheel straight and push harder. The road curves.
Grant takes it too fast.
I take it faster because I can’t let him widen the gap. I close the distance.
He glances back, and I catch his face in the mirror. His eyes are wide. His mouth is open. He is not laughing now.
I hit his rear. His car fishtails. Tires scream. He flips. Glass and sparks tear through the dark as the car rolls, then slams down onto its roof. Metal grinds against asphalt before it finally comes to a stop.
I brake hard and shove my door open before my car even settles. Smoke curls up from the wreck. The engine ticks. Something inside hisses.
For a moment, everything goes quiet. Then I see movement.
Grant drags himself through the shattered window, coughing, one arm hanging wrong while the other claws at the ground. He pulls himself free and hits the pavement hard, rolling before trying to push himself up.
I move in fast. I grab the back of his shirt and rip him off the ground. He twists and swings with his good arm, catching me across the jaw. My head snaps to the side, but I don’t slow down.
I hit him back harder.
Bone cracks under my fist. He stumbles, but he stays on his feet. He shoves off me and runs straight for the trees.
I watch him disappear into the dark for half a second, then I go after him. Blood runs down my hand and drips from my fingers, but I keep moving. I can hear him ahead of me. He is loud and uneven, crashing through brush without control.
I close the distance fast.
He stumbles and goes down hard. I hear the impact, hear him curse as he tries to scramble back up.
I come through the brush just as he turns.
He has a knife in his hand. He lunges. The blade comes straight for my throat. I knock his wrist aside and drive into him. We hit the ground together, rolling through dirt and leaves while he tries to get on top. He slams a kneeinto my ribs. Pain cuts through my side, but I stay on him. He swings the knife again. The blade slices across my arm, shallow but hot.
I grab his wrist and slam it into the ground once, then again. The knife slips from his grip and disappears into the leaves. He goes for my throat instead, fingers digging in as he tries to choke the air out of me.
I drive my forehead into his face. His nose breaks under the impact. Blood pours immediately. His grip loosens.
I roll on top of him and start hitting him. The first punch lands and I see Brooke in that manor, dragged inside while he stood there and let his brother torture her.
I hit him again.
The next one lands and I see the footage, her parents, the way Grant stood there with my father and John while they murdered them, like it was just another job.
I hit him again.
My mother’s face flashes through my head, the way she looked into that camera right before he took her from me.
I don't stop.
Then I see Travis on the ground, blood spreading under him.
Each hit lands harder than the last, everything in me coming out with it. The anger, the loss, every thing he did that he never had to answer for. His head snaps side to side, blood spilling across his face, his body slowing under me.
I could kill him right here.
It would be easy.
Too easy.
