Page 108 of Danger

I drive my fist into the glass and it gives on the first hit, showering my arm in blood. I don’t feel the cuts. All I feel is the heat, the urgency, the terror of not getting her out in time.

“Win—hey. Hey! Look at me,” I choke, reaching for her, for anything. “Please. Please, baby.”

This is my fault.

All of it.

If I would of said fucking anything… If I hadn’t thought I knew what was best for her…

She’s deadweight, limp, but lighter than I remember.

“Stay with me,” I beg. “I’m here. I’ve got you. Don’t you fucking dare do this.”

The door finally gives, and I drop to my knees beside her, shaking so hard I can barely touch her.

There’s a sound behind me—brakes squealing. Then a voice: “Danger! What the hell happened?” Charming yells.

“It’s Winnie. Call the sheriff,” I demand, not looking away from her. She’s got a gash on her head, and her lips are going blue. The seatbelts got her locked in. I tear at it with my bare hands but it doesn’t budge.

Fire is hitting the base of the windshield now, popping and crackling. I can taste the smoke, and somewhere at the edge of my mind is the memory of my father lighting up the living room with a single match. Mama screaming as the couch went up in flames.

I am not him. I will not let her die like this.

I fumble under the dash, fingers scraping for the release I remember from fixing this car. There—a lever. I yank it and the steering wheel jumps, giving me another two inches. I twist her body, careful as I can, and her arm flops over mine.

The ambulance sirens echo down the valley, still too far but moving fast. I drag her up and out. She comes loose with a ripping sound, half the fabric from her outfit is left behind. The flames flare with a whoosh that peels the paint right off the hood. I take her far enough away from the car, holding her in the grass with my bloody hands.

She doesn’t make a sound. I hate the world for taking it from her.

I hold her face. “Winnie, c’mon. Don’t fucking do this. Wake up.” I can’t tell if I’m begging or yelling.

Charming’s at my side. “EMTs are almost here, Danger. You got her, man. She’s breathing. Look—she’s breathing.”

He sounds like he’s trying to convince himself.

I press my forehead to hers, just for a second, hoping she knows that if she comes back, she’s not alone.

The ambulance roars up, blue strobes washing everything in emergency colors. They’re on her before I even hear them get out—two paramedics, latex hands.

“What’s her name?” one asks, already checking her pulse.

“Winnie. Winnie Hawthorne.” My voice comes out in pieces.

“Sir, you’re bleeding,” the other one says, but I shake my head.

“No—fuck that. Just help her.”

They work quickly, wrapping her head, getting her on a stretcher.

“I’m coming with,” I say, not asking permission.

And then I hear it. A whistle behind me, and wouldn’t you know… it’s the Kennedy’s latest rodeo clown. The fucker who’s knee I broke. I can tell from his posture that he’s probably all wrapped up under his jeans.

“Yikes. That hunk of junk I've been seeing around town finally shit the bed, huh? Guess it was about time.”

My blood pressure spikes. I fixed that car myself. It was safe—for once. Checked every hose, every line. There’s no way something would’ve gone wrong unless?—

Unless someone else fucked with it.