Page 6 of Emily's Escape

I let out a frightened yelp before I can stop myself, and the man in the driver’s seat flashes an angry glare at me. “Shut up!” he barks. “What did I say about keeping quiet?”

Instinctively, I cringe away from him, whacking my elbow on the car door in the process. The sharp pain brings tears to my eyes, and for a moment, the view through the windshield blurs. My heart is lodged in my throat, thrumming hummingbird fast. It feels as if a tremendous weight is pressing down on my chest.

“What did I say?” he demands.

After a lightning-quick inner debate—do I answer his question or keep quiet, like he ordered?—I whisper, “Not to say anything.”

“Right!” He thunks the steering wheel again in emphasis. “I told you to keep your fucking mouth shut! But noooo—” He drags out the word. “You have to flap your damn mouth. Just like my bitch of an ex.”

From the backseat, there’s a small whimper, followed by a sniffle.

The man’s gaze flicks to the rearview mirror. His eyes narrow. “Stop it,” he snaps at the little girl sitting back there. “This is your fault, you know. If you’d just come with me?—”

“I want Mom,” she interrupts. Her voice is small and wobbly. “Take me home. Please. I just want to go home.”

“That’s not your home,” he retorts. “I’m taking you to a new house. A new home. It’s much better than that shithole your mom has you living in.”

The little girl—Kylie, she told me, before everything spiraled into chaos—replies, “It’s not. What you just called it. Our house is nice. We have a fireplace and a backyard and Mom said I can turn the attic into my own special hideout.”

Chancing a glance behind me, I turn to look at Kylie. Her face is pink and tear-stained, but there’s a stubborn jut to her chin and a hint of defiance in her gaze. I’m glad to see that she’s still holding herself together, but I’m scared for her, too.

The man in the driver’s seat is her father, which in normal circumstances would mean he wouldn’t think of hurting her. But these aren’t normal circumstances, and he’s not a stable person. Which makes me worry about what might happen if she talks back to him.

Just the thought of it makes my chest clutch with fear.

On the heels of that, fresh determination surges through me.

I won’t let him hurt her,I silently vow.It doesn’t matter what I have to do. I won’t let Kylie get hurt.

Before turning forward again, I catch Kylie’s eye.It’s going to be okay,I mouth.

Her forehead pinches for a second. Then she mouths back,How?

How, indeed?

Rather than answer her, which would be tough since I don’t have a plan as of yet, I flash her a tiny, reassuring smile. Or atleast, I hope it looks like a reassuring smile and not a pained grimace that lets on ‌how scared I really am.

Twisting back around in my seat, I clutch my seatbelt as I watch the road unfold in front of us. Kylie’s father is quiet, his focus back on the road, so I take the opportunity to scan the interior of the car, hoping to find something I can use against him.

Although what can I really do to him while we’re traveling seventy miles an hour on the highway? Even if I did find some sort of weapon, I can’t exactly attack him. Not unless I want to make the situation even worse than it already is.

And as bad as things are right now, they could definitely get worse.

Kylie’s father could shoot me with the gun he threatened me with. He’s got it tucked into his waistband, and it would only take seconds for him to fire off a shot.

Or he could take the next exit and drive into the country until he finds a convenient ditch to dump my lifeless body.

He could lose his mind completely and drive into oncoming traffic, potentially injuring or killing dozens of innocent people.

He could take me and Kylie to this house he keeps talking about and hold us both hostage there for years.

He could?—

No.Thinking about all the terrible what-ifs doesn’t help us get out of here.

Instead, I need to come up with a plan.

The only problem is, in the fifteen or so minutes we’ve been in the car, I haven’t yet thought of one.