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I drive in the direction he instructed, not understanding how my body is even functioning under the stress of the situation. But something within me, an inner strength I never knew was there, is forcing me to keep going, to hold on to some hope that if I follow his instruction I’ll get out of this somehow.
I take the most direct route, secretly hoping that someone around us on the freeway will see what's going on and call the cops. Jerry is quiet. The only sound I can hear is his heavy labored breathing as he focuses on holding the gun toward me. I get the impression he's a man on the verge of completely losing control, and when that man has a gun at your head, it's about the worst situation you could possibly be in. That thought sends another wave of nausea rolling through me. I try to tell myself to breathe, that I'm safe even though I know I'm not, anything to keep my body functioning for long enough to drive us there.
I can hardly believe it when we drive past the Palm Springs International Airport on our way to the private terminal. Somehow, I've gotten us here. My hands tremble from the anticipation, and I grip the steering wheel a little tighter, my knuckles turning white with the force.
"Keep driving, follow the signs until we get around the back of the private hangars," he demands.
This side of the airport is the polar opposite to the main terminal with its bustling happy travelers dragging suitcases and kissing loved ones goodbye. This part is deadly quiet, just a couple of large sheds and an empty runway. Not even a security guard that I could alert. My eyes flick to the car’s digital clock. The time reads 6:45. Brandon has fifteen minutes to get here with the money to save me or my time is up. And I don't see how it's possible. He was leaving from the same location as us, but he had to somehow come up with the money in cash. Even if he had that kind of money, no bank is ever going to just hand over wads of cash on the spot like that.
I pull the car close to one of the hangars, where Jerry points a finger, and I catch sight of the state of him from the corner of my eye. He looks like a sweaty pig, armpit stains forming on his shirt, his face a deep shade of pink all over. "Leave the engine running," he grunts out as he unbuckles his seat belt, ready to jump out of the car to meet Brandon when he arrives.
So, I do and stare blankly out the front window. The car is silent, and I can hear my heartbeat in my ears even over the sound of the planes taking off above us. My eyes flicker to the clock, watching every minute pass. This is going to be longest fifteen minutes of my life. Every minute that passes brings me closer to impending death.
My mind is racing over all the things that have happened this year, how I thought my life was going to be. And realization dawns on me. After Brandon left me and I missed my chances of becoming a dancer and lost our baby, I stopped living my life to the fullest because I was so scared to fuck it up again. Scared to love in case I lost, scared to try too hard in case I failed. But this year, since reconnecting with him, little by little I have been forced out of my comfort zone, and I fell for him all over again. I have only just started to get my life back the way I want it, started to truly experience things again and truly live, and I'm not about to give it up because of this asshole sitting next to me, all because I'm too full of fear to really fight.
Fresh anger bubbles up inside of me. Fuck that shit. If I don't fight, I might as well be dead.
"Let's hope Brandon can come through with the goods for both our sakes. It would be a shame to have to kill you just because you were in the wrong place at the wrong time. You've been such a good girl this year, achieving every task I set for you to perfection. It's really disappointing that Brandon couldn't just do the same and keep his nose out of my business. We wouldn't be in this little predicament if he had." Jerry voice is calmer now, like he has resigned himself to the situation he’s found himself in.
I'm not sure if I should feel comforted by that or more frightened. But I keep my eyes looking in front, using his words to give me strength. If I see him pointing that gun at me, I'm going to lose it, and I know right now I need to keep my cool if I want to get out of here, and I desperately want to. So instead, I breathe, slow controlled breaths.
"Why are you telling me this?" I mutter.
"Because if you die today, I want you to know who was to blame." His words are cruel and calculated. He's a fucking psychopath who until today has walked the halls of our school, respected by teachers and students alike. His smile, while cheesy, was well loved. He had us all fooled. And this little redhead isn't going to stand for it.
The clock ticks over to 6:55, sending a new wave of panic running through my veins, and something inside me snaps. Brandon's not to blame for this situation. The motherfucker sitting next to me is, and I'm not going to sit here like some helpless little girl waiting for him to just shoot me dead when the clock hits seven. This is my life, and I'm going to take control of it starting right now.
In the distance I can see a matte-black car slowly pulling into the loading dock, and luckily for me, it also steals Jerry's attention away from me long enough that I have time to release the brake and slam my foot on the gas, propelling the car forward.
"What the fuck are you doing?" he spits. But it's too late for him to do anything as the car slams into the hangar wall with enough force that the airbags release. It all happens faster than I can register. For a second I'm stunned, looking around me, quickly trying to get my bearings. Jerry's rubbing his head; he must have hit the side window with force. His gun has been knocked from his grip and is down by his feet, and I need to get out of here before he realizes just what I did.
I go to open the door, but it's opened for me, and suddenly I'm being dragged from the car by a body much larger than my own. Everything goes by in a blur, and I think it might be Brandon, but I can't quite be sure.
"Shh," says the male voice. "You're going to be okay," he tells me, trying to calm me down.
I realize I'm sobbing silent tears while I try to catch my breath. One of his arms is wrapped around me, the other has a gun pointing at Jerry's car like he might try to get out and turn on us. And when my eyes focus properly, I recognize just who those arms are attached to. It's Brandon, I'm going to be okay.
"Get out of the car, Rodgers," I hear another voice say, I think it must be Kobe.
Then I see on the other side is Jett, his gun drawn as well. Jerry appears, his hands up, and Kobe grabs him. He turns to us, his deadly stare focusing in on Brandon. “I should have got you out of the way when I had the chance,” he spits angrily.
“Too bad for you taking me out with your car didn’t quite work out how you planned,” Brandon calls back to him. “That was what you had organized, wasn’t it? Kill the rich son, inherit his money to pay off your debts. You would have been sorely disappointed to find that I don’t have the millions you think. They are being safely taken care of by some good friends of mine.”
I notice the smirk on Jett’s face. He’s one of the friends, I guess they all are. I always thought money was super important to Brandon, but maybe it's not if he has just given it all to them.
Everything goes by in slow motion, and the whole scene is getting farther away from me. Brandon lowers his gun and tucks it away. He scoops me into his arms. "You're okay," he tells me, but I don't know what I am. Am I okay? Physically I don't feel hurt, just a few aching muscles from bracing for the impact and a bit of a sore head from the airbag, but how can anyone ever be okay again after something like that?
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
BRANDON
Withmyhearthammeringout of control in my chest, I hold her close to me. The boys have our little situation under control. I pull her behind my car so I can inspect her. "Are you hurt anywhere?" I look her over.
She brushes off her clothes, her hands trembling so hard her whole body is shaking. "I don't think so, just a bit sore from the impact." She runs a hand over her neck, massaging it.
I feel down her arms then pull her into me. I need to touch her, to have her body close to mine to know that she’s really still here. When Jerry took off with her, I thought the worst. She lets me hold her, leaning her head into my chest. I bury my head in her hair and inhale. She's alive, I tell myself, willing my body to get with the program and calm the fuck down. But adrenaline still runs rampant through my veins. Until I get her out of here, I don't think that's going to be possible. I wrap my arms around her tightly, trying to warm her up and stop her shaking, and we stand like this in silence for a long time.
Eventually she pulls away just a little, so her eyes meet with mine. "What will they do with him?" she asks quietly, like the question is playing on her mind but she doesn't really want to know the answer.
