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“Yeah.” She audibly exhales. Inhales.
I just want to hold her.
I rub a hand over my mouth.She’s okay.She’ll be alright. We’ll make it to them. Maybe not before their bodyguards, but we’ll be there. FuckingBoom Boxmight just try to terrorize them through their windows for a money-shot.
The thought flames my insides, a gathering inferno. Blood boiling, I just stay alert, watching the road, listening to the call.
“Mom—” Luna starts
“Take it.”
Take what?
Lo isn’t speaking. I bet, like me, he doesn’t want to cause more panic. He’s weaving through the city streets and cars, beating the red lights. His amber gaze is venomous, and he’s hardly breathing.
“Wait…” Luna chokes out, and her voice tapers off.
I go cold. “What?” I ask. “Luna? You alright?” Something’s changed.
The call is eerily silent. I can’t even hear their breathing anymore. Then we hit grid-locked traffic. Our car rolls to a full fucking stop behind a Volvo.
“What’s going on?” Lo asks, putting our car in park and picking up the phone. “Lil? Is she okay?”
“They’re getting out of their car,” Lily whispers.
“Jesus Christ,” Lo grimaces. “These sick fucks are dead. They are so goddamndeadafter this. They’re going to be slapped with a thousand lawsuits until they’re buried beneath hell.”
“The car is locked, Luna,” Lily says to her daughter, a tremor in her voice. “They’ll just take some photos and be gone. Poof.”
Lo is shaking his head repeatedly. His cheekbones and jaw are blades as he grits down on his teeth. We’re not acknowledging one another while they’re in danger. Tension is suffocating. I watch the unmoving traffic. Wish these motherfuckers would stop honking.
I glance back at the phone in Lo’s hand.
Lily and Luna are quiet again. I hear the ping of rain on our end and theirs. They said the paparazzi are walking towards them. Out of their vehicle. Moving closer.
Something still feels so off-kilter, and my gut is nose-diving to an abyss. But it couldn’t be…?
“That’s not Boom Box,” Luna says and screams, “Donnelly!”
Horror slams into me.“STAY IN THE CAR!” I yell, but I already know what’s gonna happen a second before it does. The sound of shattering, crunching glassboomsover the line and slices into me.
“Mom!” Luna shrieks.
“Get out of the fucking car!” That’s a man. South Philly accent. Don’t know who.
“LILY!” Lo screams into the phone, his gaze bloodshot and rattled. Traffic is starting to clear a bit, and he steps on the gas. He’s gripping that phone like it’s the sole lifeline to his wife and daughter.
I click my mic, sick to my stomach, but I’m speaking. “Someone call 9-1-1. Frog has the location. Lily and Luna are being attacked. Can’t talk. I’m with Lo.” Bodyguards flood the comms channel, but I tune them out and shout, “Lo, watch it!”
He hits the brakes as traffic slows.
I ask, “Can you driv—?”
“I’m fine!” he shouts, clearly not fine. Neither of us are, but someone needs to drive—and he’s already behind the wheel.
He impatiently waits for a lane to clear, and he speeds over to the fastest one. We listen to Luna and Lily’s grunts and breaths, and my eyes burn alive.
A man groans in pain. “Fucking bitch!”
