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The sedan comes even closer and nearly smashes into my bumper before backing off. Like we’re playing a game of chicken.
“What the fuck?”
The other car shoots into the lane to my left and inches their way toward my driver’s side door, taunting me. It’s clear at this point whoever is driving that car is targeting me. They haven’t made any other aggressive moves toward anyone else.
I glance over to my left and try to look into their window, but they have a mirror tint. I can only see my angry expression staring back at me. I speed up, trying to shake the bastard.
“Andrew, what’s going on?” asks.
“Someone is chasing me, trying to run me off the fucking road,” I blurt.
I press the accelerator harder, weaving in and out of traffic. The other car mimics my every move. Every couple of car lengths, they shoot up beside me to taunt me before swerving at me, then pulling back. Over and over.
“What the fuck? Where are you? I’ll call the police!” he roars out.
There’s no time for that. The police won’t get here in time.
“C’mon, fucker. You want to go, let’s fucking go!” I gravel out, fury filling me.
I knew Malcom would come after me to silence me. But now, even if he kills me, it won’t fucking work. I made sure of it.
I grip the steering wheel harder, my fingers biting into the plush leather. The car comes up behind me again, this time slamming into my back bumper. My body jerks backward and then forward. I maintain my grip on the steering, refusing to lose focus.
I glance left and right, looking for any way out. I don’t have many options because of the amount of traffic on both sides of me. Some cars have slowed and pulled back out of concern for their own safety. Good fucking call, because this bastard is here to kill me.
I make a split-second decision to switch lanes. A horn blares behind me as soon as I merge, and I realize I narrowly missed a car. There’s a lane between me and the other car now. I’m racing down the freeway with the accelerator all the way to the floor.
“Andrew, what the fuck is going on?” I can’t focus on explanations right now.
“I’m okay, but remember what you just promised me,” I say quickly.
There’s an exit ahead, and I will my car to go faster. If I can shoot across these two right lanes and onto the exit, I’ll be able to lose this guy.
I blow my horn to get the vehicles I’m approaching to make way. I don’t want to hurt anyone, but I have to get off this highway. I make my way over to the exit. When I glance left, I watch the black sedan come across the lane between us, hitting several cars and spinning them out in the process. The tires screeching, metal crunching, and glass breaking rings in my ears.
“What the fuck is going on man?” Colin’s panicked voice is the last thing I hear before the car crashes into mine, pushing me across the last lane before the exit ramp.
“Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!” I roar.
I make a split decision to go toward the side of the road. It’s my only choice if I don’t want to take a row of cars out with me. I’m approaching seventy mph on the exit ramp.
I steer the car to the side. I have a clear view of a long line of vehicles in front of me. I press down on the horn, trying to warn them I’m approaching too quickly. I don’t have time to slow down enough.
This is going to fucking hurt.
I pull hard to the right, but it isn’t fast enough, and I side swipe a sedan.
“Damn it!”
The hit only slowed my car down slightly, but I’m still going too fast. I pump the brakes, but it does little to slow me. I press harder on the brake pedal, but they don’tengage. I slam my hands down on the steering wheel, willing the fucking brakes to work right.
“Fucking hell! The brakes are out, Colin!” I need a plan and fast.
“Anywhere you can go?” Colin asks in a rush.
“Go? Go fucking where?”
I’m cut off from the rest of my sarcastic remark when I see I’m about to hit someone. I slam down the brakes one more time and pray that they fucking work. The pedal crams into the floorboard instead. My eyes quickly dart around the exit ramp, and I only see one option.
