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Something slams into the back of our vehicle, and we both lurch forward. Brandon’s shoots out an arm across my middle and holds me back, as if he doesn’t trust the seat belt to do its job.
“Oh, this fucking wanker!”
I turn to see if the truck is still behind us. Brandon is picking up speed when the truck slams into us again!
Brandon briefly looks to his left and swerves into the left lane, which is thankfully clear of other vehicles. He speeds up, and the black truck is now on my side.
“Ava! Can you see the driver at all?”
I lean forward, my forehead to the glass, and can only make out pale, masculine hands gripping the steering wheel. The tint on the windows is too dark to make out anything else. I let Brandon know, wishing I could be of more help.
The driver of the pickup, who has a dark hood shielding most of his face, lowers the window, all the while keeping up with Brandon’s speed between the traffic on the road.
With his left hand off the wheel, the small barrel of his gun is pointed at me.
“Brandon!” I exclaim, shielding my face for the coming shot.
“Ava, duck!” Brandon yells.
I pitch my torso over my lap as shots ring out above my head.
Both Brandon and the shooter are trying to maneuver their respective vehicles and destroy each other on a dark, treacherous highway. My stomach tries to climb up my throat, readying to empty my body of all the champagne I imbibed tonight.
“They’re gone,” he says.
I sit up slowly, immediately tuning to my right to confirm the black truck has disappeared.
Seeing the lights of Manhattan is calming amid the chaos on the road. I’m ready to lock myself in my apartment for the remainder of the night.
My dream is short-lived when I realize Brandon is heading towards the George Washington Bridge.
“I think I lost them, finally,” he says, breaking the silence, his gaze darting between the road and the rearview mirror.
“Why are we heading to New Jersey?” I ask, looking futilely out the window. All I can see is the Hudson River below me and traffic in front of and behind me. I am well and truly stuck.
“I’m not taking you to your apartment, ” Brandon says as if that was obvious, and we’d already discussed this.
“No, you’re not. I want to go home, Brandon!”
Brandon briefly takes his eyes from the road and turns to me. “I don’t know where you’ve been the past hour, Ava, but someone was shooting at us. Do you really think going home right now is a good idea?”
I hate that he’s right, but after tonight, I want the comfort of my own bed and to shut out the world.
“I don’t want to go to New Jersey. I think you can understand why I need the comfort of my own place right now!”
Brandon releases a deep sigh, as if speaking to me is more of a trial than anything else we’ve been through tonight. “You’re not going to a hotel.”
Brandon doesn’t elaborate and moves to the lane taking us to Edgewater.
“Despite your protests at the party earlier, whoever has decided to come after you is clearly tired of being ignored. Tonight was a way to scare you, Ava. Maybe even kill you.”
A shiver runs through me at Brandon’s words. I knew the risks of being popular on social media. My biggest worry at the time was mean comments from internet trolls. Never in a million years did I think a stalker would become my problem.
I remain quiet the remainder of the short drive to Brandon’s duplex. I’d heard Asher speak about it, but I’d never been to Brandon’s home since he’d left Manhattan and went on assignment to Brisbane a few months ago. The front of the building faced other identical duplexes and nothing about it truly stood out.
There’s a group of women clad in glittering dresses heading into a duplex adjacent to Brandon’s, laughing and holding sparklers in their hands. That’s how tonight should have ended for me. Laughing, tipsy from champagne, and looking forward to the start of the New Year. Not running from a shooter and worrying about my family’s safety.
Brandon turns the car off, and I reach to unlatch my seatbelt. Brandon’s warm fingers cover mine. “Wait, I’m coming around for you.”
