“You don’t get it,” he snapped. “You belong to me.”
The guts I didn’t have when I lived with Brad previously, the sand I showed to Roxanne earlier that day, trickled back in fits and starts. Sitting up, I glanced out the window to discover Brad had driven us to the east side of town. The bad neighborhoods with drug deals on every corner, hos strutting in search of customers.
Where I once shared Brad’s ratty apartment with him.
“This isn’t Roxanne’s neighborhood,” I remarked.
“You’re so stupid, Hayley.”
I rested my forearms along the back of his seat just behind him. “I may be stupid, honey bunch, but you don’t have any balls. And you suck in bed.”
He screamed.
His jaws gaped while spittle flew from his mouth to spatter on the steering wheel. His foot slammed onto the gas pedal atthe same time he spun the car around. The sedan shuddered, the tires screeching in protest. I hit the upholstery again as centrifugal force knocked me sideways.
The passenger’s side of the car caved in. The window’s glass shattered and showered me with splinters. I rolled onto the floor amidst the remains of fast food wrappers and empty beer cans as the sedan crashed, spun around, and rolled onto its side.
I toppled headlong into the remains of the passenger door as the sedan came to an abrupt halt.
After lying still for a long moment, dazed, I lifted my head. Steam hissed from the busted radiator, but I heard nothing from Brad. Stiffly I tried to sit up. Discovering that while being sore all over, I appeared to be mostly unhurt. I crawled onto my knees and peered into the car’s front.
Brad lay sprawled in a heap, not moving. Dead, I hoped. It was too dark to see if he was bleeding anywhere. Voices raised in shock and concern drifted in through the broken windows, and I turned my head toward them.
“Hayley!”
Huh? That sounded like Alaric.
Above me, the mostly unbroken passenger door was yanked open. “Hayley, are you all right?”
Alaric.
Chapter Six
Alaric
Please don’t be dead, please don’t be dead.
Frantic, near panic, I yelled Hayley’s name as I ran from my truck to the wreck. I cared nothing for the driver, the idiot who yanked her off the street and into his car. Only Hayley mattered.
“Hayley, are you okay?”
From the dimness of the car’s interior, Hayley asked, “What are you doing here?”
“Don’t ask,” I snapped, reaching both arms as far down as I could. “Are you hurt? Can you move?”
“I think so.”
Witnesses to the crash also tried to help with one bro ineffectively trying to grab the unconscious or dead driver. “Can’t get him.”
I ignored him as Hayley inched her way up until I seized her wrists. “Easy now,” I muttered, carefully assisting her through the door. “Take it slow, that’s it, I’ve got you.”
I helped her to stand on the street’s asphalt. The car had slammed sideways into a parked car before rolling onto its side. Glass glittered in Hayley’s hair and dotted her shirt. I held her upright by gripping her upper arms while I searched her for any obvious injuries.
“She okay?” asked a bystander. “Called 911.”
Hayley nodded. “I’m okay.”
“Dude’s waking up.”
