My blood freezes in my veins.
A gun? Why the fuck has he brought a gun on a date? I know it’s normal in the society I live in for people—mostly the men—to be armed, but why would he have it on him? He could have left it in the glove compartment of his truck, not have it on his person.
Is that why he held my hands above my head, so I wouldn’t feel the weapon when I touched him?
I don’t like this. Every instinct is screaming to get out of here.
He’s blocking the exit with his body, but there’s nothing stopping me from climbing the side of the truck bed and hauling ass. Am I overreacting, though? I’m not entirely sure what to do in this situation. Wiping sweaty palms on my jeans, I try to keep calm.
I don’t want to make him angry. I’m conscious of not increasing the tension currently simmering between us. If I can somehow calm things back down, maybe he’ll just drive us home to Verona Falls, and we can forget this ever happened.
If he refuses to drive me home, I can call someone to come pick me up. I have my cell phone in my purse, but it’s sitting on the passenger seat. There’s no way I’m leaving without my stuff.
He’s not going to do anything to hurt me. I told my friends that I was going out with him tonight, and they’re all waiting excitedly for an update. I’m pretty sure he’ll have told his friends, too. As he’s already pointed out, he knows who my family is. He’d be pretty fucking stupid to cause harm to the daughter of the head of the cartel. The college has rules, too. Anyone who harms another student will be severely dealt with. We don’t involve prison or the police. We’re people who know how to hide bodies so they’re never found, the college dean and his son most of all.
Maybe that was his plan, though. He could say I’d stormed off and gotten lost on the mountain. My body might never be found in that situation. My friends wouldn’t be able to track my location, as I tend to have those settings off on my phone. We’re private people and careful about stuff like that.
He could just toss my whole purse down the side of the mountain. Chances are it would never be found.
Ledger lets out a deep sigh, tearing me from my thoughts. “You know, I’d hoped we could have a little fun before…”
“Before what?”
He seems to catch himself. “Before I took you back.”
“Yeah, well, we’ve had our fun. I really am done now. Please, can you drive me back?”
I hate having to say please, when what I really want to say is ‘drive me back now, you fucking son of a bitch. How dare you intimidate me; don’t you know who you’re dealing with?’ I keep the words clamped beneath my tongue, though, not wanting to escalate the situation.
How many other women have done the same, suddenly found themselves in the company of someone who is quite happy to use their size and strength to get what they want, to intimidate and corral? It makes me so mad, but I’m not allowed to show it. Oh, no, I still must be that good girl, the one who quietly slips into the background so as to not draw attention to herself. That realization makes me even angrier.
There’s a sliding window in the back of the cab behind me, and it’s open. I’m small, far smaller than Ledger. I can scramble through the window, grab my purse off the passenger seat, and call one of my friends. My best girlfriends are in relationships with the types of men who would sever this asshole’s hands right off for even touching me, and I could use them right now.
Ledger scoffs. “Yeah, that’s not going to happen. I’m the kind of man who always gets what he wants.”
I make a split-second decision. I’m not going to get past him, and I need my phone. I twist my body aroundand throw myself headfirst through the open window at the back of the cab.
“Fuck,” Ledger curses.
He grabs my top, and the crisp sound of it tearing rings in my ears, spurring me forward. I bruise my knees and thighs scrambling through the window before throwing myself at the passenger seat.
A crack of a gunshot blasts my eardrums, and the rear window explodes.
My heart stops and, for a moment, I can’t breathe.Move, move, move.I’ve got to get out of here.
I can hardly believe this is happening. He fired at me! He’s trying to shoot me.
What the actual fuck?
Wow, some guys really can’t take rejection. And they say women are the needy ones.
I have to get away. The passenger door is wide open, and Ledger is still on the bed of the truck, trying to get me through the now shot-out window. He’s too big, though, and he can’t fit. I’m like an eel as I slide from the passenger seat, out the door, and onto the ground. It’s rough with sticks, stones, and gravel, and I scrape along my forearms, but I barely notice. I’m back on my feet in an instant as another gunshot cuts through the evening air. Nearby roosting birds explode from the trees with a panicked squawk.
Running, I try to get away, adrenaline and panic nipping at my heels. I wobble all over the place in the stupid pumps I’d picked.
Another gunshot ricochets through the trees, and a chunk of bark explodes right next to me. I scream and duck, but I keep moving. Good thing he’s a terrible shot, or I’d most likely be dead. Why the hell does he want tokill me? All because I wanted to bring an early end to our date? What a goddamned princess.
Something hot and sticky runs down my palm and drips off the ends of my fingers. Blood. A fresh punch of panic hits me, and I wonder if I took a bullet and somehow didn’t notice—like I was in shock—but then I realize I cut myself up worse than I thought when I slid out of the car. My forearms are grazed and bleeding.
