My wrists strain against his hands. I twist, trying to break free, to get leverage, to getanything. Nothing.
He adjusts his grip, efficiently, like he’s done this plenty of times before. Pain shoots up my arms. “Stop,” he says again, calm as ever.
I don’t. I can’t. Because Scott is out there. Because I heard the shot. Because Ifeltthe moment everything went wrong. Because if I stop, I’m his.
Gunfire erupts again, closer this time. The sound reverberates through the ambulance, metal amplifying every crack into something sharper and more violent.
He doesn’t even flinch. He actually thinks he’s untouchable; I can’t believe it.
I force myself to go still. It’s not surrender, never that. But still enough to think, to see and toassess.
We’re in the back of the rig. Bench seat to my right. Gurney locked in place. Upper cabinets full of supplies: sharps container, airway kit, drug box, locked, always locked.
Unless… My eyes flick toward it, quick and subtle. He follows the movement instantly. Of course he does. His mouth curves faintly. “Looking for something?”
I don’t answer. My breathing slows deliberately. In through my nose, out through my mouth. The same cadence I use on patients. Control your airway. Control your body. Control your mind.
Outside, voices shout. “Police! Drop your weapon!”
Gunfire cuts them off. More shots, closer this time. Someone’s yelling commands. Someone else is screaming. The world outside is chaos but inside this ambulance, it’s just us.
“You really made this messy,” he says, almost conversational. “I expected better.”
Tension coils in my jaw. “You expected me to just come with you?” I shoot back.
“I expected you to understand,” he corrects. There it is. That tone, measured and certain, like he’s explaining something obvious.
Like I’m the one failing to keep up.
My eyes track him as subtly as I can. His weight distribution is balanced and his dominant hand free. I don’t see a weapon on him, but I can’t rely on that. He’s too close for a clean strike. I need space, or a distraction. Or… opportunity.
He tilts his head slightly, studying me. “Do you know?” he says. “Did she ever tell you?”
Something cold coils in my stomach. Not fear but recognition. I know what he’s talking about, but I don’t think I want him to know that.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I snap at him.
“I’d tried to get her to let me take her out for weeks, but she wouldn’t fold,” he blathers on. “So, I took matters into my own hands.”
Something so vile and evil flashes across his face that it makes bile rise up my throat.
“Imagine my surprise when I found out months later that she was knocked up. She hadn’t been dating anyone, so I knew the kid was mine.”
My chest feels hollow, angry tears welling in my eyes.
“I didn’t bother getting involved, I didn’t want to have to pay for your ass for eighteen years. But I kept track of you anyway.” His eyes flick over me, dark brown just like mine. Knowing I got his eye color over my mom’s just hurts in so many ways.
“Wish you’d been a boy though,” he frowns. “Would have rather had a son.”
Gunfire cracks again, louder and closer, right outside the ambulance, cutting off his monologue and stealing his attention. The entire vehicle shudders as something slams into the side. He shifts instinctively. Just a fraction. But it’s enough.
My eyes flick back to the drug box. It’s locked. But I know this rig. I stocked it. I’veworkedin it for years. The key, set in the top cabinet, on the right side. I need him to move.
“You think you’re untouchable,” I say, forcing my voice steady.
His attention snaps back to me. Good. “Because I am,” he replies simply. No arrogance and no theatrics, just fact.
“That’s what you tell yourself,” I say.
