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His face is inches from mine.

Blood runs from his mouth. More streaks down the side of his face from the crash. Dirt covers his clothes. One eye is starting to swell.

He looks terrible.

I'm ridiculously proud of myself.

“You're fucking insane.”

I suck in a painful breath. “You kidnapped me.”

“Do you ever say anything else?”

I shove against him.

His forearm presses harder. “Stop.”

“No.”

“You aren't getting away.”

“Already did once.”

Something flashes in his eyes. “You have no idea what's happening.”

“I know you want the flash drive.”

His expression goes still. “You don't know anything about it.”

“Neither do you, apparently, since you can't fucking find it.”

His hand closes around my throat. Not squeezing. Not yet. But enough to make my body go cold.

Mercer's eyes narrow. “Careful.”

Then I realize something.

I've crashed his vehicle, hit him in the face with a rock, kicked him, scratched him, and made him chase me through the woods.

And I'm still alive.

His hand is around my throat.

He has a gun. Yet I'm still alive.

Why?

Smoke.

The flash drive.

He needs something.

And I'm not it.

I'm how he gets it.

I look at him. Then I smile.