Page 77

My hands shake as I replace the nozzle. Every second that we spend here is another second for someone to recognize us. She’s still looking down when I get in the car, but when Wynnie’s head comes up, fear is obvious.

“We need to go, now.”

I try my hardest not to speed, wanting to avoid any extra attention on us.

“There’s two guys on the phone,” Wynnie whines, whipping her head back toward me. “They’re calling the cops.”

“I think so,” I breathe.

“How long do we have?”

“Half hour, tops. We can throw the car somewhere and go.”

Wynnie’s still processing the new level of danger, but in the midst, she steals my hand from the steering wheel and interlaces her fingers with mine. Such a simple gesture that nearly breaks me; this woman has every reason in the world to hate me, yet she’s still reaching for my comfort.

“Preston, I just want you to know that even though I’m scared and frustrated, I don’t regret you. It’s a lot, and I kind of feel like throwing up almost every minute of every day, but I digress. I’ve never felt this way before.”

I’m not able to speak, emotion clogging my throat. She’s wrong. She will end up regretting this, and she will curse the day she met me, but I’m selfish enough to be thankful that right now she doesn’t.

Failure washes over me when, in the distance, red and blue lights spiral. The sirens wail behind us, growing louder with each passing second. My knuckles pale from my grip; my mind is racing faster than the tires beneath us. I’m calculating distances and possibilities and the rapidly dwindling chances of escaping.

I can hear Wynnie’s voice, faintly, muffled as if I’m underwater. Her words just don’t register; they float past me, lost in the roar of the blood hammering in my ears. Sweat pools at the small of my back, soaking through my dark shirt. Every turn of the wheels is a relief, but all I can feel is the crushing consequences of the inevitable.

This is my fault. She’s right.

I dragged her into this nightmare. I married her with the promise of safety and a life beyond what we’d done. And now, at least three police cruisers are catching up behind us, ready to break my promise. I take a deep inhale, slow and heavy, trying to tame the fire that’s consuming my lungs.

“Darling,” I interrupt. “I love you, I really truly do, but I need to focus right now. If I don’t focus, we don’t make it out.”

She goes quiet, but with it comes the feeling of anxiety. I can see her head turning to check behind us every few seconds. Sirens scream behind us; it won’t be long until they’re ahead of us too.

“Are you going to pull over?” She asks.

“No,” I hiss, pressing harder on the gas. The engine thunders in protest, but the speedometer climbs. “I’m not going to prison, Wynnie, and I’m sure as hell not letting them take you either.”

“Preston! You’re going too fast!” She screams, her nails digging into my forearms.

I look in the mirror, and at least two more police cars have joined.

“Shit.”

“Please, Preston. Please don’t go faster! I’m scared,” she begs, barely holding it together.

I want to comfort her, but the words get stuck. The loudspeaker on the lead police car cracks to life behind us as he finally catches up. The officer’s voice is distorted, but I hear him clearly.

“Pull the vehicle over, immediately!”

I grit my teeth. “Fuck, we need to switch seats. Now.”

“Wh–What?” She stares at me like I’ve lost my mind. “What the hell are you talking about?”

“Move!” I bark, already unbuckling my seatbelt.

Keeping one hand tight on the wheel, I start shifting my body toward the middle. The car jolts and swerves as I twist across the narrow space; my thighs brush against hers as she crawls beneath me, our limbs tangled together.

The second my foot leaves the pedal, we immediately slow, and I have to manhandle her to settle in the driver’s seat and press on the gas. Wynnie’s face is pale, eyes wide with disbelief and terror, but she scrambles for the wheel.

I frantically reach for one of my handguns, along with a spare magazine.