And I Love You the Most (This Love Hurts 3)

It’s all my fault. With every slow blink, I picture Delilah and all the times we had where nothing else mattered. It all melted away when I was with her. She was an escape and I lost myself in her company. I think about the last time we were together, imagining the sight of her pouty lips with her top teeth digging into her bottom lip as she moaned. The feel of her silky ebony hair as her neck arched in ecstasy, allowing the stray strands to brush against my bare skin. With a deep inhale I let the memories take me away. Even something as simple as the smell of her amber skin allowed me to slip away from the chaos and into her bed.

The honk of cars behind me is the only reason I come back to reality, forced to stare back at a now green light. Forced to move forward, but having no fucking clue where to go.

I need Marcus. For the first time in my life, I truly need him. This isn’t a vendetta or vigilante mission. This isn’t searching out justice when the system failed.

This is so much more. This is righting my wrong and saving an innocent before it’s too late. I shouldn’t have touched her and brought her into this. I should have known better.

The busy street blurs as I glance between my phone and the rearview again. My brow pinches and, shortly after, a prickling sensation travels from the base of my skull all the way down my spine.

A white sedan has trailed two cars behind me for miles now, even though the two vehicles between us have changed periodically. Whoever it is has kept their distance but followed ever since I left the station. I’m sure of it.

The clicks of my blinker resound like a ticking clock. Although I’m not certain what will greet me when the pendulum stops.

The car follows, not bothering to wait for more than ten seconds. It’s definitely a tail. My right hand forms a fist, one that pounds once on the leather wheel in frustration. It’s the fucking detectives. As if the situation couldn’t get any worse. I can’t make out the driver, but my gut tells me it’s more than likely Skov.

Pressing the pedal down, I don’t waste a moment, cutting off the car next to me and veering right across two lanes. The exit isn’t for another two miles. I only take my eyes off the road, the speedometer revving, to ensure the white car gives chase. Recklessly it does and the driver, wearing large sunglasses that cover most of his face, nearly crashes into a minivan that can’t slow fast enough to accommodate. With the act comes a screech of tires. More horns blare. I’m sure he’s aware his cover is blown, and he barely manages to squeeze into the rightmost lane.

I use the loss of momentum due to traffic and cut my wheel hard to the left, where the exit is only a block away. My phone on the passenger seat smashes into the dashboard, while whatever’s behind me slams against the back of my seat.

Adrenaline pumps hard, so hard my throat feels tight with the pressure of my racing pulse. All I can hear is the blood rushing in my ears.

The driver of the black coupe I cut off lays on his horn and slams on his brakes, which gives me plenty of room to make it to the exit as I leave the tail behind, still caught between cars a lane over.

Rounding the bend of the exit, it takes longer than it should for the panic to subside. My eyes track every car that surrounds me on the interstate from the rearview.

It’s only once I’m sure I’ve lost him that I start to doubt who was behind the wheel.

It could be the cops. Or it could be someone helping whoever took Delilah. Fear and anger swirl into a deadly concoction in the pit of my stomach.

Even minutes later, the dominant feeling that remains is still dread.

Twisting my sweaty palms around the steering wheel, I readjust my grip when I’m certain there’s no one else following me.

Guilt and shame are next to greet me, slipping in as the trepidation wanes.

Marcus’s words resonate in the darkness of my mind: It’s my fault.

They took her when it was my watch. I should have been there. I shouldn’t have given her space. I was supposed to protect her.

If I could go back, I never would have returned her kiss. I never would have given into temptation. I’ve been in too deep with Marcus for far too long to think it wasn’t going to catch up with me. There’s not a doubt in my mind that this is all related to someone I fucked over.

Not knowing who’s following me, I come to the conclusion that I need to be careful with every step. I can’t leave a trail for anyone to follow. I need to call Marcus, but certainly not with my cell which still lays on the floor of the passenger seat. My head shakes as I see the screen split in two with a jagged crack down the center.