Right at us at forty miles an hour, and climbing.
Cursing loudly, I start the car and slam it into reverse. The street is empty, with most cars parked in large double garages, and with my hand behind Sachelle’s headrest and a squeal of rubber, we shoot backwards down the street.
The truck’s bumper is just inches from mine. We’re accelerating right into a T-junction and a high stone wall. The truck is still gaining speed, and I can almost feel the driver’s victory as he readies to crush us to death.
As we enter the junction, I pull the wheel to the side and we start to turn, but not fast enough. I grab the handbrake and the car slides into a dizzying turn. Smoke is churned up by the tires.
Beside me, Sachelle is staring straight ahead, her face chalk white as she grips the sides of her seat.
The truck slams on its brakes before it can plough headlong into the wall. In the rearview mirror, I see the driver reach inside his coat, as if going for a gun. I slam the accelerator and we race along the street, leaving the truck behind us.
It’s not until we’re several streets away and turned onto a main road that I can take a deep breath and glance at Sachelle. “Are you all right?”
“AT06 411,” she whispers, her eyes still wide and staring. “The truck’s license plate.”
I glance at her in surprise. “Thank you. I’ll run those numbers later.”
Sachelle takes several deep breaths, and then looks around. “Where are we going?”
“Somewhere safe.” Ten minutes later, we pull into an underground garage. When I slide into a parking spot, I cut the engine and get out of the car. She protests as I take her hand and hurry her toward the elevator, but I don’t slow down until I have my apartment door closed behind us.
“Wait here,” I tell her, taking her by the shoulders and pushing her back against the door. I walk through each of the rooms, checking behind sofas and closet doors and under beds. I open the balcony door and check that, too. Only then do I go back to Sachelle.
The apartment is almost as empty as the day I moved in here. The only personal items visible are my phone charger by the sofa and an empty coffee cup on a side table. Otherwise, there’s the low black sofas, the flat-screen television and the modern light fixture hanging over the dining table that came with the place.
I plant my hands on either side of her head and lean in close. Her so-called friends nearly killed her, right outside her own house. I see over and over again the truck plowing into the car. Killing her. Killing us both.
“Jakob? Where are we?”
I stare at her mouth, which is parted, her lower lip trembling slightly. “My apartment.”
“I want to go home.”
“You’re not going anywhere,” I seethe, and her violet eyes widen. “I told you that you were playing with fire, meeting those dangerous people, but you didn’t take my warnings seriously and you nearly fucking died.”
Her head rears back, indignant. “Who says what happened tonight had anything to do with me?”
“You still don’t get it. I guess I’m going to have to use more than just words.”
“What are you going to do? Throw me in jail, too?”
I slide my hand around the nape of her neck and press my thumb into her throat. As my mouth closes in on hers, I murmur, “Why would I need a jail to lock you up? I have you right where I want you.”
13
Sachelle
Jakob’s mouth is just an inch from mine, and my insides turn to melted honey as they always do when he’s about to kiss me. The rollercoaster of emotions I’ve been on for the last hour bleeds away until there’s just his warm breath on my lips and his hand around my throat.
“This was your plan all along?”
“From the moment I saw you,” he says, his eyes running over my face. “You’re mine, and no one’s going to take you from me.”
“I keep doing things wrong, one after the other. I can feel everyone being disappointed in me. Everyone except you.”
He slants his mouth across mine in a hard, unyielding kiss.
“If you run, I’ll chase you,” he whispers, gathering me closer. If you cry, I’ll wipe your tears. If you fall, I’ll pick you up. It’s as simple as that.”
Everything’s moving too fast, but I haven’t got anything left to resist. He picks me up and carries me to the sofa, and I melt against his body. When he sits down, I go with him, and he doesn’t let me go.
“I don’t care if you make mistakes as long as you’re good for me,” he murmurs, stroking back my hair. “Are you being good for me?”