I hear men talking as I hop down to a crouch. They are speaking Spanish. I dip behind the nearest bush, watching as they go towards an all-black van parked in the driveway. They climb in and pull off immediately.
I see them ride right through the open gates. The gates are open. That means freedom, and it also means their guard is down.
When they’re gone, that’s when I look towards the silver car. It’s a Mercedes. I can hear the chiming, as if the keys are still in the ignition, but the car isn’t completely started.
I move in closer, looking towards the front of the mansion. The front door is closed and no one is around. Why is the car like this? Someone must be making a quick run in and out.
Well if that’s the case, they are most likely here to see Draco. That means he’s occupied right now. And that means this car…is mine.
My pulse is chaotic, my body vibrating with paranoia and alacrity. I don’t know who’s watching, and I don’t give a fuck if they see me. I am getting the hell out of here. Now, while I have the chance.
Before I can talk myself out of it, my bare feet pound into the gravel, storming for the vehicle.
My breaths are thick and labored as I grip the door handle, yank it open, and clamber inside. The area is vacant as I scan the perimeter. All I can hear is my thundering heartbeat and my heavy breathing.
I glance down and the keys are in the ignition, just as I assumed. I crank the Mercedes up and when the engine effortlessly comes to life, I put it in drive.
Loud Bachata music blares out of the speakers and I gasp, extending my arm and turning it down. My nerves are on end as I turn the wheel while lowering the volume.
“What the fuck?!” A loud voice booms those words from the doorway in Spanish and I whip my head over to the left, peering at the chubby man rushing down the steps.
He has on a brown guayabera shirt with white stitching. The moustache shadowing his upper lip is thick and bushy, just like his eyebrows.
He continues shouting obscenities at me as the tires squeal and I zoom for the gates. But as I get closer, the gates start to close.
“No!” I scream. “No! No! Please!” Why are they closing? They were just open! I should have just made a run for it. I would have gotten much farther.
I press my foot down on the pedal and the car amps up to thirty miles per hours. I hear the engine grow louder, but the gates are closing in more and more. The black iron is thicker than the gates on the land. This gate is humongous.
But I don’t stop.
I won’t stop.
I press down on the gas some more, closer and closer, listening to the gates screech as the wheels of the car chase the pavement.
But it’s too late.
And I know it.
I slam on the brakes at the last minute, hoping to spare myself, but it’s not enough to save me from the collision. Without the seatbelt to save me, my body launches forward and my face smashes into the windshield. I feel my nose crack and my mouth instantly gushes with hot blood.
The horn blares on the car and I hear a man still shouting from a distance.
My body crumples backwards, landing across the seats. My head is woozy; my face hurts. The car’s horn is so loud.
I taste so much copper.
I can’t move my face.
The passenger door is yanked open and I realize that somehow I’m right beside it. I’m not sure how my body is positioned, but it doesn’t matter because in a matter of seconds, I am yanked out and a large hand closes around my throat.
I gasp for air, but the thick hand clamps down tighter. My pulse grows louder as all of the sounds outside of me become inaudible.
The man finally releases my throat and shoves me to the ground. “You stupid fucking bitch! You wrecked my fucking car! Look what the fuck you did!” he barks, “Look at it!” I just lie there, powerless.
I have no fight within me. I hurt myself, but that’s nothing compared to what’s going to happen to me now.
There is blood everywhere, pooling all around me.
Footsteps stomp on the pavement and before I know it, someone is helping me up. When the person speaks and my hazy state clears up a bit, I realize it’s Draco.
I have no idea why hearing his voice gives me so much relief. I tried to run away and he obviously knows it.
I look up, but his eyes aren’t on me. They are on the man in front of him.
He asks something in his native tongue and the man answers rapidly, pointing fingers at me. I hear him cursing, shouting.