“When I came here, I watched you. Saw you hanging with that biker guy, so I followed him. Which led to a motorcycle club. That is when I pieced it all together,” he replies, ignoring my question. “You killed my brother, you had some gang kill my blood, and you’re the reason my parents told me to go to hell, that if I were more like Travis, they wouldn’t feel so worthless as parents. You, it’s your fault!” he screams, shaking the steering wheel in a fit.
I look down at the floor, the gravity of the situation becoming clear. Grant is going to kill me tonight. Even if my luck pays out and he doesn’t kill me, if I manage to pay him and he lets me live, he thinks I had Travis killed. He’ll run back to his parents playing the good son, telling them what happened. The authorities will take the club down and I’ll never see Bobby again. I close my eyes tightly, Bobby’s words of how I was just scared to love seeping through my mind. How I use excuse after excuse of why I couldn’t be with him. He was right. I’m just scared of loving him, scared he will get tired of me, just like Travis did. But he’s not Travis. He was never Travis.
I blow out a steady breath, contemplating the thought of the authorities taking me to jail, taking Addie from me. I lived cautiously all these years, never doing anything to bring attention to myself, trying to stay away from danger the best I could, and for what? The very past I was running from to come and show me I wasted my life in fear and pain. I have to do something. I can’t go out like this. I can’t let this happen. Looking up, I watch Grant ranting about how much of a bitch I am. He’s distracted. Lifting myself off the seat, I dig my bare feet into the floor for leverage. I mentally prepare myself for what I’m about to do, knowing it could kill me.
On a slow exhale, I push myself forward, flinging myself into Grant’s lap. Hands grasping the gritty steering wheel, I jerk it to the side so the van whips to the side violently. Tires screech loudly as we become airborne, the motor sounding with a loud hum as we take flight. Everything slows while in midair. Fast-food bags and plastic bottles toss around as we tilt. Releasing a breath, I blink; time resumes its fast pace. The van slams to the ground. Everything that was in the air, falling down with it.
Violently, I’m jostled to the ceiling and then to the floor over and over as we flip down a hill before finally, my body strikes to a sudden rest. Every part of me aches and my neck throbs from the harsh whiplash. I cough and wheeze trying to pull air into my lungs.
Eyes firmly closed, my face winces from little wet droplets hitting my cheeks. Prizing my eyes open, I discover I’m outside the van. I was thrown out at some point. I slowly roll over, looking for the van. I find it just a couple feet from me. It’s hissing and smoking, crinkled like an old soda can slammed up against a large boulder.
A loud creaking noise draws my attention to the opening door; it’s barely hanging on its hinges. Adrenaline races through my heart when Grant falls out of the door, coughing and groaning. I turn and start trying to crawl away. My body is tense and sore from the wreck, making it hard to move.
“Oh, no, you don’t,” Grant laughs. I whimper in an attempt to move faster.
Forcing my achy body to cooperate, I push onto my knees trying to stand and run, but one of my ankles is pulled back, slamming my chest back on the ground. I turn and find Grant’s bloody hand latched onto my leg. His head is bleeding profusely, drenching one side of his face in a thick red ooze. I grab at the grass, trying to pull myself from his grip when I notice a black crowbar feet away, no doubt fallen out of the van. Survival. The word slams into my mind. It’s my only choice if I’m to survive. I look back at Grant who is laughing at my weak attempt to escape, the vinyl collar restraining my neck, reminding me I’m still wearing it. I grit my teeth and bite my lip. I can do this. I flip over on my back, sending a shockwave of pain shooting through my bruised body, and use my other leg to slam it into Grant’s balls. He instantly lets go of my ankle and I surge forward, seizing the cold steel with one of my hands.
“Bitch!” Grant curses angrily. I look behind me just as Grant grabs my arm, flipping me over to look at him. As he pulls me, I swing the crowbar, slamming it against the side of his head. The sound of metal and bone makes a chilling sound. He stills and his eyes roll in the back of his head as he lets go of my arm, falling to the ground. A sob racks from my mouth as I pull away from him, watching his head bleed out from the gash the crowbar inflicted.