Total pages in book: 78
Estimated words: 77106 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 386(@200wpm)___ 308(@250wpm)___ 257(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 77106 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 386(@200wpm)___ 308(@250wpm)___ 257(@300wpm)
“Shit shit shit,” I whimpered, saying a silent prayer that we didn’t flip as I turned down a cross street.
What did I do?
Go to the police station?
But I’d just turned in the opposite direction.
I could circle back.
Or…
I reached for my phone, unlocking and scrolling to my contacts while trying to keep my eyes on the road and rearview.
My whole body felt like it was shaking as I hit the speaker and dropped my phone into my lap, listening to it ring.
Once.
Twice.
“Hey, baby, what—”
“Coast!” I cut him off, voice high and desperate as the car behind seemed to be gaining on me.
My little clunker was no match for a newer model luxury sedan.
“Where are you?”
I swear I could already hear him moving.
“I’m on… on… Sunnyside Ave,” I said, catching a street sign. “It was a setup. They lured me to their house. Now they’re chasing us in their—no!” I cried as there was a hard tap on my bumper.
“Talk to me.”
“They just rammed into me.”
“Fuck. Okay. Listen to me. Do you know where you are?”
“Kind of.”
“Do not stay on back roads. Get on a main drag. You want options to put other cars between you and them.”
“Okay. Alright,” I agreed, mentally mapping the area, then taking a right turn to get back toward a more populated area.
“I’m coming, okay? We’re all coming. But you need to—”
His sentence was cut off by my yelp and Lainey’s cry as the car rammed into us again, harder.
The trunk flew open, blocking my view out of my back window.
“Zoe?” Coast called, and I could hear the rev of engines.
“They hit us again. The trunk is open.”
“Okay. Listen, try to go faster. If they hit you too hard, the airbag might deploy. And there’s a chance that can knock you out if the impact is strong enough. We can’t let that happen.”
“Okay,” I agreed, sniffling, fighting back stupid, useless tears.
“Call streets as you pass them.”
“Oceanview,” I told him.
“We’re not that far away. Just keep moving toward the main drag. It’s not busy this time of night, but any cars are better than no cars.”
“Shh, baby. It’s okay,” I tried to coo at Lainey, but my own voice was borderline hysterical. “Coral Gables,” I told Coast.
“Good. You’re getting closer. Just focus.”
My breath was coming in frantic, shallow huffs. The air was pumping, but sweat was pouring down my neck and down my back.
“Zo, talk to me.”
“I can’t. I can’t think.”
We were going too fast.
If a car pulled out in front of us, I wasn’t going to have time to brake. We’d hit. We’d roll. Then… if we survived that, we could just be picked off. We could…
“Zo, listen to me. You’re going to be okay. We’re getting closer. You know what you’re doing.”
But I didn’t.
I really didn’t.
I never even sped. I liked speed limits and red lights. I was a big fan of putting proper distance between my car and the one in front of me.
I had no idea how my car handled sharp turns or uneven roads at high speeds.
“Biscayne,” I said, focusing on the one thing I could do. Name streets.
“You’re three streets away from the main drag. You’re almost there.”
“What if my car rolls when we turn?”
“Listen. You want to brake hard before the turn, alright? Not during it. Brake before. Then slowly lay off of it as you make the turn. Don’t make any jerky movements of the wheel. And don’t overcorrect. The car’s momentum is going to pull you through the turn. Don’t turn the wheel the other way. Just let the movement take you. Say it back.”
“Brake before. Ease off. Stay steady. Don’t overcorrect.”
“Yes. Exactly. You’re in a low car. It’s a lot less likely to roll in general. You know what to do to keep it from happening.”
“Okay,” I agreed, trying to take a deep breath. I eased each hand off the wheel, wiping it on my shorts.
It was coming up.
I had to be prepared.
Coast was right.
I could do this.
I had to do this.
“Only—no!” I shrieked as the car rammed mine again, making it jolt hard to the side, and taking Lainey’s constant cry to a full-on wail.
“Zo?”
“He hit me again.”
“Okay. Alright. You’re almost there. Focus on that. Brake before. Ease off. Steady. Don’t overcorrect.”
That was helping.
He was tunneling my vision.
The street was coming up.
There was no traffic. Thank God.
“I’m going to turn,” I told Coast. Then said a silent prayer.
“You’ve got this, Zo.”
Three.
Two.
One.
I slammed on the brake.
Then eased off as I turned the wheel.
My stomach plummeted and my heart wedged itself up in my throat, feeling like I was on some out-of-control carnival ride.
But no, dammit.
I was in control.
Like Coast said, the momentum pushed us through the turn.
I carefully turned the wheel.
But at the last second, the backend fishtailed hard, making me cry out as my phone flew off my lap and clattered down into the footwell somewhere.