Page 148 of This Woman Forever

I start the engine of my bike and hit the throttle, gripping hard to stop my shakes, taking a few needed deep breaths before I pull away. I see John in the distance, swerving in and out of traffic, running red lights, overtaking anything in his path. More than once, I’m forced onto the other side of the road, and more than once I feel something—a car, a bus, a moped—brush my arm or knee. The rushing air is hitting my eyes brutally, making me constantly squint and, as a consequence, hampers my vision. Fuck. I don’t have a death wish. I’m not wearing a helmet, any leathers. One clip will have me coming off my bike and then I’ll never make it to her. So when I finally catch up to John, I fall in line behind his Range Rover and follow his lead, using him as a barrier between the world and my bike. And he isn’t fucking about, not slowing down for anyone or anything. We fly past Tower Bridge, London Bridge.

Closer.

And then John’s brake lights come on and stay on, his Range Rover slowing down. I pull out and see the traffic has come to a standstill in the distance. No oncoming traffic too. People are getting out of their cars. “Fuck,” I breathe, knowing all the signs of a car accident are in front of me. My heartbeats become painful, my breathing strained, as John moves onto the other side of the road and picks up speed again. And when his hazards start flashing but he doesn’t slow, I pull out again.

And I see it. My Aston up ahead in the road. And not far away from it, Ava’s Mini. The bonnet is crushed up against a metal barrier.

“My God.” I feel the blood drain from my face, my eyes on her car, searching the inside from a distance. She’s not in there? And then I see her standing in the middle of the road, motionless. Shocked. Fuck. The Aston screeches away, and John goes hell for leather after it.

The moment I’m near Ava, I slam on my brakes and hop off my bike as soon as it’s slow enough, leaving it skidding away across the concrete. I run, feeling like it’s taking an eternity to make it to her, the world slowing in every element. Her face is blank. I scan her body the closer I get, checking for marks, for grazes, anything. I reach her. Her empty eyes look up at me. There’s nothing in them. Nothing—no fear, no anger, no grief, no emotion whatsoever. I feel her cheek, hoping my touch might shock her back to life. It doesn’t. An ambulance pulls through the traffic up ahead, two police cars coming from the other direction. Endless cars around us damaged, buried in walls, streetlamps.

“Ava? Jesus, baby.” I pull her close and try again to take in the carnage surrounding us. She feels heavy and limp. “Fucking hell,” I whisper, losing myself in her hair for a brief moment. Escaping the madness.

She’s alive.

She’s okay.

What the fuck is going on?

As if hearing my question, my phone rings and I free one arm from Ava to take his call. “John?”

“Isn’t it fucking typical that you would own one of the fastest commercial cars on the motherfucking fucking planet?” he snaps.

“Where are you?”

“Trying to keep up. How’s the girl?”

I will Ava to snap out of her daze and hold me. Give me some sign that she’s okay. “In shock I think.”

At those words, she stirs, breaking away, and starts gazing around. More police, another ambulance. Her mind is finally processing what’s happened. She’s starting to shake.

“Don’t stop until you’ve found out who’s in my fucking car,” I say to John, hearing his foreboding grunt before the line goes dead. “Look at me, baby,” I order gently, encouraging her gaze away from the carnage to me. Her eyes are empty.

“Where’s your helmet?” she murmurs on a frown.

“Fucking hell,” I breathe, kissing her, squeezing her cheeks. If she had just got in the fucking car with John. “Why do you refuse to play ball?” I ask, smothering her. “I sent John to get you, Ava. Why didn’t you let him take you to work?”

“Because I wanted to shred Matt,” she says. I look down at her. She went to see him? “But you beat me to it.”

“I was so angry, Ava,” I say quietly. Matt had to take the brunt of my rage or I was likely to self-combust with the pressure needing out.

“I would never have seen it through,” she says on a sob. “I wouldn’t have killed our baby.”

Thank. Fuck.

She has no idea how much I needed to hear that. No fucking idea. “Shhh.” I do my best to comfort her, hold her, and this time she holds me back tightly, sobbing into my shoulder.

“Excuse me, sir.” A copper approaches, taking us both in. “Is the young lady okay?”

“I don’t know.” I haven’t checked her properly or closely. “Are you okay?” I feel at her arms, check her face again, her fingers, her wrists, even her dress for rips. Nothing.

“I’m fine,” she says quietly, looking past the officer. “What about the other drivers?”

“Just a few cuts and bruises. You were all very lucky. Shall we get you checked over before we run through some questions?”

“I feel fine,” Ava protests. “Honestly.”

Dear God, help me. “I’m going to take that fine in my palm and slap you all over the arse with it.”

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