Page 74 of Primal

Someone is screaming. I think it’s me, but I can’t be sure. I go for his eyes, ready to scratch his eyeballs out. But I’m cut off with an elbow to my jaw and a punch to the side of my head. The moves stun me long enough for Marco to push me back into my seat.

“You bitch! You’re fucking dead, you hear me? Dead!”

Nausea churns in my stomach and I gag, bile and blood ready to spill all over Marco’s floor. Someone is drilling into my skull over and over. Bang. Bang. Bang.

No, wait. Honk. Honk. Honk.

“Fuck me,” Marco whispers, reaching past me to get into his glove box.

I take my chance and reach out for his arm, biting as hard as I can. Marco cries out in pain, swerving the car so hard I go flying. My head bounces off the glass, and I fall limp into the seat, the fight drained from my tired body.

“Insistent fucking bastard. Say goodbye, Fiora.”

With bleary eyes. I glance into the side view mirror.

Braken’s car is right behind us. Braken is coming for me. The small piece of hope I have is dashed the second Marco pulls a siren from the glove box. He cracks his window, throws it onto the top of his car, and turns it on. Police sirens ring out and make me wince in pain.

The flashing lights and loud siren make the freeway part like the Red Sea.

Marco hits the gas as fast as he can, weaving through the line of cars.

I can only watch helplessly as the outline of Braken’s car grows smaller and smaller, sealing my fate.

Chapter 38

Fiora

Marco’s grip is so tight on my wrist I can barely feel my fingers.

The parking garage is empty. Nothing’s around but excavators and cigarette butts. Half of the structure is already bulldozed, but the other half remains standing. Marco drags me up the broken staircase, not bothering to stop whenever I trip on a loose rock or knock a body part against the sharp turns. Why would he? He’s already battered and bruised me. What’re another few bruises and scratches?

When we first pulled up, I allowed myself the smallest bit of hope. Excavators meant construction workers. Well, it should have, but it means shit now. The lot is completely abandoned for the weekend. Just my luck. I’m sure Marco had something to do with it. Now I’m stuck biding my time, searching for the best escape route. Kind of hard to do when your throat aches from choking and your head pounds from a solid beating. Still, I won’t go down without a fight.

I refuse to die here without taking Marco with me.

Once we hit the garage’s top floor and reach open air again, Marco jerks me forward so that I fall onto my knees. I hiss at the pain but ignore it. When I turn onto my butt to face him, Marco is smirking.

“You know, your entire family is fucking stupid.”

It’s the first thing he’s said to me since he took off down the highway, using the police siren to make a getaway.

“Sure, but we aren’t the only ones,” I spit, crawling away as best I can. There’s not much room. Since half the damn building is gone, the only place I can go is the edge. “Do you really think you’ll get away with this?”

“I got away with Mason, didn’t I?” His smile is…unhinged. It’s the only word that comes to mind. He’s a madman on the last thread of his rope, and every step he takes toward me sounds like a hammer nailing my coffin shut. “All you have to do is pull a few strings. Your father taught me that, actually. Throw some money at people or give them what they want, and they’ll do your bidding.”

Marco laughs, nudging his boot at my sneaker. I jerk away my leg, crawling back another few feet. I’m so close to the edge of the broken parking garage that I won’t be able to go much further. I must keep him talking, make sure he blabs long enough so I have time to think.

“And whose strings did you pull for Mason, huh?”

“Losers with criminal records are easy to bribe.” He shrugs, flicking a few pieces of misplaced hair out of his eyes. Hey, at least if I die, I have a few strands of his hair in my pocket. He won’t be getting away with both of our murders. It’s a sad price to pay for trusting the wrong person, I guess.

I push him away with all my might, but he barely goes anywhere. He laughs at my attempt, a hearty little chuckle that shows how pitiful he finds me. When Marco backs off, I scramble to my feet and back away from the edge. There’s another set of stairs behind me. If I can slowly inch that way, I might be able to make a break for it. Maybe grab a piece of concrete I can use to knock Marco over the head. I need to find the right moment.

“What do you want?”

“That’s so cliché,” Marco tsks. He takes another cigarette out of his front pocket and lights it. I inch toward the rear stairs when he takes a long drag but stops when his eyes land on me. “I thought you’d do better than some petty criminals, but I guess all you shady Godwin assholes are the same.”

“And all you fame-hungry assholes are the same,” I hiss. “Using the Godwin name for your own gain. Just so you can get some promotion.”

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