Page 5 of The Bodyguard

A different SUV—wrong shape, wrong headlights, wrong emblem on the front grill.

She checked her mirror again. The vehicle wasn’t following traffic laws. It swerved left, surged forward, engine roaring.

Her Spidey senses started tingling. She watched as the unknown, black SUV shot forward, no turn signals, no hesitation—closing the distance fast. Too fast.

Andi slammed her foot down on the gas.

The tires screamed in protest, fishtailing on the slick pavement, but the SUV kept coming. No headlights. No hesitation. Just relentless speed and the gleam of metal under the streetlight—like a predator closing in on its kill.

Her pulse spiked. Her hands clenched the wheel, breath shallow and sharp.Don’t panic, don’t panic, don’t?—

She yanked the wheel hard right.

Too late.

The SUV clipped her rear bumper with a brutal crunch, and her car lurched sideways. Tires skidded across rain-slick asphalt, the world tilting as centrifugal force spun her like a toy. She screamed—instinctive and panicked—as she hit the curb with bone-jarring force.

Then the ground disappeared.

Her car flipped.

Steel shrieked. The windshield exploded into a glittering storm of safety glass. The airbag detonated, slamming into her chest like a concrete wall. Her head cracked against the window, stars bursting behind her eyes.

Everything went silent.

Then the roof crumpled with a groaning roar, metal folding in as the car rolled once, twice, before slamming to a stop on its side. The engine hissed. Smoke twisted into the air, thick and acrid. Somewhere nearby, a car alarm wailed like a warning she couldn’t outrun.

Andi gasped—sharp, ragged—air scraping down her throat like gravel. The seatbelt had locked tight, pinning her in place.

She wasn’t sure how long she hung there. Seconds? Hours?

Her ears rang. Her hands shook. Her heart thundered in her chest like it was trying to punch its way out.

They tried to kill me.

Not intimidate. Not scare.Kill.

The realization hit her harder than the crash.

With a snarl, she fumbled at the belt. Her fingers slipped. Again. Again. The buckle finally gave, releasing her with a snap that dropped her hard onto shattered glass. Her shoulder slammed into the doorframe. Pain screamed down her arm.

The door wouldn’t open.

Trapped.

No. No, not like this.

Andi gritted her teeth and kicked at the passenger window until the crack spread. She twisted, crawling across the wreckage. One more shove—one more grunt of effort—and she tumbled out onto the sidewalk, scraped and shaking, knees hitting the concrete hard.

Her vision swam. The SUV was gone.

Just... gone.

No witnesses. No driver. No plates.

Vanished into the night like a ghost that didn’t want to leave evidence behind.

Andi knelt there, blood dripping down her cheek, breath shallow, chest aching from the airbag, hands torn and filthy. Her pulse roared in her ears.

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