Page 55 of Claimed By the Damned

“This,” he mutters, spinning the wheel sharply, “is why we don’t let you go anywhere alone.”

The SUV lurches, tires screeching loudly on the wet pavement, the sharp, acrid smell of burning rubber momentarily filling the cab, stinging my nose. Nausea churns in my gut as Grim expertly corrects the skid, the world outside my window a sickening blur of rain-streaked lights.

I brace myself, hands flying to the dashboard.

The SUV fishtails wildly for a horrible moment, the rear end sliding out towards the curb, another jarring impact sending a shockwave through my seat. He manhandles the wheel, straightening it out like he's casually switching lanes—not dodging a full-speed attempt on our lives that has my heart trying to claw its way out of my ribcage.

"Hold on," he says, voice maddeningly calm as he cuts the wheel sharply again, engine roaring as he accelerates, narrowly missing a parked delivery truck with inches to spare. My world tilts, streetlights streaking past in a dizzying, unfocused smear.

My pulse pounds, a frantic drum against my temples. "What the hell, Grim?!" My voice comes out thin and reedy, choked with panic.

"Relax, Princess. This ain't my first rodeo."

I risk twisting in my seat, my knuckles white where I grip the door handle, to look behind us. The dark sedan is still glued to our tail, headlights glaring menacingly through the rain-streaked rear window, closing in fast. "They're not stopping!"

"Nope," he agrees. Then he grins, a flash of teeth in the gloom. "But neither am I."

He floors the gas, the engine growling as we shoot forward. The pursuing car tries to match our speed, but Grim is already calculating his next move.

"We should call Ryker—" I start, but Grim cuts me off.

"Don't worry. I got this."

The SUV jerks violently again, tires slipping on the wet pavement with a terrifying shriek. My breath catches in a gasp as my stomach flips, the force of the movement pressing me hard into the seat.

Then, with a sharp flick of his wrist, he yanks the emergency brakehard. The world dissolves into a terrifying blur of motion and sound. The tires let out an ear-splitting shriek as the massive SUV pivots violently on the slick asphalt, sending usinto a controlled spin. G-forces slam me hard back against my seat, my head snapping sideways, my stomach lurching into my throat. Raindrops smeared across the side windows become streaks of light, the whole world outside a chaotic whirl. My scream is swallowed by the roar of the engine and the sound of the tortured rubber. Just as suddenly—

We snap to a stop, facing the oncoming headlights of our pursuers.

For a heart-stopping second, everything seems suspended—the glaring lights pinning us like startled prey. My pulse hammers so hard I can feel it in my teeth. The air is thick with the smell of wet asphalt, exhaust fumes, and burnt rubber. Then Grim’s arm jerks the gearshift, and tires spin again. The other car’s driver must not have expected that, because they hesitate. Grim doesn’t.

He floors the accelerator, engine screaming, charging straight at them like a raging bull.

The blinding glare of their headlights intensifies as we rocket towards them. Absolute panic must seize the other driver. They swerve violently to the right at the last second, desperate to avoid the head-on collision Grim is forcing. Their tires hit the high curb with a stomach-turning crunch and a spray of sparks, the car jumping awkwardly, scraping its undercarriage noisily across the concrete before skidding to a jarring halt sideways against a parked van.

Grim lets out a slow breath, shaking his head almost disdainfully. "Amateurs."

I sit there, plastered to the seat, heart hammering against my ribs like a trapped bird, every muscle trembling with leftover adrenaline. The world outside the windows slowly comes back into focus, no longer a dizzying blur. My ears are ringing. "What thehell, Grim?" My voice is shaky, breathless.

He glances over at me, a maddeningly casual curl to his lips, completely unbothered. "Told you I had it handled."

I slump against the leather, finally releasing the door handle my fingers felt fused to in a death grip. My palms are clammy. "I hate you," I breathe, meaning it and not meaning it at all.

He chuckles. "Nah, you love me. Now, you want fries? I’m starving."

The house is only a ten minutes' drive from the shop, normally a quick trip, but Grim isn't heading straight back. Instead, he’s taking the long way, cruising through quiet residential streets under the darkening sky, the engine a low rumble beneath us.

He claims it’s to let my shattered nerves settle after the…excitement, as he’d probably call the terrifying car chase. But I know it’s more than that. His eyes keep flicking methodically to the rearview and side mirrors, scanning intersections, making seemingly random turns—standard counter-surveillance, ensuring we didn't pick up another tail after ditching the sedan.

The steady motion and the relative quiet do little to soothe the frantic energy still buzzing under my skin. The adrenaline from the chase still hasn't fully worn off. My hands are trembling slightly in my lap, gripping each other tightly. My mind is racing, replaying the screech of tires, the jarring impact, the terrifying spin, Grim’s unnerving calm contrasted with my gut-wrenching panic.

And amidst the replay, the realization I've been pushing away finally sinks its teeth in, cold and heavy in my chest.

This isn’t just about me running away anymore. It wasn't just a random thug grabbing me at the shop or a simple scare tactic on the road. This is escalating.

He won't stop. Cold certainty settles in my gut. He wants his property back. And anyone standing in his way? They're just targets now. Obstacles. Because ofme. The weight of that potential cost presses down, suffocating.

I swallow hard, staring blindly out at the passing houses, the manicured lawns blurred by rain and speed. “This doesn’t end, does it?” The question is barely a whisper, heavy with dawning certainty.

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