As he gets closer, that voice in my brain shouts even louder.
Get out. Get away. Protect yourself.
What would Gage tell me to do?
Muscles unfreezing, I scrabble with the seatbelt, panicking when it doesn’t want to give.
Another glance outside the car shows the man even closer. Not even fifteen feet away.
Phone! Get my phone!
I reach into my purse, still thankfully sitting in the passenger seat, trying to find the slick feel of the plastic case. My fingers touch the leather of my wallet and the soft fabric of a hair tie, but no phone.
The man’s almost here.
Tears of frustration and pain fill my eyes.
If only I wasn’t still dizzy, I could focus better. I could find my stupid phone.
Then. My fingers close around something.
Not my phone. But something almost as good.
In a scene from a horror movie, the car door is yanked open. The man looms beside me, smelling of sour sweat and desperation.
His hand clamps on my arm, hard and punishing.
“No!” I shriek. I’m still grappling in my purse.
A voice snaps, “Get out of the damn car, Rory!”
Shock steals my breath. Freezes my muscles. My heart stops.
It can’t be. I can’t be right. It can’t be?—
I turn. Look.
“Wade?” It’s barely a whisper.
No. This doesn’t make sense. My sister’s husband. Why?—
His eyes narrow at me, the blue turning flat and cold. Eyes I’ve seen during the holidays for almost five years.
“You’re coming with me,” he growls. “Now!”
And then, in a horrible repeat of that night in the woods, his fist comes flying towards me.
But I move just in time, so it only clips my temple instead of knocking me out.
How? My sister’s husband? Why?
Anger turns my blood to fire. Unfreezes my muscles.
I will not give up. Ever.
Before he can strike again, I raise the pepper spray clutched in my hand. The pepper spray Gage gave me right after I came to GMG, telling me I should bring it everywhere, just to be safe.
I did.