Page 58 of Between Passion and Revenge: Part One

She’s out of it. Way too fucked up to consent to going anywhere. Where the fuck is her so-called friend?

He holds her up while she stumbles, her head rolling on her neck. He guides her into the passenger seat of his vehicle.

I take a hard step in Shae’s direction, prepared to rip her from his grip, but a swath of clubgoers pour through the exit, creating a barrier between her and me.

By the time I push through the mass, he’s in the driver’s seat, pulling away from the club.

“Fuck.” I grind out the word, locking onto the vehicle’s details and sprinting to the valet stand where my car is parked on display.

I slam a $100 bill into the valet’s hand. “Keys. Now.”

In a few heartbeats, the engine of my black Porsche hums to life, and I peel out into the street, speeding to catch up to the vehicle currently transporting the object of my obsession.

I swear low, sweat blooming across my chest when I spot the Mercedes five cars ahead of me.

It may be the middle of the night, but it’s a Thursday in River North. The streets are still buzzing, couples stumbling out of bars and flashing lights bouncing off dark windows. I grip the wheel, keeping my focus trained on the Benz as it slips further away.

Calm down, Sandoval. Just make sure she gets home safe.

And when shedoesget home, I’ll make her wish she never put her body on the line.

When shedoesget home, I’ll make her understand she belongs to me. Every part of her.

I breathe in deep, feeling the burn of oxygen expanding my lungs to capacity.

Everything is fine. She is fine.

The light turns green just as lightning cracks across the sky, and I get in the right lane, anticipating the car’s movements and preparing to turn onto the main thoroughfare leading back toward campus.

But then, every sensation morphs into dread and fury as he cuts over two lanes and turns left toward the industrial complex near a remote part of the Chicago River instead.

I shift the Porsche and cut over to follow the Mercedes, ignoring the horns honking as I keep the car in sight.

Then comes the thunder.

Adrenaline has me pushing the Porsche harder, threading through cars and barely making the next light before it shifts to red. My heart pounds faster with each block as they veer onto a quieter, narrower road, away from the steady traffic that would take them anywhere near Shae’s apartment.

I hit speed dial on the steering wheel and begin speaking as soon as the line clicks over.

“Riale. I need you to track me and meet me wherever I stop.”

“On it,” he replies and cuts the call. I know he’ll be here within minutes, but not to help take down this fucker who dares to….

No, I’ll need Riale to clean up once I’ve torn this asshole to shreds.

The city lights fade a little as we drive deeper into the side streets. The buildings here are older warehouses and industrial headquarters. Some are dark and boarded up, and the area is afar cry from the polished streets of River North. The Mercedes takes another sharp turn, pulling down a deserted side street lined with forgotten storefronts and crumbling brick walls.

There’s nothing back here but shadows.

I hang back with my headlights off as I slip onto the same street, watching the brake lights flash as the Mercedes comes to a slow halt in an alley. I watch as they idle for seconds, a minute, three.

My stomach drops to my toes when I realize there’s no movement from the passenger side. I know she’s in there…but she’s not putting up a fight.

Lights flash in the sky—crack, crack, crack. Lightning illuminates the alleyway, revealing the haunted scene playing out in this fucked reality.

The driver’s door opens, and he steps out. Metal glints in his hand. A knife.

He looks around, likely to see if he’s alone.

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