Total pages in book: 169
Estimated words: 162138 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 811(@200wpm)___ 649(@250wpm)___ 540(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 162138 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 811(@200wpm)___ 649(@250wpm)___ 540(@300wpm)
“Let’s go,” she’s screaming. “LET’S GO.”
I finally snap out of it, adrenaline replacing the dread that previously filled me. I look at the floor and see him lying there. His hand moves, though. I grab my mother’s arm and rush outside, stepping on the cracked eggs and flowers she dropped by the door. Mom’s shaking so hard that she can’t even push the button to unlock the car. Adrenaline replaces my fear as I look over my shoulder and take the keys from her hand.
“Get in the car,” I yell.
Light brown eyes that mirror mine widen, but she moves and gets into the passenger seat. I lock the doors, start the engine, and take three big deep breaths. I can do this. I’ve survived this before. I’ll survive it again. I floor it out of the circular driveway and turn onto the empty street. I’m going over the speed limit and these roads are always crawling with police officers. Normally, I slow down. Today, I speed up. Best case scenario, one of them will chase after me and we’ll be safe.
“How many times has this happened?” Mom asks, crying.
“I don’t know. Three.” My hands are shaking, but I focus on turning at the stop sign. “He was drugging me before. He started when. . .he started when I was fourteen.”
“What?” Mom shrieks. I stop at the red light down the road, my knee bouncing as I look at her. Her golden tan face is ashen, her eyes wide and horrified. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
“I didn’t know!” I press the gas on the green light. “I didn’t know until it was too late and then he hadn’t done it for years until today. I thought he wouldn’t anymore. I thought he’d stopped. . .”
“Oh my God,” she says, her voice catching. “Oh my God, Lyla.”
“It’s fine. It won’t happen again.” I look left and right at the next stop sign and drive forward.
“You should have told me!”
“I didn’t think you’d believe me.” I bite my lip to keep from crying. “I didn’t think anyone would.”
“Lyla James!” she shouts, still crying. “Of course, I would have believed you!” She remains silent for a moment. “Who does this asshole think he is?” she yells. “Who the fuck does he think he is? Keep driving to the precinct. I’m calling the cops right now so they’ll expect us when we get there.”
She starts to rummage through her purse for the phone. “Fuck,” she screams. “Stupid piece of shit. I can’t believe we trusted him. I can’t believe. . .”
Through the rearview, I see a familiar red sports car approach and start to panic, my hands shaking again. He’s still at least two blocks back. There’s no way he’ll catch up. Just in case, I swerve right and drive toward the two-lane street the cops are always at. If I can get one behind me, we’ll be safe. Please, please, please pull me over. I chant that in my head as if they’ll hear me.
“Mom! Focus!” I move up in my seat as my eyes bounce between the rearview mirror and the desolate street ahead. He’s getting closer. “Fuck. MOM FOCUS!”
“I can’t find my phone!” She looks around, starts searching between the seats. “Goddamnit.” She takes off her seatbelt and reaches back.
His car appears behind ours. I speed up. Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck. His car is much faster than Mom’s SUV. Much faster. The shiny red car speeds up, almost hitting our bumper. There’s dirt and rows of trees to our right. I try to figure out how I’d turn the wheel without losing control, if it comes to that. God, I hope it doesn’t come to that. The SUV is an off-road vehicle. I remind myself of that. It was one of their big selling points. Off-road. We’ll be fine. A tap from on the bumper moves us forward in our seats.
Mom and I share a horrified look.
“Mom!” I snap. “The phone!”
“Shit!” She keeps reaching. “I got it. I got it!”
The car swerves and hits the bumper of our car on the left side. I speed up. Please please please please, let us be okay. We’re only blocks away from the police station, so close I can see it. Mom should’ve called from home, but instead, she grabbed one of Dad’s autographed bats and swung it. It was the right call. It was the only call. A sob rakes through me as I recall the look in her eyes, but I breathe through it. I can’t afford to lose my shit right now. I floor it, eyes forward. When he hits us again, it’s no longer a warning tap. He completely slams into the car, hitting it at an angle that makes us spin out of control once. We scream loudly. I slam on the breaks and steady the car, flooring it again. He hits us hard again. This time, the car spins once, twice, and on the third, we slam into an oak tree head-on. The air whooshes out of me as I press against my seatbelt. The airbag slams into me, pushing me back with force. I hear my mom scream. I hear bones snap. I know it’s bones because it’s the same sound a teammate’s knee made recently. Glass breaks, but I still haven’t been able to take a breath, let alone open my eyes. I think I pass out. Or maybe I’m in shock. It’s hard to blink, or move, or even speak.