Victorious, I press the button, and the car thrums into life. I’ll settle on what I want to do to Cara by the time I get home. Anything is better than being here with Blair stalking me around the club.
And… leaving Cara alone for this long makes my skin itch and the hairs on the back of my neck tickle.
But she’s safe there. I hope.
It shouldn’t matter, and yet, it does.
Like an inescapable curse, Blair stumbles out of the club entranceway and a slight breeze catches her long mane causing it to lift and float. Once upon a time, she was the most beautiful creature in the world to me. Now she just makes my stomach turn.
But that could also be the alcohol.
I slam my foot on the pedal and tear out of the parking spot, jerking the wheel to take the route furthest away from Blair. Home is where I want to be, with Cara. I’m certain I want to fuck her. That might also be the alcohol, but I don’t care.
The car drifts as I drive, but it’s a distant realization as I fumble for my phone and scroll through the contacts until I locate Cara’s name. I hit dial. It rings for an age then her voicemail comes on. Heat surges through me then, and the steering wheel jerks under my grip.
Is she fucking ignoring me?
“Cara!” I snap after the beat, “answer the fucking phone! You can’t ignore me. You can’t run from what you did!” Maybe somethinghashappened. More likely, she’s too scared to face me now, and my heart thumps unevenly. “I’m on my way home, and you better fucking be there because I’m gonna–I don’t know yet, but I’m gonna make you see. I’m gonna show you just how much you’vehurtme. I fucking trusted you. Do you get that? Do you even comprehend how much of a fucking leap it was to let you in, and then you just–!”
“Killian?” Cara’s voice slices through me like a warm blade, and my tirade ends abruptly. I hadn’t expected to hear her voice, not when it went to voicemail, but now it’s here, gentle in my ear like the caress of her soft hands, and my heart freezes for a split second.
“Killian?” she repeats, “where are you?!”
“Cara—.”
My entire body suddenly jolts forward, slamming into the steering wheel as my phone slips from my grasp. For a moment, I’m flying, suspended in the air with no control over any of my limbs, before the car completes its rotation and crashes down. The impact jerks my body down, and my head cracks sharply against something solid.
Then the world melts to black.
* * *
The seatbelt indicator dings repeatedly like a warning in between the heavy sounds of gravel crunching underfoot and desperate panting. It filters through to me slowly, trickling through a thick black fog that weighs down my eyes and binds my limbs.
What happened?
Did I crash?
I don’t remember. I was…I was driving and on the phone with Cara, and then–fuck, where’s my phone? I try to open my eyes, but the growing throbbing in my forehead forces them to close. I curl my fingers, seeking out my phone but instead, cold blades of grass brush against my fingertips, and when I try to clutch that, something pulls under my shoulder, and the grass slips away.
I’m being dragged. Someone is dragging my body. An eye witness pulling me from the wreck? A good samaritan wracking up brownie points? I’m shunted left suddenly, rolling over onto my front as a male voice groans above me, then someone speaks in a deep, raspy voice.
They’re speaking Russian.
Ahh fuck.
Another Russian voice cuts through the veil, and suddenly two sets of hands are on my body, hauling me back and forth as they converse above me. Pain spikes hot down my spine, and nausea pulses through my gut in time to the blinding ache that burns through my skull. They roll me over, and my limbs flop like deadweights, then I’m being half dragged, half carried.
Come on, Killian, get the fuck up!
Get up!
Pain flares hot and sharp as I’m dropped, and my back hits something rough and solid; the trunk of a tree, perhaps? A groan forces its way past my lips. I drag my left hand over the ground, seeking out anything I could get my hands on to use to defend myself as the blindfold of impact lifts and my eyes flutter. There’s nothing, just grass and a few small twigs.
Two large men stand before me, clad in black and panting heavily. They’re framed by bright headlights peeking over the incline behind them, lights that belong to their vehicle as the remains of my car lie behind them, crumpled at the bottom of the incline. It landed on the roof, and I’m thankful I can’t remember how I escaped that pancake alive.
Did I crash, or did they run me off the road? Fuck.
“Wait…” I mumble thickly and copper tangs over my tongue. Am I bleeding? I must be bleeding. It’s all I can taste. The longer I’m awake, the more sensation registers in my mind, and my whole form starts to ache. The two men end their discussion and regard me as the thick brute to my left pulls a handgun from his belt.