Page 132 of Raise Hell

The lights ride high — it has to be a pickup truck.

One of the oversized kinds you see on construction sites or farms. It could be some random person on their way for an early shift, someone that would see the glint of Vaughn’s gun and call the police.

Or they might be working with him.

I tap the brakes gently enough that it shouldn’t be noticeable to Vaughn, wishing I’d bothered to learn Morse code. Hopefully, the behavior is strange enough for the person behind us to notice.

Vaughn sees the truck when the lights suddenly flare brighter as the truck gets close enough to set the side mirrors on fire from its headlights.

“What the fuck?”

The truck doesn’t stop coming.

Our car jumps as the truck bumps us from behind.

This isn’t the first time someone has tried to run me off the road since I came to St. Bart’s. But the person who did it last time is sitting in the passenger seat.

“Who is that?”

The gun wavers as he turns to look behind us. “No idea.”

My foot jams on the accelerator. The car picks up speed, but the truck still rides our ass.

If I go any faster, we’re going to peel out on the next turn.

“What do I do?”

The truck bumps us again. The car swerves wildly, and it’s a miracle I manage to maintain control so we stay on the road.

It swerves out from behind us and accelerates up to our side.

“Watch out.”

I hear Vaughn’s shout just before the truck slams into us.

My reaction comes too late.

The car spins out, the force of it so strong I can barely hang on to the wheel, much less try to regain control.

Trees rush up to meet us as we veer off the side of the road. I have a split second to realize we’re going to crash before the impact.

I hear screeching metal as the front of our car buckles against the wide trunk of a tree just off the side of the road. The airbag deploys just before my forehead collides with the steering wheel. Even with it, pain explodes in my face. An inflated bag isn’t enough to circumvent Newton’s laws of motion.

Darkness threatens on the edges of my vision, slowly encroaching until there is nothing left. I can’t turn my head enough to look, but Vaughn doesn’t seem to be moving.

He might already be dead.

Tires screech in the distance as the truck pulls off, taking the last of the light with it on this dark road.

Whoever drove us off the road is leaving us here.

This must be what Olivia felt when she passed out alone in the woods, wondering if she would ever wake up again.

There is a strange sort of symmetry in that. We came in to this world together. It only makes sense that we leave it in the same way.

People say that in the moment before you die, your life passes before your eyes. All of the things you did, all of the things you wanted to do, like a movie played on fast forward.

But the last thing I think about before I pass out is Drake.

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