Page 6 of Snitches and Serpents

My gaze snaps up to the rearview mirror.

A pair of cold green eyes stare back at me.

My stomach bottoms out and fear floods my veins.

Tristan Kane stares me down through the mirror, as if daring me to disobey him.

His rope around my neck is keeping my head trapped against the headrest, and because he is sitting behind my seat, if he wanted to, he could strangle me to death without me even being able to reach him to fight back. So I obey his command and slowly lower my hands from the rope.

That’s when I suddenly realize that I was right. I did lock my car this morning. He must just have broken into it somehow. To ambush me.

Fear courses through me like electricity.

“Please,” I breathe, my voice coming out shaky, as I hold his gaze in the rearview mirror.

He winds the rope once around his hands, causing it to press harder against my throat.

A whimper spills from my lips.

Dear God, is he actually going to kill me for getting him stuck with community service two years ago?

“Start the car,” he orders, his voice pulsing with power.

I reach for the key, but my hands are shaking so badly that it takes three tries before I can get the car started.

“Drive,” Tristan says.

I do.

He gives me further instructions. Telling me where to turn and when.

The rope stays around my neck, so I obey every command.

Worry snakes up my spine, squeezing my lungs, when I suddenly find myself on a deserted dirt road in the middle of a forest. I suck in short, jagged breaths. Oh God, he is really going to kill me.

“Stop,” he demands.

My heart is thundering in my chest. If I stop the car here, he is definitely going to kill me. I should just?—

He pulls on the rope, tightening it until he’s cutting off my air.

I slam on the breaks.

The car skids to a halt at the edge of the road.

Tristan loosens his hold on the rope.

While I gasp in deep breaths, he reaches forward and turns off the ignition. Then he pulls out the keys and slips them into his own pocket. The rope slides over my skin as he removes it from my neck.

“Get out,” he says.

Without waiting for a reply, he shoves his door open and climbs out.

I dive towards my purse.

If I can just get to it and call for help, maybe I can?—

A cry rips from my lungs as Tristan yanks open my door and grabs me by the arm before I can get my phone out of the purse. The purse slips off the seat, landing on the floor, as Tristan hauls me out and throws me to my feet outside the car.

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