Page 50 of Endless Love

And it’s fine, until I look away for a second too long and glance back to see a black car pulled up next to the Corolla, and Bradley sliding out of the driver’s side.

I freeze, a bag of potato chips falling out of my hand and hitting the tile floor. Bradley’s hand shoots out, grabbing Charlotte’s door, but it’s locked. I see his jaw tighten, see him press his fist up against the glass as he leans forward.

Charlotte’s face is white. I can see that even from where I’m standing. And I see his mouth open, saying something to her as she frowns, twisting in the seat.

My pulse jumps into my throat; every nerve in my body is suddenly wired. I’m cursing myself for not making her come into the store with me, my mind racing with how I could have possibly prevented this. Between this and the run-in with my brothers, who no doubt won’t stop so long as they’re still alive, Ifeel like I can’t keep her safe. Like I’m failing at the only thing left that matters to me.

But in a world where there are cameras at gas stations and traffic lights, where even with our cell phones destroyed, it’s impossible to avoid tech altogether, I can’t stay ahead of everything all of the time—but it still feels as if I’ve failed, seeing Bradley leaning over her window.

I feel my hand twitch involuntarily towards where I know my gun is hidden, waiting for him to make the wrong move. To try to break the window. To scare her into getting out.

Shooting an FBI agent would be by far the worst decision I’ve made so far.

But no one, not even him, is taking Charlotte away. If she’s going to leave me, it’ll be her decision.

No one else’s.

22

CHARLOTTE

It’s not until a shadow falls over my passenger’s side door that I realize Bradley is standing there. I look up when I see it, thinking that Ivan has come back to ask me if I want something, when I see the tall, dark-haired FBI agent, and my stomach plummets to my feet.

Shit.

My first reaction is to look and see if the doors are locked. My second is to flinch back as I hear the sound of him trying to yank my door open.

Thank fuck.Ivan always locks the doors when he leaves me alone in the car for even a few seconds. I didn’t think anything of it before, but now I’m so grateful that I could almost cry. Bradley can’t get to me now, and by the time Ivan sees what’s happening?—

Bradley’s fist hits the window with a hard sound, and his face leans close to the glass, so menacing that he’s almost more frightening to me than Ivan’s brothers were.

This is all wrong.My stomach tightens, my thoughts grappling with the confusion over how Bradley instinctively makes me feel, and how I know I should feel. He's an FBI agent.He's supposed to be one of the good guys. He’s supposed to help me. But as I look at the expression on his face—the clenched jaw, the fury that he’s directing at me, I’m terrified.

"Open the door!" he growls, his voice muffled but still audible. "Now!"

I shake my head, my hands trembling as I knot them in my lap, swallowing hard as I think desperately of what to do. My heart is pounding so hard I can barely hear anything else. I glance towards the store entrance, silently willing Ivan to hurry back. How long has it been? Surely, he'll be out any second now.But what is he going to do?He can’t shoot an FBI agent. That would be suicide.

But is it? I think of what Ivan told me last night, the things he’s done for his family.A Bratva torturer. It still doesn’t seem real—if it did, I don’t know how I would have gotten in the car with him this morning. But after that, shooting someone like Bradley seems small in comparison. I can’t imagine Ivan has that much respect for the law. And there’s no love lost between them, I’m sure of that. Besides, when we get to Las Vegas, his contact is going to scrub his identity clean, if what he told me is correct.

So does it matter what he really does to Bradley, then?

Ivan, hurry up.

Bradley's fist connects with the window again, harder this time. I jump, a small yelp escaping my lips. For a horrifying moment, I think the glass might actually shatter.

"I said open the door!" he snarls, and I flinch back again, my heart still hammering painfully in my chest.

I don’t know if Ivan has seen him yet. I don’t know what he could possibly be waiting on. But despite everything, in this, I trust him. I trust him with my safety—that as soon as he sees what’s happening, he’ll put a stop to it. I just have to be brave until then.

I tilt my chin up, glaring back at Bradley. “I don’t want to go with you,” I tell him flatly. “I’ve made up my mind about that.”

Bradley raises an eyebrow, that barely controlled anger still on his face, but it’s clear he’s trying to soften it. Trying honey instead of vinegar. “Look, Charlotte, whatever you’ve been told—whatever you’re thinking?—”

“What I’mthinking,” I snap, “is that you brought my ex with you to the handover. A man who cheated on me, who?—”

“That’s hardly a crime,” Bradley snickers, and I feel my throat tighten, my own anger threatening to overtake my better sense.

Ivan might be a fucking criminal, but he hasn’t talked over me. He hasn’t told me that he knows better. He hasn’t treated me like I’m a child that needs coddling, something breakable to be tucked away until it’s needed. And between Nate and Bradley, I’m sick to fucking death of it.

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