Page 52 of Endless Love

Why the fuck did I just think that? What is wrong with me?

"Ivan!" I shout, my voice muffled through the glass. "Stop!" I can see him on the verge of strangling Bradley, about to make a choice that he can’t take back. I know rationally that he’s made dozens of those before, hundreds—that he’s been walking down a road that’s been disappearing behind him as he goes for a long time. But this is the first time I’m seeing it personally. The first time I’m witness to something that he can’t undo.

It might be hypocrisy, but I’m genuinely afraid for him.

For a moment, I think he hasn't heard me. He doesn’t move, and I catch a glimpse of his face in the side mirror of Bradley’s car. His eyes are locked onto Bradley’s, a cold fury in them that sends a fresh wave of chills down my spine. He looks entirelycapable of killing a man, of killingthisman, and I can see the side of him that he told me about last night. The brutal enforcer capable of torture and murder.

I open my mouth to shout at him again, terrified of what happens if Ivan steps over the line of killing a cop, anFBI agent—when Ivan’s grip loosens slightly, and Bradley sucks in a ragged breath, gasping as he lets out a flurry of violent coughs.

"You listen to me very carefully," I hear Ivan hiss, his face inches from Bradley's. "You come near her again, you so much as look in her direction, and I will kill you next time. If you try to convince her of your bullshit, I will shoot you dead. I willendyou and your miserable existence, and my only fucking regret will be that I didn’t have time to do it more slowly. Do we understand each other?”

I doubt Bradley would agree. But I don’t find out. Ivan kicks the gun again, sending it spinning out across the parking lot pavement far enough that it would take Bradley several strides to catch up to it. He grabs the front of Bradley’s jacket, yanking him forward and slamming him back against the car hard enough that Bradley’s head bounces back against the glass, and then he gives me one quick look over his shoulder before he darts to the front of the car.

It’s still running. I’m hoping with everything in me that I’m reading his signals correctly as I lunge over and hit the lock for Ivan’s side, unlocking the door just as he grabs for it, flinging himself into the driver’s side.

He doesn’t even finish closing his door before his hand is on the gearshift, flinging it into first as he hits the gas, the tires spinning as we burn rubber across the parking lot with a high-pitched squeal. The smell is acrid, making me cough, and I don’t dare look back as Ivan drags his door shut, accelerating across the parking lot as he heads for the road.

“Does this ever get old?” I try for a joke, feeling myself starting to shake as Ivan lurches out onto the road, speeding for the exit. “These constant car chases? We’ve had what—three in as many days? Or am I miscounting? Is this a new record for you, or?—”

Ivan's eyes flick to me for a split second before returning to the road. His jaw is clenched tight, his knuckles white on the steering wheel. "This isn't a joke, Charlotte," he says, his voice low and tense. "That was too fucking close." His voice has the same hard edge that it had this morning, when I tried to talk to him when we first woke up. Like what happened last night threw up a wall between us.

A wall that, ironically, a few days ago, I was trying desperatelytoput up. Last night, I tried to take it down. To have a moment of connection with him, to meet what he told me with what I could give him. But it wasn’t enough.

I swallow hard, my attempt at humor dying on my lips. He's right, of course. My heart is still racing, the adrenaline coursing through my veins making me feel jittery and on edge. I’ve felt this way for days, and no amount of nights spent in the quiet, cold Montana wilds can drain it out of me, I’m starting to fear. I’m wondering just how long it will take after my ‘new life’ begins for me to feel safe again. To feel normal.

Maybe never.

"I'm sorry," I whisper. "I just—I don't know how to process all of this."

Ivan takes a sharp turn, the tires squealing against the pavement. I grab onto the door handle to steady myself, my stomach lurching. "You need to understand something," he says, his voice tight with barely controlled anger. "These people, they're not playing games. Bradley, my family, they’ll hurt you, Charlotte. They’ll?—”

I stare at him for a moment, uncomprehending. “I know that,” I whisper. “Of course, I know that, or I wouldn’t be?—”

His jaw tightens, his gaze fixated on the road ahead as he swings towards the next exit, and I realize he’s not saying it to me. Not really. And he’s not angry with me, either.

He’s angry with himself. He’s angry that he left me alone. That Bradley had a chance to get to me at all. I see the muscle in his jaw working, the hurt in his face, and a part of me that I haven’t managed to quell cuts through all the anger and all the hurt, wanting to comfort him.

I reach out, my hand touching his forearm. “Ivan, I?—”

The words are ripped from my mouth as a hard weight slams into our car, knocking me sideways, stealing all the breath from my lungs. And then we’re flying, rolling,falling—and I’m certain it’s all over.

That I won’t ever know what I was going to say next.

23

CHARLOTTE

The world is spinning around me. Ithurts. Everything hurts, the slamming of my body against the door and the seat and the dashboard, the shattering sound of glass, the crunching of metal as the car flips over and over, rolling down the hill to one side of the exit. I didn’t see what was beyond it, and I close my eyes, feeling hot tears on my cheeks as I think about the awful possibilities. Trees. A ravine. Another road, one where traffic will pummel us until we’re nothing but paste?—

My head slams against something hard, and pain explodes behind my eyes. I’m dimly aware of the sound of Ivan’s voice, shouting my name, but his voice sounds far away and muffled, like he’s yelling through that glass window he was on the other side of with Bradley. Every word is muffled by the ringing in my ears.

When the car stops rolling, it takes me a minute to register it. I’m hanging upside down, held in place by my seatbelt, digging painfully into my hips and chest. Butgod, I’m so fucking thankful that I had it on, that I never took it off while I was sitting in the parking lot. I’m pretty sure that’s the only reason I’m still alive right now.

I keep forgetting to practice safe sex with a criminal, but points for me for remembering to put my seatbelt on.I have the urge to laugh, but when I try, it hurts too much.

Blood rushes to my head, making me dizzy, my vision swimming in front of me. I blink, trying to focus on something, anything, through the haze of pain and confusion. I can hear Ivan, but I can’t make him out yet.

“Charlotte!” Ivan sounds more panicked than I’ve ever heard him. “Charlotte, say something,please!” The urgency in his voice, the bald fear, cuts me to the bone. I’ve never heard anyone say my name like that. Never heard the frantic pleading that’s in it now.

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