Page 173 of Runaway Hearts: Seduced by Danger

My hands shake as I unfold a scrap of paper with a license plate number scrawled on it. It’s our only lead, our last chance to escape and start a new life. But doubt creeps into my mind as I look at the plates on the surrounding cars. Did the clerk tip off our pursuers? Is this all just a trap?

My blood is roiling at full speed.

Crouching low, I examine each license plate carefully, hoping one will match the number on the paper. As I work through each car, determination burns in my chest. I’m not about to give up. Not now, so close to freedom.

Vic, you should have given me more information. My thoughts are bitter, but there’s no time to dwell on them now.

The sun sets, casting a golden glow over everything around me.

“Goodnight, you bastard,” I mutter, adrenaline rushing through my body. Exhaustion threatens to overtake me, but I shake it off. There’s no time for sleep yet. I close my eyelids for a few seconds, trying to regaincomposure. A new life awaits us. A fresh start, far from this chaos and danger.

I take a deep breath and force myself to focus on the end goal—a hotel room and a new identity.

A new life.

I cling to it in a mental litany, studying the surrounding vehicles. I’m not in my element. In movies, it’s fun. In real life, it’s nerve-wracking. My newfound determination to live burns fiercely within me, propelling me forward with an unshakeable drive. I will do whatever it takes to make it happen.

Minutes tick by, but finally, I spot our target. My entire body buzzes with excitement, and I must physically restrain myself from jumping with joy at my discovery. A light gray American sedan with the correct plate number—just as the clerk had told me. Yet a sinister doubt lingers in the back of my mind. Would Vic really choose an American car? He despises them.

Perhaps the clerk had given me the wrong information?

A sudden noise behind me startles me into action, causing me to drop to the ground and hide among a pile of tires. I’m playing a game of whack-a-mole. I watch intently from my hidden vantage point as a man approaches and inspects my car. With bated breath, I listen as he speaks into his wrist, just like a secret agent would. The soundtrack ofMission: Impossibleblares in my ears, adding to the moment’s thrill.

You can’t see me!

But how can I locate the car without drawing attention?

A hunch leads me back to the gray sedan, and I maneuver underneath it with difficulty due to my curves. As I inspect the car’s underside, I let out a small sigh of triumph; there’s a keychain attached with adhesive tape bearing the phrase “Good job.” A wide grin spreadsacross my face as I see multiple keys dangling from it, but only one with standard unlock buttons, the key to Vic’s car.

Super-agent Victor Salem. I squeeze the tequila-bottle-shaped keychain, stuff it into my cleavage, and crawl out from under the car.

In the distance, a commotion catches my attention. It sounds like a fight.

Kai may be armed, but so are they. Without thinking, I press the door lock button on the car remote.

Beep, beep.

The sound comes from a car a little farther away. I stand on my tiptoe to spot it and stumble upon a figure a few rows over, their gaze meeting mine with an intense stare. Our eyes lock in a silent standoff.

Then, I sprint in the car’s direction. I must get there before he does. The guy jumps around like a ninja.

My feet pound against the pavement as I sprint with all my might, with the thumping beat of “Turn Down for What?” playing on repeat in my head at a mind-numbing volume. But the notes invigorate me, and I now run like a triathlon athlete. Right now, adrenaline is my best friend. Sorry, Arietta.

As we reach the car simultaneously, a cloud of dust surrounds us. We size each other up, our minds racing with calculations and strategies.

Is he armed?

My analysis takes only seconds before I make a quick decision. With one swift motion, I kick him in the groin and sprint toward the driver’s seat.

I fumble with the keys, my fingers trembling as I try to insert them into the ignition. The man is still trying to open the door behind me, his grunts of pain echoing through the air. Finally, I manage to start the engine and let out a wild scream of triumph along with a giggle.But my elation is short-lived as I see him approaching with an iron bar in hand.

My eyes widen when the window is impacted but doesn’t break.

A spectacle of dirt flies behind me as I crush the accelerator, shoving the man onto the ground. I roll over him, and a twisted smile creeps onto my face as I revel in the satisfying, crunching sound of his body breaking beneath the wheels. In this game of survival, I’m the victor.

Where’s Kai?

“Blood drops on windows, and enemies on sight. Bright ocean eyes that dance with the night,” I sing as I drive like a madwoman through the tight alleys, searching for Kai.

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