Page 60 of Snowed In

Shoving down my staticky nerves and memories, I hustle up to the driver’s-side door and peer in. It’s dark, but I can just make outthe shape of a person slumped over the steering wheel, the deflated airbag a bright beacon.

I knock on the glass, not wanting to scare the person by just opening the door. “Hello? Can you hear me?” I shout, curling my hand into a fist and banging it on the window when there’s no response.

There’s no movement, and worry burns through me, quickening my actions. I grab the handle and tug, but the doors are still locked. Jaw clenched, I bang on the glass once more.

Nothing.

“Fuck.” I grab my crowbar and hurry around the vehicle.

I know the damage to the vehicle isn’t bad enough for the person inside to be severely injured. More likely than not, the impact from the airbag knocked them out. Maybe they have a mild concussion.

But I can’t quit seeing my parents in their beat-to-shit Mustang. Blood is everywhere. Mom’s beautiful blue eyes staring right at me, lifeless.

There’s a slight tremble in my fingers, but I ignore it, raising the crowbar and striking the corner of the window—where it will be weakest—with the bent claw end. It punctures a hole easily, shattering the glass.

I use the metal bar to clear away the rest of the glass, then reach inside and hit the Unlock button. Jogging around the back, I toss the tool in the direction of my sled and grab the driver’s-side door’s handle.

It takes all of my strength to heave it open. The metal groans plaintively where the front of the car has smashed backward into the hinge.

I tear off one of my gloves and reach in, laying my fingers against the warm neck of the young man inside. He’s still slumped over, completely unaware of me smashing into his car, but there’s a strong and steady pulse.

“Hey, are you okay?” I give one slender shoulder a shake, jostlinghim so he slumps a little toward the center console, and I get a good look at his face.

There’s a bruise forming above one of his eyes, and there’s some blood under his nose, but it doesn’t look broken or swollen. I try not to notice how attractive he is as I pull out my knife and cut through his seat belt, then ease him back away from the steering wheel.

I’m not very successful. Even disheveled and a little battered, my stomach flips at his gorgeous bone structure and lips. He’s East Asian, I think, or at least partly. He has dark brows, a pointed chin, and floppy hair.

And he’s maybe mid-twenties.

Since my mid-twenties were over a decade ago, I shove my attraction down and focus on helping him. While the curve of his lips might be oddly seductive, the bluish tint to them isn’t.

I can’t leave him here, even if his car is drivable. And that’s a big if.

Making a decision, I reach over him and find the keys, shutting off the engine.

Then I try to figure out how to get an unconscious man back to my house on a snowmobile.

Chapter Three

West

It takes a while for me to fully wake up, sleep dragging at my mind, making it hard for my brain to focus. My body’s aching in a way I’m not familiar with, the remnants of a headache lingering, but otherwise, I feel… okay? Mostly anyway.

I’m lying on something soft and warm, but I can’t place what it is. I know it isn’tmybed. Was I at my parents’ for some?—

Oh, that’s right. I was on my way to the Aiguille Resort because Daryn is an asshole.

Did I make it?

My lids too heavy to open at first, I try to remember what happened, wondering if I somehow blacked out after reaching the resort and don’t have any recollection of checking in.

The more I wake, the more I start to piece together my fragmented memories though, until it all floods back in a quick rush, spiking my heart rate.

I crashed.

Shit.

I force my eyes open. I’m definitely not in my car anymore, butI’m not sure if that’s good or bad. Not yet. Maybe some serial killer found me and brought me back to his lair.

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