Page 57 of Under Fyre

“Please, just tell me.” My voice is barely a whisper.

“We’re going somewhere safe,” he says woodenly. “Somewhere he can’t find us.”

The truck slows even more, but when I glance ahead I realize it’s because the terrain has become treacherous again. The tires thump up and down over uneven ground, Fyre having to veer around tree trunks.

Have we gone off the road?

“Gideon.” I sit up straight in my seat, grabbing hold of the armrest. “Gideon, slow down.”

“I’ll take you somewhere he can’t find you. Somewherewecan hunthim.”

The trees clear a little. I let out a slow breath when I see the trees thin out a little. I let out a slow breath when I see a distant flicker of black tarmac. I seal my lips and vow not to utter another squeak until I’m out of this car and back on solid ground. I’m not an idiot—Fyre isn’t going to tell me how many people he’s killed. And honestly, I don’t need to know.

It’s not my problem.

As soon as I’m safe, I’ll go to the police.

But I can’t hold it back. My mind is spinning with dark thoughts. I need answers. “Him?” I blurt out. “Him who?”

“Seventeen,” Fyre says, as if we’ve literally jumped back in time and it’s not weird at all that he took several minutes to reply to my question, while now ignoring another one.

Seventeen?

My stomach drops. I feel weak, giddy. About to puke. But I keep my mouth shut.

Breathe, Charlotte, breathe.

Fyre glances at me. Does a double take. Stares. “You asked how many—”

“Yes.” The word blurts out before I can stop it. “Thank you.”

“Charlotte, those men would have—”

“Fuck!” It’s a shriek, panicked and wild. Before I realize I’m moving, I’m tugging on the door handle. A sob wracks through me, tears blurring my sight. My hands are shaking so hard I can barely use them.

“It’s locked.”

“Let me out!” My yell fills the cabin as I bang on the window like a crazy person.

“Charlotte, just—”

Arrow starts barking. The noise is deafening. I scream, spin to face Fyre. He’s staring at me with wide eyes, mouth slack. “You’ll be safe with me,” he says. “I’ll protect you from him.”

“Peter’s dead!” I scream.

“Not Peter.”

I don’t know what’s more terrifying—the utter conviction in Fyre’s eyes, or the fact that somewhere, deep down, Ibelievehim.

“Then who? Who?”

Fyre’s eyes grow dark. “Red,” he murmurs. And then he turns to look at Arrow and snaps, “Quiet!”

Red? The man who murdered Fyre’s family? The man who—

My body jolts forward. The seatbelt snaps tight. My head whips toward the glass, but I’m caught inches away from it. I watch as it shatters, furious spider-webs racing to the edges.

I’m weightless, suspended. Another jolt, air forced from my lungs like a punch.

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