Page 135 of Dirty Pucker

I nod at him in thanks. I spot the exit and signal before I start to pull off.

“Mom, I’m right behind you. I’m two minutes away, max,” I say.

She lets out a breath. “I just stopped at a red light. Oh no…”

My heart rockets to my throat. “What is it?”

“H-He’s pulling up next to me in traffic.”

Panic punches through my gut. “Can you pull ahead? Can you get away from him?”

“I can’t, honey. There’s a car in front of me and a car behind me. I’m blocked in.”

I stomp on the gas pedal and fly ahead on the darkened road.

“The stoplight’s right up ahead,” Blomdahl says. “Careful, not too fast.”

I focus on the sea of brake lights in front of me.

“I’m right behind you, Mom.” I try to keep my tone calm, but I’m on the verge of shouting. I can’t help it. I’m wild with panic and worry.

Just then I spot a car that’s pulled diagonally into the stopped traffic. The driver’s side door opens and a familiar figure stumbles out.

Anger rockets through my entire body.

That’s him. That’s my dad.

In the distance, sirens blare. Behind me, I hear Xander’s calm tone as he speaks to the 911 operator.

My dad’s looking around while he yells at nothing and no one in particular. He’s wasted, drunk out of his mind.

I look over and spot my mom’s car. He stops when he zeroes in on her car. And then he heads toward her.

“I can see your car, Mom. I’m coming for you right now. Keep the doors locked and stay inside, okay?”

I throw the car in park, jump out, and sprint forward, pumping my arms and legs as hard as I can. I just finished playing my ass off and my entire body is sore. But I ignore the pain. I need to make it to my mom before my dad does.

Blood pumps in my ears as I get closer and closer. My gaze is trained on him. It’s like I have tunnel vision. I don’t see anything or anyone except him.

The second he reaches for the door handle of her car, I collide with him.

He hollers as I land on top of him. I pin him to the concrete. My lungs are on fire as I breathe hard, trying to catch my breath. His eyes are glassy and he reeks of booze.

It takes a second before his gaze focuses. And then he smirks at me.

“You stupid little shit,” he mutters. Then he laughs. “This is it. I warned you. I’ll go to the media, to all the reporters. I’ll tell them everything they wanna know. I’ll sell every story I’ve got about you. You’re fucking done.”

I grit my teeth. I don’t even care anymore. Whatever threat he wants to make good on, he’s welcome to try. All I care about is keeping him away from my mom.

He glares at me. “You were always a mama’s boy.”

My brain flashes back to when I was a little kid and I tried to pull him off my mom when he grabbed her, when he’d shove me off and cuss me out before he’d hit her.

And I’d just sit there, helpless because I was too small and too weak.

Not anymore though.

I lean up on my knees, still on top of him. And then I punch him in the gut as hard as I can.

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