Page 192 of Teacher's Pet

But they’re mine.

"I don’t want my life to end before it’s even begun," I hiss, my gaze locking onto the road ahead, already slick with ice, already a death trap waiting to be triggered.

Snow falls harder now, thickening into an unforgiving storm. The party is surely inside by now, warm and untouched by the nightmare unfolding here.

I hope my father isn’t feeling ill.

I hope my mother kept those pictures, capturing moments she didn't know were our last.

I hope-

"You don’t get a choice in what happens to you, Ana," Jake mutters, his voice disturbingly even, like he’s discussing something as trivial as the weather. His grip on the wheel is firm, confident, like a man in control of fate itself. "For what it’s worth, I’ll make your death smooth… painless. Whatever Cole and Walker decide to do to you after you’re gone, well-" He exhales, as if he’s already bored with the conversation. "You won’t feel a thing."

My stomach lurches.

This is bad. This is so fucking bad.

I squeeze my eyes shut for a fraction of a second, but it’s enough for the memories to rush in. My father’s arms wrapping around me, warm and strong, the scent of his cologne grounding me in safety. My mother’s laughter, the way she’d insist on just one more picture, even after a hundred had been taken.

Noah.

His hands on my skin, his lips against mine. The way he looks at me, like I’m something worth fighting for.

But I won’t get any of that, will I?

I won’t get-

A rustling sound breaks through my spiraling thoughts.

Jake snarls. "What the fuck?"

His hand jerks to his coat pocket. His brows furrow in confusion before his eyes go wide, wilder and more frantic than I've seen.

"What the fuck is this?"

He rips out my phone, his face twisting in disbelief.

His gun falters, just for a moment.

And in that moment, everything in my mind goes silent.

No more thinking. No more waiting.

No more fear.

"You planted this-"

No hesitation.

No mercy.

"Go to hell," I hiss.

With every ounce of strength I have left, I lunge forward, wrenching the wheel toward me. Hard.

Jake’s instincts kick in, his foot slams down on the brake, the car jerking violently. His gun flies from his grip, disappearing somewhere on the floorboard.

The tires skid, too much ice, no traction.

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