Page 7 of Love Fire

I start to pull out of the parking lot and give one good look around to see if the black escalade is still hiding somewhere. The coast is clear but I keep checking my mirrors as I drive. My father’s goons are typically pretty sloppy, if they are following me, it won’t be long before I spot them.

In fact, I only make it about halfway home before I spot them. Two cars behind me there is a black escalade. My father really needs to switch up his cars if he wants to actually follow anyone. If I can spot them, anyone can.

I flick on my right turn signal. A moment later, the black escalade does the same. I make the turn and my new stalker follows. I’m already so tired of this. Unluckily for this loser, I know these streets pretty well.

“Try to follow me now asshole,” I say to myself as I push down harder on the gas pedal. The car behind me speeds up to match.

I take a sharp turn down a side street. My stalker follows effortlessly. I take a quick left. Then another quick right. The escalade is still behind.

“Are you kidding me?” I was sure that would do the trick. Why is this guy putting in so much effort to follow me?

Unless, they are not simply following me. My heart sinks to my stomach with the realization. Maybe my father doesn’t just want me to be watched by his goons.

Is this just a way to intimidate me? Or are they waiting to hurt me? Was Alessandro’s friend actually a member of Draconis Fire? Has my father somehow already found out I was compromised? Well, let’s be honest. If my father wanted me to be hurt, he wouldn’t wait for some clear reason to do it. This could all just be because he was bored.

Regardless, I need to get away from this guy on my tail. I floor the gas again but the escalade still follows. There is no way I’ll out speed it. I’ll have to get a little fancier with my moves if I want to escape.

I take a sharp left turn, barely missing the oncoming traffic. The other car blares its horn and slams on the break. It blocks the escalade’s path for a moment, giving me some much-needed distance.

We are now in a part of the city with a lot of densely packed streets. It can easily feel like a maze if you don’t know what you’re doing. Luckily, I do and hopefully my stalker doesn’t.

Without slowing down, I take a hard left. My car begins to tilt as if it's about to flip over but I steady it and we make the turn. In my rearview mirror I spot the escalade take the turn at a much safer speed. I take sharp right.

That turn was maybe a little too sharp. My car jumps up on the sidewalk and I almost hit a building. I manage to course correct and get back on the road without slowing down.

The escalade still manages to follow me. My father must have put the fear of God into whoever is behind that wheel. To most this wouldn’t be worth the hassle.

I take turn after turn at break neck paces. I weave in and out of side and main streets. I run red lights. Still, the escalade stays in my rearview mirror.

I turn down another side street that heads towards the canal. An idea pops into my head. I think I saw this in a movie once. But, if it doesn’t work then I will be in even more trouble.

“Oh, please let this work.” I turn onto a street that runs parallel to the canal. For a moment, the escalade is out of sight. I quickly pull off the road onto a utility path that runs alongside the canal. I speed to a dark part under a bridge and slam on the breaks.

I sit in the dark for thirty minutes hearing car after car drive over the bridge, waiting for the escalade to show up. But it never does. I escaped. For now.

What did I do to piss off my father so much?

8

BRENT

Nonexistent.

That’s the word I’ve been searching for. I taste the emptiness of the syllables and decide that it's about as close as I’ll get to figuring Erin out from a distance. I spent the last week researching her. Or at least trying to.

She’s a blank slate.

Completely unidentifiable on social media, web forums, blogs, you name it. Nothing. It’s as if the only time she exists is for the hours she dedicates to the rehab. I chew on the back of my pen, trying to decide whether this is a coincidence or not. I don't have her last name, so that could be one of the reasons I keep coming up empty-handed.

I could just be overlooking something.

Or maybe there's nothing, which worries me more.

Not just anyone would go through the trouble of having themselves scrubbed off the web.

A familiar hum skitters around my senses.

Trouble.

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