Page 164 of Wicked Proposal
He hasn’t replied to any of your texts.That simple truth burns on my fingertips.What does that tell you? That he’s been busy, or that he doesn’t want to get involved with you?
I have no clue what it tells me. Just that this is how Yulian has always been with me: warm one second, cold the next.
Does it drive me crazy?Yes.Capital Y, cherry on top.
But he was always there when I needed him. I can’t just forget that.
Finally, my fingers start typing. I channel all my courage into that simple gesture, try to find the words to start?—
“Drive.”
—and then feel a blade against my throat.
51
MIA
My first thought is,Fuck.
My second thought is actually alsoFuck.
But my third is,Shit. That’s a surgical blade.
My breaths turn shallow. It’s only thanks to years of ER work that I manage to fight down the panic. One wrong move, and I’m as good as dead.
Slowly, I turn my gaze up to the rearview mirror. I can’t see the full face of my attacker clearly from here, only the half that’s not hidden by the headrest of my seat.
“Who are you?”
My attacker doesn’t answer. “I said drive.”
It’s a woman. That surprises me more than the fact I’m being attacked. After all, would I really put it past Brad to corner me in my car with a sharp object and force me to bend to his will?
But this isn’t Brad. And he must have really fucked me up, because just knowing that brings me a short burst of relief.
Then I remember the blade against my throat.
“Okay,” I whisper. “You don’t have to hurt me. I’ll take you wherever you need to go.”
Something flickers in her eyes. There’s a haziness there, like she’s struggling to stay awake. Her hand isn’t the steadiest I’ve ever seen, either, which worries me more than anything else.
She’s sick,I realize.Drugged. An addict, maybe.
But then why isn’t she asking for money?
I turn my key into the ignition. Rhonda the Honda splutters to life, making the blade wobble dangerously in the air, far too close for comfort to my jugular.
“My wallet’s in my purse,” I tell her. “You can take it.”
“I don’t need your wallet.” Her ferocity feels more like that of a cornered prey than a predator’s. It strikes me as odd, but I can’t afford to think too long. “I just need you to drive.”
“Okay. Where to?”
“Anywhere.”
Odd answer. Very, very odd answer.
“Alright,” I whisper, trying to keep my voice calm. “I’ll drive. Just put the blade away.”
