Page 40 of Unhinged
The driver doesn’t move.
The passenger window glides down, and that’s when I seehim.
Earl.
He’s leaning back in the passenger seat, one arm draped lazily out the window like he hasn’t got a care in the world. Thatfamiliar sneer stretches across his face, all teeth and malice. He lifts his hand in a slow, mocking wave.
My pulse slams against my ribs.
“Shit,” I whisper.
I slam my foot on the gas, tires shrieking as we lurch forward. The car jolts to the side before I wrestle it straight, tires squealing.
In the mirror, the Yukon jerks into motion, turning left to follow.
“Who is that guy, Mom?” Judge’s voice wobbles.
“No one to worry about, baby,” I lie, forcing myself to stay calm. “Just stay down, okay?”
“They’re right behind us!” he shouts.
“It’s okay, Judge.” My breath comes in sharp bursts, my vision narrowing to the stretch of road ahead. “We’re gonna be okay.”
The Yukon gains on us, its wide chrome grille growing larger in the mirror. I whip the car down a narrow side street, tires skidding as I nearly clip a mailbox. The SUV follows, its tires shrieking against the asphalt.
“Shit,” I hiss.
I push the gas pedal harder, my car trembling as it fights for more speed. My arms ache from clutching the wheel. My eyes flicker from the road to the mirror—to the vehicle chasing us down.
A deafeningthudrattles the car as the Yukon’s front bumper slams into the back of mine.
“Mom!” Judge cries.
“I’m okay! We’re okay!” I shout, but my heart is clawing at my ribs.
I swerve left, tires screeching. Another hit. The car jolts hard enough to send my bag flying from the seat to the floor.
“Hold on, baby!”
I cut the wheel hard right, trying to shake him. The Yukon mirrors every move like a shadow.
Another slam. The back tires fishtail, my car veering too close to the edge of the road. I grip the wheel tighter, desperate to stay steady.
But the next hit is harder. The wheel jerks violently from my hands, and the car spins. My scream tears out of me as we hurtle off the road, tires shrieking against the asphalt.
I see the fence post a split second before we hit it.
The impact punches through me. My head snaps forward, slamming into the steering wheel. Pain explodes across my forehead, hot and blinding. Blood rushes down my face, warm and sticky, filling my vision with streaks of red.
“Judge?” I croak.
“I’m okay,” he whimpers. “I’m okay, Mom.”
Relief and terror collide inside me. I can’t let this end here.
“Stay here,” I whisper, fumbling blindly for the glove box. My fingers find cold metal—my handgun. I wrap my fingers around it and stumble out of the car, my knees nearly buckling beneath me.
The Yukon screeches to a stop behind us. The driver’s door swings open, and a man—someone I don’t recognize—throws himself behind it for cover. His gun appears a second later, the barrel flashing as he fires off a shot.
