Page 89 of Submitting to Them
“Gas station.”
Then I see what he’s really looking at—a sedan lies on its side.Someone is running from the gas station, a phone held to their ear as they run toward the car.
My heart fucking stops in my chest.Dread fills me.A part of me knows, gut-level, that Ella’s in that wreckage.I can barely breathe and I’m not even conscious of operating my vehicle—I speed up to the curb and jump out of my car at the same time as Bash.
The sedan is on its side, the windshield broken.I peer through the cracked glass, praying that Ella is all right.The guy from the gas station is shouting into his phone, asking for emergency services.
Joel is on top of Ella.At first I think they’re both unconscious, but then I see his hands are wrapped around her throat.
Rage, bolstered by terror, causes me to act.I bellow and kick at the windshield.“Let her go!Let her the fuck go right fucking now!”
Sirens wail in the distance.Bash is at my side.The windshield breaks the rest of the way, with the laminate glass sticking together so it doesn’t shatter into dangerous shards.I pull at it, and Bash does too, not caring about getting cut by the tiny pieces of glass.I have to get to Ella.
Joel throws one of his hands up as we reach into the car to grab him.
Ella coughs, and he puts his hand back to her throat.
“You ruined my life!”he shouts.
“You ruined it on your own,” Bash says, reaching into the car again.
Bash grabs at Joel, who has to let go of Ella to try to fight him off.Joel takes a swing at Bash and clips Bash in the chin, but at the same time he screams in pain and falls back against Ella.
There isn’t enough room for me to get in there.
“Ella!”I shout.
With a shout of rage, Joel swings his arm around again—and this time, he holds a gun.He’s pointing it directly at my face.The barrel is a dull, flat black.
I don’t waste time thinking—I kick his wrist and reach for the gun at the same time.The gun goes off, the shot a resounding crack in the otherwise silent street.I wrench the weapon from Joel’s hand while Bash drags him from the car.Then I kick the weapon away, out of everyone’s reach.
“Are you hit?”I ask Bash.
“No.”
I’m not hit either.Thank fuck, the bullet went past us.
Joel screams in pain, but I don’t know why and I don’t fucking care.Ella is still lying back against the car door, her eyes closed.
Emergency vehicles are here—police cars, an ambulance, a fire truck.Bash hauls Joel all the way out of the car, wrapping one of his arms around Joel’s neck in a chokehold while Joel continues to shriek.
“Hey, what are you doing to that guy?”the gas station attendant asks in alarm.“You’re hurting him!”
“He tried to shoot us,” Bash says.
I’m barely listening.I’m shoving my torso through the broken windshield to get our girl.
Her eyelids flutter.She’s alive.Carefully, I unbuckle her and tug her free of the steering wheel.
“Baby, I’ve got you,” I whisper, gathering her in my arms.
Her face is pale and her skin is clammy, but she’s breathing.In a flurry of competent motions, EMTs are approaching from the ambulance, unfolding a stretcher as they walk.I have to give her over into their care.While they ease her onto the stretcher, I keep hold of her hand for as long as I can.I don’t want to let go, but I don’t want to interfere with her getting whatever medical help and comfort she needs.
I’m marginally aware of Joel getting strapped to another gurney.A police officer handcuffs him to it, as well.
Good.He’s not going to get away this time.My anger for him is only overshadowed by my concern for Ella.
“King,” Ella whispers.
