Page 144 of Rear View
Close.I was so close!
He swung his elbow, catching me in the jaw, and I cried out. His window hummed when he put it down. Tugging the gun free, he tossed it.
“No!” I cried, my stomach plummeting.
“Stupid little bitch,” he snarled, his nostrils flaring as his body torqued, an arm shooting out. His fist connected with my cheek.
My head snapped to the side while white spots painted my vision, and I moaned.
“What did you tell your driver, Ryah Jane?” he hissed.
Wetness trickled down my face and I swiped it with my palm. When I answered, I enunciated every syllable as I snarled, “Everything.”
A loud whooping carried through the night. Something caught in my periphery and my eyes flicked to the left.
A helicopter flew over the city, its spotlight following something. Or someone. I peered down the mountain. A spray of red and blue lights exploded onto the Hawthorne Circuit grounds. The helicopter shifted course, then aimed our way.
They’d come!
Barlowe’s eyes darted around like he looked for a solution. But he’d backed himself into a corner. Only problem was, he’d backed me in with him.
My lungs clenched as the painted lines of the road whipped past, dizzyingly fast. “Just give up, Barlowe. You’re caught. The school knows. The cops know. You’ve been had. It’s done.”
He shook his head and tsked. “When will you learn, Ryah Jane. You’re not in control here.”
My gaze landed on that helicopter again when itsspotlight fixed on us, and a message blared over a loudspeaker. “Pull the vehicle over. Stop. Pull the vehicle over.”
The smile I offered Barlowe was so acidic, it was a wonder he didn’t burn. “And neither are you.”
His brow flicked up, a sheer challenge. “Why don’t we just see about that, shall we?” He threw his phone at me. “Call your driver.”
I blinked. “What?”
He took a hairpin turn, his weight shifting as the tires screeched. “Call him. Put it on speaker.”
“Why?”
He ground his teeth, his jaw pulsing under the movement. “Because I said so, Ryah Jane.”
I didn’t know Barlowe’s game, but Iwantedto talk to Xavier. Needed to hear his voice. Taking up the device, I dialed. It rang once. Twice.
He answered and the zzt of a loud engine carried across the line. “Hello?” The word was stiff, like he was on edge and ready to break.
His voice. Just the sound of it did me in, crumbling the walls I’d tried so hard to hold in place. A sob broke from my chest. “Xavier.”
“Ryah?” he said, relief and rage and hope and a torrent of other emotions I couldn’t dwell on in those words.
“I’m here,” I murmured.
“Tell me you’re alright, darlin’.”
Another sob broke free, and I doubled forward.
He inhaled heavily. “Is Barlowe there?” he asked, his tone level.
He knew. Thank God, heknew! “Yes,” I breathed. “I’m sorry, Xavier. I shouldn’t have left. Should’ve stayed there with you. I’m so sorry.”
“Nah. No apologies, dream girl.”
