Page 6 of Charmingly Obsessed
And then I make a fatal mistake. I look back one last time.
My blood turns to ice.
Aisana hasn’t gone back inside. She’s standing near the entrance, chattering away to Mykola Frez. And as I watch, frozen in horror, she turns, points directly at me, and gestures animatedly.
Oh, God. No.
She’s telling him I just confirmed I’m leaving for good. She’s telling him I lied straight to his face.
Yellow.A taxi. Finally. It’s crawling toward the pick-up zone, its light a beacon of salvation. I abandon all pretense of composure and lunge into its path, waving frantically.
The taxi slows. The exact same moment, Frezbolts.
He shoves past a startled Aisana and breaks into a dead run, his focus narrowed entirely on me.
“Go! Please, just drive!” I gasp, yanking the rear door open and scrambling inside. I slam it shut just as he clears the entrance pillars, his long legs eating up the distance between us.
The driver, an older man with weary eyes, gives me a quick look in the rearview mirror. His eyes widen as he sees the man charging across the garage like a heat-seeking missile.
“You got some psycho bothering you, miss?” he barks, throwing the car into gear.
Tires squeal on the smooth concrete, but a slow-moving sedan blocks our escape route. It’s only a second’s delay. It’s all he needs.
THUMP-THUMP-THUMP!
He pounds on the driver’s side window, his fist a blur of motion. We both jump.
“Get lost, buddy!” the driver yells through the glass, trying to maneuver around the other car.
Frez ignores him. He yanks furiously at my locked door handle, then ducks down, pressing his face against my window. His wild blue eyes lock onto mine, and I see it all there—the dawning, furious realization that I was running. That I had lied.
“Diana!” His voice is a muffled roar through the glass. “Stop the car! Get out!”
The driver floors it. The taxi lurches forward, and Frez lunges with it, his fingers scrabbling for the door handle.
“Hold on!” the driver growls.
And then Frez does something utterly insane.
I let out a strangled cry as he throws himself onto the hood of the moving taxi. His palm slaps against the windshield right in front of me, the impact shockingly loud. His face is inches from mine, distorted by the glass, his eyes blazing with a desperate, terrifying fury.
“Stop! He’ll be killed!” I scream, torn between terror of him and a sudden, sickening terrorforhim. “You have to stop the car!”
“He’ll let go! Crazy bastard will let go!”
The taxi swings sharply around a concrete pillar, and just like that, he’s gone. Vanished from the windshield.
My heart stops. Did he fall? Did we run over him? I twist in my seat, a scream building in my throat.
But as we burst from the garage onto the main street, I see him. He’s standing beside a sleek, black monster of SUV, yanking the driver’s side door open.
The taxi driver is still muttering curses as he accelerates into traffic.
I risk one last look in the side mirror.
The SUV’s headlights flare to life. With a squeal of tires that protests the brutal acceleration, it pulls out into traffic, swerving aggressively.
It’s coming after us.
