Page 116 of Theirs to Hunt
One arm slack.
Not moving.
The consent list stayed unopened.
I was in the car thirty seconds later.
No driver. No security detail.
Just me, the road, and a cold clarity I hadn’t felt in years.
I ran lights. Cut through traffic.
Owned the road. It owed me time.
No radio. No phone.
Only the sound of blood thudding in my ears.
She was supposed to be protected.
I gave her the most secure car money could buy.
And that same security meant no one could reach her when she needed it.
She will never drive herself again.
She will never be unescorted.
She would have been safe if she had a driver.
And still, some piece of shit found a way to get to her.
I should have overridden her.
I should have stopped her.
I should have.
I gripped the wheel tighter.
I don’t spiral. I don’t panic.
But when I blinked, all I could see was her mouth slightly open, head tilted at an unnatural angle, blood matting her hair.
The thought landed clean and cold.
If she dies, I don’t recover from it.
Not stronger. Not colder.
Just gone.
The hospital came into view.
Red lights flashing. Glass doors sliding open without urgency, without care.
Another ambulance turned in ahead of me.
