Page 105 of Play Dirty (Brooklyn Dawn 1)

Why was I sluggish now? Why couldn’t I make the Jeep just work?

The more I struggled, the less my vehicle seemed to respond. Flashes of that night—the night I’d almost lost everything—juxtaposed with my current reality. Every blink seemed to toss me back and forth from the here and now back into the past.

Each trip back to the present made me dizzier. I clung to the wheel, my palms slick with sweat, burning from friction, and I fought to keep my gaze on the rain-slicked pavement in front of me. The darkness was so deep I could barely make out the curves of the road. I’d gone too fucking far and now all these twists and turns were going to end me.

Something black and large in the road ahead of me made me stomp on the brakes. The Jeep fishtailed, spinning out endlessly. I tried to keep the tires from losing traction, but it was useless. The dropoff on the side of the street came at me with frightening speed.

This time, I didn’t shout. There was no one to warn. I could only watch, eyes wide open, as the death I’d escaped once circled around again.

The squealing sound of the brakes and an endless series of thuds reverberated in my head. They were accompanied by jolt after jolt. My body braced as I clenched the wheel.

Then there was only silence except for my heavy, ragged breaths.

In the end, my eyes had closed anyway. Turns out I couldn’t face my non-death head on.

I wasn’t dead. Not even close. I was, however, tilted into a ditch.

I’d fallen forward from my descent off the side of the road and bumped my head. Not seriously, I didn’t think, but there was a small bump under my fingers. No blood. At least externally.

Fuck.

I leaned back in my seat and peered through the windshield. The hood was bent up. Crushed into the wall of dirt on the other side of the ditch. It was more like a damn pit.

My head buzzed as I fumbled to unclick my seatbelt. I shifted to try to open my door and discovered it was stuck. Lovely.

A quick search of the disordered contents of my car didn’t immediately reveal my phone. My glove box had popped open, and paperwork and pens and other sundry items spilled over the seat and floor. I leaned over, bracing my hand on the passenger seat, and prayed I wouldn’t pass out as sweat beaded on my forehead and dripped down my back. I needed my damn cell.

Finding it didn’t help my predicament. No bars. Nearly out of battery juice too.

I’d never not put it in the charger when I got in my vehicle again. Assuming it could be repaired from this fucking mess.

First, I had to get out of here.

With my last bit of battery, I tried calling my on-call towing service. No service. Perfect.

I tucked the phone in my jacket pocket and tried the door. I put my shoulder into it, but the thing wouldn’t budge. I tried again and again, finally resting my clammy forehead against the window while I caught my breath.

“Kyle…get Kyle…help him.” Each word was a gasp.

Pain screamed through me. Everything aching at once. Blood dripped in my eyes. I could smell it. Taste it. The tang of it seared the back of my throat.

“Kyle.” It seemed to be all I could say.

The distant sound of moaning made me try to turn my head, but my neck wouldn’t move. Thick liquid smeared over my eyes and I couldn’t blink it away.

All my senses were being cut off. Sight, hearing, touch. The dull beats of my heart echoed in my head, blocking out most of the rest of the sounds. And I couldn’t lift my arms. It was as if I was strapped down. Tied in place.

The low feminine voice caused a jolt. I could still hear.

For now.

“Shh, sir, it’s for your own good. You’ll be just fine.”

“Kyle?”

No response.

I blinked and this time, it helped me to be able to see. I swiped at the sweat streaking down the side of my face and yanked on the door handle one more time. My hand was damp and I couldn’t get a firm grip. I tried again and again, my hand cramping as I pushed against the door.

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