Page 115 of When the Smoke Clears
My car sits half-hidden among the trees. I slide inside, the worn seat familiar against me, and turn the key. The old engine rumbles softly to life. For once, its quiet hum is a blessing. I ease down the gravel drive and turn onto the main road.
The climb toward the Wild estate is winding and treacherous, the mountain road snaking upward with hairpin turns and no guardrails. My knuckles whiten around the wheel. Fear tries to shove into the driver’s seat beside me, but I fight it back with focus.
About a mile from the house, a black car creeps closer, hugging my bumper. My pulse spikes.
It’s not the same car as before, but its behavior is wrong. Too close. Too controlled.
I tighten my grip. The road is too narrow, too dangerous to pull over. My chest constricts as the car presses closer still.
Then it slams into me.
The impact jolts me forward with bone-rattling force. A scream tears from my throat. My tires squeal against asphalt, swerving. I correct, barely.
The car falls back—only to surge again, ramming harder. My head snaps back, seatbelt biting into my shoulder.
“God, no, no—”
Another strike. My car veers. The mountain edge looms.
One final hit sends me spinning. My tires shriek. The world spins, sky and earth trading places. Branches claw, rocks shatter, glass explodes. Then—darkness.
When awareness returns, agony floods me. My ribs scream with pain as sticky blood trickles hot along my temple.
Darkness surrounds me. No, not darkness. Enclosure. I’m curled tight, air stifling, space claustrophobic. A faint rumble vibrates beneath me.
Horror grips me as I realize the truth. I’m in a trunk.
Memory crashes back of the black car. The deliberate ramming. I must’ve been dragged from the wreck, shoved into this moving coffin.
Panic claws at my chest. I thrash, fingers scraping over smooth metal walls, searching desperately for a latch. Nothing. Modern cars don’t make escaping easy. No taillights to kick free, no seams wide enough to pry open.
Hot tears blur my vision. My mind dredges up crime shows and survival tips, all of which are useless here.
This has to be Ares.
The name pounds like a drumbeat in my skull. If he has me, then Nathaniel must have ordered it. My blood chills.
But despair can’t win. Luke’s face rises in my mind—his fierce eyes, his whispered promises. I cling to him like a lifeline. I refuse to die here.
Time loses meaning until the car jolts, slowing. Gravel crunches beneath the tires. My heart sprints. He’s pulling over.
I coil tight, ready to explode upward the second that trunk opens. My weapons are pitiful—nails, fists, teeth—but they’re mine.
The car stops. A door slams. Footsteps crunch closer.
Click. The latch.
The trunk groans open, sunlight flooding in so bright it blinds me. A shadow eclipses it, looming.
My breath locks. My muscles tense. I crack my eyes open…and my lungs seize in terror.
CHAPTER 28
ISLA
My voice scrapes out as nothing more than a whisper, trembling and raw. “Why?”
The bravado I had only seconds ago, when I thought I could spring from the trunk like some heroine in a crime drama, vanishes the moment I meet Nathaniel’s eyes. His gaze is depthless and cold, his shadow stretching over me like a grave marker.
