Leaving the store with a prospect following, I pull out of the lot and head toward the club, when a weird sensation settles over me. Driving down the two-lane highway, I glance in my rearview mirror, catching the single headlight from the prospect’s bike in the dark. Looking back at the road a moment I take another quick look only to find the bikes headlight and a car’s.
As soon as I got in my car and started it, something felt off. I pulled out of the lot next to the grocery store and just knew something wasn’t right—I knew!
My blood runs cold, a chill crawling up my spine. Something’s really fucking wrong.
My eyes dart between the road in front of me to the road behind me, the set of headlights gaining. I watch in horror as the car speeds up behind the prospect and someone shoots. Jumping, I jerk on the wheel, crossing the center line when a second loud shot explodes behind me and the prospect is gone. The only thing in my review mirror now is that car.
My hands shake. Vomit crawls up my throat, my stomach knotting.
“Oh my God!”
Scrambling, I reach for my phone on the passenger seat, fumbling.
I call King.
The phone rings once before he answers. “Princess.” I’ve never been happier to hear his voice in my life.
“King? He’s right behind me!” My voice is high and shaky as panic claws at my throat, tearing apart my stomach. “They shot at the prospect…I think they killed him!”
“What?” he shouts, his voice hoarse. “Fuck!” I hear commotion in the background, shouting voices. “He wasn’t fucking in there,” he snaps. His panic makes me panic.
“Samantha, the prospect’s fine. He’s on the phone now.” He talks to someone in the background and comes back on the line. “Princess, where’s the car now?”
“He’s right behind me. Really fucking close.”
He doesn’t have to ask me who, he knows. “Head to the club.”
“Okay.” I nod. “I’m heading there, but his car’s right on my ass.” His headlights are so damn bright, I can hardly see the road ahead of me.
“Just keep drivin’,” he tells me, his voice rough, but calm. “What color is the car?”
Taking my eyes off the road, I glance in my rearview mirror quickly, bright headlights lighting up the mirror. “White. Maybe gray. I can’t see it very well.”
“Don’t worry. Watch the road.”
Looking back through the windshield, I squint through the rain pelting the windshield.
Silence fills the car and I can’t stand it. “What’d you have for lunch today?” I ask him, my voice wobbly.
He doesn’t seem confused or thrown off by my question because he answers me right away, his voice soft. “Nothin’. Savin’ my appetite.”
“For what?”
“For you.” I know his words are lies, but I appreciate them nonetheless. I know things have changed between us and aren’t the same. But right in this moment, I don’t have it in me to not believe him.
“I had a stale donut.” It was awful.
“When you get here, I’ll make you somethin’ to eat.”
“You cook?”
“Somethin’ like cookin’.”
“King—” I start to say, but he stops me, his voice solid, unbreakable.
“Don’t.” I don’t ask what or why. There’s nothing left to say.
The bar comes into view, the old sign hiding behind the twisted trees that surround the lot. “Don’t slow down. Don’t turn on your blinker. Just whip it in,” King instructs.
“Okay,” I agree, holding my breath and turning quickly, right before I pass the club. My tires slip, floating.
The car behind me misses the turn but slams on their brakes, and like the movies, they squeal and slide, brake lights lighting up the dark highway. The driver throws it into reverse.
Pulling into the empty lot, I feel sick. There’s no one here. We’re alone.
“Pull in right up front and stay in your car,” he orders.
Before I can answer, the line goes dead. “Fuck!” I cry out, putting my car in park with a shaky hand.
Twisting in my seat, I stare out the back window as the car goes into reverse and burns out, backing into the lot and flipping around quickly, gravel flying.
This guy is a fucking lunatic. A suicidal lunatic, because in the lot is King, alone, holding a gun.
There’s silence. The only sounds are the raindrops hitting the metal roof of my car.
The car just sits there, headlights shining on King, doing nothing. Time stands still.
What the fuck? What. The. Fuck?
It’s stupid and reckless, but I get out of the car.
“King! What are you doing?” I scream as he walks closer to the car, gun pointed right at the damn windshield.
He doesn’t even look at me. “Get back in the fucking car, Samantha.”
The driver’s side window rolls down and King doesn’t hesitate. He pulls the trigger, over and over. The windshield shatters and empty shells hit the gravel.
I’m stunned. Shocked. Terrified.
For long moments, nothing happens. King just stands there in the rain, gun pointed at the car.
I don’t know what to do.
“King?” I whisper, walking toward him slowly, carefully.
Behind him, I wrap my arms around his middle, my head between his shoulders. “It’s okay.”
“It’s over.”