I’d come on too strong. The idea to get passports and flee the country had been at the forefront of my mind since we’d been in the coffee shop, but I knew Jack was a flight risk. He was the kind of guy who slept with pretty women he met at the hotel bar, not the kind of guy who committed to a long-term relationship, especially under duress. So, I’d kept it to myself. But after the night we’d spent together—sex in the kitchen, cuddling beneath blankets on the living room floor, taking down yet another hitman together—I thought maybe things had changed. Maybe his feelings had changed. Perhaps he felt the same way I did. His wide eyes and hesitation told me that was not the case.

So, I was in the middle of convincing myself I didn’t care about Jack, that everything that had happened between us in the last twenty-four hours had been because we were being hunted together and not because of any real feelings, when a car slammed into his door. The car spun three times, but somehow my eyes never left Jack. His body was limp. His head rolled back against the seat and then in a full circle as the car moved, his arms fell away from the wheel, and his knees fell apart. I knew he was unconscious before the car even stopped spinning.

And then I realized how much I cared. How much I wanted him to live. How much I wanted him to run away with me and start a new life somewhere.

The car stopped spinning, but Jack’s foot was still pressed down on the gas. Dizzy and already sore from the sudden impact, I lunged across the console and shifted Jack’s heavy leg away from the gas. Then, I yanked the emergency break and the car came to a shuddering stop moments before it would have crashed into a brick strip mall.

“Jack,” I whispered, shaking his shoulder. His head lolled from side to side, and his eyes stayed firmly closed. Thankfully, his chest was rising and falling, so I knew he was alive. Then, I realized that someone had hit us. Up until that moment, the car that had crashed into us had been an inanimate object. I hadn’t imagined the driver or wondered about their wellbeing. But then I realized the likelihood that we had been run off the road accidentally was slim to none. Whoever hit us, had done it on purpose.

I was still crouched over the console, so I lifted my head just enough to see through the back window. There was a car twenty feet behind us, the front-end smashed in and the windshield shattered, but I couldn’t see anyone in the driver seat. Then, I noticed the driver door was open, and I saw a dark figure in the corner of my vision, creeping along the building and heading for my side of the car. My heart leapt into my throat.

I spun around wildly, staying as low as I could, but quickly becoming frantic. I needed to protect myself. I needed to protect Jack.

Before the accident, I’d had a gun in my hand, but it was gone now. I checked the console and the corners of my seat, wedging my fingers in the space between my cushion and Jack’s. Finally, I spotted it in the middle of the backseat and didn’t pause to wonder how it had ended up there. I just grabbed it and then flopped across the console, my head resting on Jack’s arm.

All I could hear for a few seconds was Jack’s breathing and my own, but slowly the sound of footsteps became more and more apparent. I clutched the handle of the gun in my trembling fingers. I could do this. I’d killed more men than I could remember. And if I didn’t, whoever was moving towards us wouldn’t hesitate. He’d pull the trigger and kill us both.

The footsteps grew louder, and I took a few deep breaths, trying to calm myself as much as I could. Realistically, I had one chance. If I missed, he’d shoot me first.

I heard the crunch of glass beneath a shoe just behind the car and realized for the first time that the windshield had been blown out. I could feel shards pressing into my shoulder and the soft skin of my upper arm, but I couldn’t focus on that. The footsteps were just outside the car now. In a matter of seconds, the man would be standing outside my window, and I didn’t know what his style would be. Would he want to play with us? Torment us the way the man back at the house had? Or would he shoot us both execution style, no hesitation? I didn’t know, but I knew how I’d kill him.

My eyes were closed, but I could see him creeping around the back corner of the car, gun at the ready. I could see him trying to see through the windows, determine if anyone in the car was conscious or injured or awake. He grew more confident with every step, his shoes hitting the pavement with more force until he was standing just outside the window, looking down at the blonde-haired woman and the black-haired man slumped over in their sheets. He smiled, adjusted his finger on the gun, and prepared to lift his arm. But then, the woman moved.

I sat up as fast as I could, swung my gun arm around, and pulled the trigger. The man was still smiling as blood began to leak from the hole in his forehead, just as he began to fall.