“Do I look like I’m joking?”
Bailey was already out of the car, giving the operator their location. Behind her, she heard the Honda’s engine start. She turned just in time to see Ariel slide into the driver’s seat. Their eyes met through the windshield for one brief moment.
Then Ariel drove away.
Bailey stood alone on a dark road beside a wrecked car that was filling with smoke.
The driver’s door was crushed shut. Bailey ran to the passenger side and yanked the handle, but it was locked. Smoke thickened, turning darker by the second.
She spotted a rock near the roadside, grabbed it with both hands, and smashed the passenger window. Glass exploded inward. She reached through, unlocked the door, and pulled it open.
The smell of gasoline nearly knocked her backward.
Inside, the man was huge. Even unconscious and bleeding, he looked impossibly striking. Tall, broad-shouldered, deep brown skin, sharp features, an expensive suit now ruined with blood and broken glass.
Even then, with death hanging in the air, Bailey’s exhausted mind flashed with dark humor.
Of course, she thought. The one time I meet a man this fine, he’s unconscious and we’re both about to explode.
She shook his shoulder. “Hey, can you hear me?”
Nothing.
The seatbelt was jammed from the impact. Bailey fought with the buckle while the smoke burned her eyes and lungs. Her hands slipped. She coughed, blinked through tears, and kept pulling.
Then the buckle clicked free.
Now came the hard part.
She grabbed him under the arms and pulled with everything she had. He barely moved. He had to weigh at least 230 pounds, all muscle and dead weight.
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