The knife tip buries into the wall next to my head as I rush around the corner. I fly down the steps; no time to check which of my tactical knives he threw at me. I jump the last few steps then throw the door open. A shiver runs through me as the frigid night air wraps around me like a cold, wet towel.
I run down the street. I know he’s coming even if I can’t hear his footsteps behind me. I can’t risk precious seconds to peek over my shoulder for his position. I keep my eyes ahead, searching for a sign of anyone home in the houses on the street.
Every window is dark.
The rumble of a car engine comes from behind and I drift to the side of the road. A white vehicle, some kind of cross between an SUV and mini-van, speeds ahead; then the rear tires lock and slide to a stop, the car now broadside.
I halt in my tracks. The driver is in full view, staring at me through the open passenger window.
I backtrack in stutter steps.
“You can’t escape me Aryn.” His dark eyes narrow and his right arm moves as if he is changing gears.
The van makes a grinding noise like old gears straining to work. Instead of reversing, it tips to the passenger side, rolling towards me.
What the fuck?
My feet refuse to move. The roof of the car is inches from me, ready to take me down and press me under its weight.
Dammit, Aryn! MOVE!
I dart to the front of the vehicle, safe from its current path, and lock eyes with him. The man who claimed to love me and now, will do anything it takes to kill me.
Upside down, he points his SIG Sauer P229 at me. My heart leaps into my throat and I take off to my right. A pop sounds out followed by the breaking of glass. Pain lances through my hip, rendering it useless. I start the descent to meet the asphalt below.
I gave the fucker that fucking gun.
©Debi Smith, 2014