Ezra
“Ezra, gun, now!”
I lean over and take the gun out from the glovebox and hand it to him. Damien glances back through the rearview mirror and back at the road again. “Damien?” I warily ask as he cocks his gun.
“Stay low, Ezra.” I nod and sink lower in my seat as he races down the highway swerving in and out of traffic. I look at the side mirror and see the black sedan whizzing through cars not far behind. My palms get all sweaty, and my heart begins to race the faster Damien drives. Though I trust his driving, I still get nervous when he’s doing a hundred miles per hour on a busy highway.
I observe Damien, brows fused in concentration, his stone-grey eyes flickering back and forth from the mirror to the road. You wouldn’t think there was a car chasing us down the highway; no, he was cool, calm, and collected. Damien takes the slip road. I frown and look back at the sedan; he was still in pursuit, getting closer.
“Black Mountain.” He was leading him out of the public eye, someplace quieter. I shriek when a round of gunshots echoes in the air and shatters the back window.
“Are you hit?” Damien looks at me, scowling. I shake my head and scream when more bullets ricochet off the car. “Stay down and don’t move until I say so,” Damien instructs as we speed down a quiet road. I look back and see a motorbike had joined the sedan.
“Damien..”
“Down Ezra.”
I sink down in my seat while Damien rolls down his window when he sees the motorbike approaching, a gun in his hand, pointing at us. Damien hits the brakes, and the bike zooms past us; he points his gun and shoots the driver on the motorbike twice in the back and once in the tire.
The motorbike loses control, and as we drive by, it hits the side of Damien’s car. “Oh my god…” I watch, utterly stupified as the driver flies off the roof and hits the floor at the rear-end of the vehicle.
The Sedan was still in pursuit and catching up. Damien does a full lock with the wheel, the tires screech, and the car does a one-eighty spin. Damien shifts in reverse, and we start speeding backward, the Sedan now in front of us. I scream as the car spins, and my head spins with it; my stomach flips, and I felt sick. I cradle my head in my hands when Damien fires a couple of rounds, and before I could digest the spin before we were spinning again. The sedan loses control and crashes into a nearby tree.
I peek up through my fingers when the car suddenly screeches to a stop abruptly. “Stay put,” Damien orders, and he’s out of the vehicle. I look at the side mirror and watch as Damien walks over to the Sedan, raises his gun, and fires three shots at the driver.
The door opens, Damien gets in, and we drive off, thundering down the empty road. I sit up and look back at the car and then back at him, stunned. “Are you okay?” Damien queries, glancing at me casually like none of that just even happened.
“I…uh…I’m…I’m not sure,” I stammer pathetically, and he frowns deeply, looking me over before glancing at the road again.
“Ezra, what do you mean you’re not sure? Are you hurt?” I shake my head and rub my neck.
“I feel sick. I think I’m going to throw up.” Damien sighs, seemingly relieved, and nods. The car pulls over, and he gets out of the car. I was shaking uncontrollably. I watch as he walks around the car and opens my door, holding his hand out to me.
“Come here.” I unbuckle my seatbelt and take his offered hand; he pulls me out of the car and brushes my hair out of my face and looks over my face. “It’s the adrenaline. Just breathe. You’re okay.” The fear consumed me, and I shake my head.
I wasn’t breathing. I didn’t even realize I was crying until he wipes the tears from my face. “Ezra, breathe.” I don’t know what came over me. It must have been a mixture of the adrenaline and sheer panic or just the thought of us getting killed.
I push myself on my toes, wrap my arms around his neck, and hug him. Damien stiffens for a moment and doesn’t move, but eventually, I feel one arm wrap around my waist, and his other hand cradles the back of my head, pulling me closer against him. I close my eyes and bury my face into the crook of his neck, inhaling his scent. The smell of his cologne mixed with the distinctive smell of his leather jacket was somewhat comforting to me. In his arms, nothing could hurt me.
“I thought we were going to be killed,” My voice quivers with trepidation as I speak. I could have stayed in Damien’s arms forever, the way he held me tightly against him.
I imagined for just a fraction of a second that he cared about me, just a little. We pull apart slowly but not completely letting go of each other. My arms were still around his neck, and his hand that was on my head trailed down to the nape of my neck, his thumb stroking my jaw gently.
Our eyes staring into one another, neither breaking contact. He held nothing in his gaze, or maybe he just hid it well. I couldn’t tell you. I need to stop looking for the good in him, searching for meaning behind his actions. Damien’s gaze flitter to my lips as we inch closer, and I suddenly forget how to breathe all over again. My eyes close on instinct when I feel his warm breath against my lips, and just before they touch, the sound of sirens approaching causes us to jerk apart.
Damien pulls away first and clears his throat. “We need to move.” he looks everywhere but at me, and I nod.
“Okay.” He nods curtly and opens the door for me to get in, and I do. I watch as he closes it, walks around the car to the driver’s side, and gets in. We don’t say another word the rest of the drive. Damien did make a phone call to someone named James about the hitman that was tailing us and for him to ‘take care of it.’ I assume it’s the after-kill clean-up. That’s how he manages to stay off the radar. They wipe out any incriminating evidence.
* * *
An hour later,I stood outside what was once my home. Security guards at the gate recognize me and allow us in through the main gates of the mansion.
Yes, we live— or rather, I lived in a luxury mansion in Manhattan. “I can’t bring myself to go in,” I tell Damien as I stood there staring at the house.
“We can turn around and go back if you don’t want to—”
“Ezra!” My mother’s shrill scream made me jump out of my skin. I turn and look at her standing in the doorway, her soft brown orbs glistening with tears. Oh, God. I really missed her.