“What the hell?” I croak as I speed up.
But he doesn’t relent. Instead, he keeps bumping into me from behind, each time making my car wobble and struggle to stay on the road.
I spot a service road up ahead. I know where it leads. With a tight turn, I can take it and lose my assailant before it’s too late.
“You prick,” I curse under my breath and turn the wheel so hard to the right, I fear it might roll the car.
The car swerves and moans, the tires screeching incessantly.
But I make it off the main road and away from the truck. Constantly checking the rearview mirror, I breathe a sigh of relief, realizing that he didn’t follow. But the fear and the horror fail to subside, no matter how many breaths I take.
I feel dizzy, so I pull over once I deem it safe enough.
“That son of a bitch,” I mumble, my lip quivering, my hands shaking as I struggle to regain control over myself.
My phone pings.
Another message from Bill Lockwood.
Have you changed your mind yet?
The way he decided to approach this makes me fear not only for my life, but for the life of my unborn child and every other person close to me. While Bill may not go after Matty, he’ll find other people I care about to hurt. Damon. Jace. Jodie. Hell, even Carter, if he applies pressure to the right point.
Bill Lockwood is still the monster I witnessed the night he helped kill my brother.
All I can do is cry as I realize that I’ll never be safe while he’s around.
I have to leave.
19
JACE
It’s been hours since I last heard from Clara.
She was supposed to text me after she finished at the bank. No word from her yet. A sense of dread begins worming its way into my mind as I check my phone again.
“Nothing,” I mutter, restless in my seat.
Before long, I find myself driving across town, leaving behind my work and tasks for the day. As the sun sets over Blackthorn Falls with its splashes of red and purple and wisps of orange clouds, I pull up outside Clara’s house. It looks quiet. Too quiet.
I don’t see her car anywhere. All of the lights are off.
I glance over at Jodie’s place. At least, she’s home. I call Clara again.
“Come on.”
Nothing but ringing until I end up in her voicemail.
Something doesn’t feel right. I have a spare key, so I go up to the door and knock. The silence I get in response only serves to tighten my stomach and further agitate my nerves. I think of Bill Lockwood, the way he is with people—either buying or scaring them off. I promised Clara she’d be safe, but deep down, I sensed her doubt.
I try calling again.
Still nothing.
The more I try, the more anxious I become, and the more real the worst-case scenario gets.
I go inside, and as soon as I look around, it is painfully clear.
