Chapter 103

Chapter 103
Neema shook her head like that would somehow change what she was seeing. It didn’t. Jerome was the driver in the truck behind the cab.

His face was gaunt, his eyes wild, and even from the distance she could see they were rimmed red, teeth bared in a snarl like a wild animal. The truck jerked forward at that very moment, closing the distance between them fast.

“No,” Neema whispered, the word tearing out of her throat.

The cab driver swore loudly, glancing in the rearview mirror. “What is that idiot doing? He almost rear-ended us!”

Then Neema felt the momentum of the cab slow and angle to the side as though the driver intended to stop on the side of the road. 

“No!” Neema shouted, panic flooding her veins. “Don’t stop. Please. Speed up!” She slapped the back of the driver’s seat as though that would somehow get the message across better.

“What?” the driver snapped, confused but still not doing what she said.

“Just go!” she screamed, her hands clawing at the seatbelt now. “Please!”

The driver’s foot moved back toward the gas, but it was too late. Jerome’s truck roared behind them, surging forward like a predator that had scented blood. It sped up and pulled up alongside them. Neema watched in horror as Jerome’s hands turned the steering wheel, and a second later, metal screamed as the truck scraped against the cab. 

A scream tore out of Neema’s throat. The driver cursed. The truck was so close that Neema saw Jerome’s face clearly now, twisted with fury, mouth moving as if he was shouting words she couldn’t hear above the roar of engines, metal scraping against metal, and her blood pounding in her ears.

Then he turned the wheel again, first away and then toward them. The impact came with brutal force, unforgiving. It was too much for the cab to handle. Suddenly, metal folded. Glass exploded.

The cab spun violently, tires leaving the road as gravity took over. Neema screamed as the world tilted, her body slamming hard against the door as the car plunged into the drainage ditch.

The crash was deafening, and for a terrifying moment, everything went dark.

Neema wasn’t sure how long she’d been out. Pain dragged her back to consciousness. It pulsed through her shoulder, her ribs, her head. Her ears rang so loudly that it felt like the world was underwater. Neema coughed, choking on dust and the sharp, bitter taste of blood. Fear gripped her in its clutches and refused to let go.

After a beat, though, Neema tried to take a deep breath and stay calm. Breathing hurt, but she managed to starve off the panic, and then she looked around and tried to assess the situation. Oh, God. It didn’t look good.

The cab lay on its side, the roof crushed inward at an angle, the door she’d been thrown against now above her, facing the open sky. Rainwater dripped through shattered glass, splashing her face. Neema realized the only thing keeping her in place was the seatbelt that bit painfully into her chest.

Still trying not to panic, she looked to the front. The driver was slumped in his seat, unmoving.

“Sir?” she whimpered. Neema tried to stretch out a hand and shake his shoulder. “Please… Wake up.”

There was no response.

“Help,” she croaked, her voice still nothing more than a terrified whisper. Desperation to get out of there crawled up her spine, cold and slick.

Then she heard a vehicle approaching outside on the tarred road. It stopped, and then a car door slammed. Neema froze. Someone was coming. Jerome.

Her heart pounded so hard it hurt as she stayed still, every instinct screaming at her to be quiet. Footsteps drew closer, then the cab groaned and shook as though someone was climbing. Roxie realized she was right when the door above her creaked and more raindrops fell on her. Dread wrapped itself around her like her personal blanket seconds before Jerome’s face appeared above her. 

Neema took him in. He was crouched on the overturned car like a mad thing, rain streaking down his hollow cheeks, eyes bloodshot and shaking. In his hand was a gun.

Her eyes fixed on the black gun, and a sob tore out of her throat. “Jerome, please,” she begged, tears streaming sideways across her face. “Please don’t do this.”

Jerome snarled. “You ruined my life,” he hissed, voice trembling. “Everything. My job. My reputation. My future.”

“I didn’t.” She choked on a sob. “You did this to yourself.”

The look he gave her told Neema to choose her words carefully. “You went after my boss and wrapped him around your little finger before you convinced him to fire me!”

“That’s not true,” she cried. “I didn’t tell Quinton to do anything.”

It was clear Jerome didn’t buy her answer. He raised the gun. “Lies! You think I’m a fool? I’m going to kill for what you did.”

Neema squeezed her eyes shut, a scream tearing out of her as a sharp crack split the air.

The sound echoed, loud and final.