Chapter 104

Chapter 104
For a heartbeat, Neema waited for the pain that would rip the breath out of her lungs. She waited for the darkness to creep in from the edges of her vision until all she saw was the dark abyss that would swallow her whole, and she would be no more. 

Which was kind of ridiculous since her eyes were squeezed shut and all she saw was the darkness behind her eyelids. 

Distantly, Neema was aware of the great sorrow that punched her chest when she realized she would never see her parents and Samantha ever again. She wouldn’t get the chance to speak to Quinton and work things out. The devastation her loved ones would feel when they learned of her death. Would Jerome even be caught, or would he go back into hiding,  living the rest of his life looking over his shoulder?.

Anger washed over her at the injustice of that, and for some reason, it made Neema realize that she wasn’t in pain and more than a handful of seconds had ticked by since the awful sound of a gun going off.

Cautiously, she opened her eyes. Neema blinked at the still-open doorway that no longer had Jerome. 

Then she heard it, the sounds of someone grunting and cursing outside the car. What had happened? For just a second, Neema contemplated just staying put and not checking. She quickly dismissed the idea. In the back seat of the cab, she was a sitting duck. Shooting her would be the equivalent of shooting fish in a barrel. Neema had nowhere to hide. 

So instead, Neema swallowed her fear down and groaned as she shifted her body, pain flaring through her ribs and shoulder on the side pressed to the door underneath her. 

The cab lay on its side like a fallen animal, one door crushed against the ground and the other hanging above her, wide open to the gray sky. More rainwater dripped inside through the opening, cold drops splashing her face and neck.

Fumbling with the seatbelt, Neema whispered a silent prayer that she could make it out. Her fingers shook so hard, the simple task seemed almost impossible. When it finally released, her body dropped a few inches, and she cried out, catching herself awkwardly with one hand. The movement sent sparks of pain through her ankle, but she bit it back and forced herself to breathe through the pain.

After another handful of seconds, Neema thought she could move again without passing out from the pain. Slowly, carefully, she twisted her body, using the seats and doorframe to pull herself upward. Every scrape of fabric against metal sounded too loud in her ears. Glass crunched under her palms and shoes, sharp and unforgiving. Her arms trembled as she dragged herself toward the open door facing the sky. Lucky for her, the cab wasn’t a large vehicle so once she was on her feet, her head reached the opening. 

She still had to grab the edges of the door and heave her body up, though, a move that tore a silent scream from her throat.

For a second, she just hung there, half in and half out, chest heaving, the world spinning. Then she pushed with her feet, because sitting there and crying about the pain wasn’t an option if she wanted to survive this.

Neema hauled herself out of the cab and onto its side, knees scraping against the dented metal. She collapsed there for a moment, gasping, rain mixing with tears and blood on her face. The air smelled like fuel and burnt rubber, and distant sirens wailed closer with every heartbeat. Oh, thank God.

She was shaking, hurting, terrified, but she was out. 

A groaned curse had Neema’s head snapping to the side, her heart galloping as she remembered that Jerome was still out there with a gun. Except, she shouldn’t have worried. 

A few feet away from the overturned cab on the tarred road was Jerome. He lay on his back on the ground, clutching his shoulder, blood pouring between his fingers. Only then did Neema realize that the gunshot she’d heard had been Jerome getting shot.

That probably had something to do with the man who stood over Jerome. Neema barely caught the gasp threatening to escape her throat when she realized she recognized the man instantly.

It was the man from the lake. The same man she’d seen outside her café. Her chest tightened with terror in an instant. It didn’t help that the man held a gun, answering the question of who had shot Jerome. 

But why? They had assumed the man worked with her ex, so it made no sense that he would shoot Jerome, yet he had, and he looked ready to pull the trigger again. His arm steady, eyes sharp and focused. He looked nothing like Jerome had looked earlier while he pointed his gun at Neema. No. This man was calm, where Jerome was chaos, controlled, where Jerome was unraveling.

Neema didn’t know what to do. She had assumed she was safer out of the wrecked cab, but was she really? 

The sirens wailing in the distance grew louder by the second. Some cars finally drove by and were slowing, drivers stepping out, shouting.

The man looked up then, and their eyes met. Then his gun was pointed at her. Neema shook her head frantically, hands lifting in a silent plea. “Please.”

For a moment, the gun stayed trained in her direction. Her heart nearly stopped beating in her chest. Then, ever so slowly, the man lowered it.

“I won’t hurt you,” he said, voice low but clear despite the cacophony of sounds from the raindrops, bystanders rushing over, and the wail of sirens. “That’s why I shot him.” He pointed at Jerome with his gun.

Again. That didn’t make sense. Her voice trembled. “You… You know him?”

He hesitated. “No,” he said finally. “Not the way you think.”

“Were you working together?” Neema asked, fear curling in her stomach, but the need for answers was stronger. “Was this planned?”

His jaw tightened. “I’ll make this quick. We don’t have much time.”

As though on cue, Neema saw the first signs of flashing lights over the man’s shoulder. The police were coming.

He continued. “I was hired by Jacqueline.”

The name hit Neema like a slap. She gaped, wanting to ask if he was sure, but then realizing he had no reason to lie.

His eyes flicked toward Jerome, who was still moaning and cursing on the ground. “I was supposed to scare you. Watch you. Make you nervous. The fires, the stalking… It was all intimidation.”

Neema’s mind reeled.

“You burned my café,” she whispered.

“Yes,” he said quietly. “And the one at your former workplace.”

“So, why stop him, then?” she demanded, pain and anger mixing with confusion.

“Because killing you was never part of the deal,” he said. “And I don’t kill women.”

Neema didn’t know whether to hate him or thank him.

The police cars were close now. Too close. Seeing that, the man stepped back, away from Jerome, his focus still on Neema. “You won’t see me again.”

She stared at him. “Why should I believe you?”

“You don’t have to,” he said. “But I’m done working for her.” Then he turned and disappeared into the crowd forming around the wreck, melting into the chaos as people rushed forward to help.

Neema was left sitting on the overturned cab, shaking, bruised, bleeding, but alive. And utterly stunned.

What felt like a second later, police lights flooded the scene, and voices surrounded her. Neema couldn’t follow what they said. One thought echoed louder than all the rest:

Quinton.

She needed him. Now. She didn’t care what differences they’d had. None of it mattered except to have him with her right now.