Chapter 98
Aria's POV
I jerked backward, but he grabbed my wrist, yanking me toward him with surprising strength. My heart hammered against my ribs as adrenaline surged through my body. With my free hand, I grasped the first thing within reach—a heavy crystal vase holding a bouquet of white lilies.
"Let go," I warned, voice steadier than I felt.
He laughed, a harsh sound that sent chills down my spine. "Or what?"
In one fluid motion, I swung the vase at his head. It connected with a sickening crack. Preston staggered backward, blood streaming from a gash on his forehead, his expression morphing from lust to rage.
"You crazy bitch!" he snarled, lunging toward me again.
I didn't wait to see what happened next. I bolted for the door, phone in hand, frantically dialing 911 as I ran toward the elevator. My fingers trembled so badly I had to try twice.
"This psycho," I thought wildly, "he's here because Devon got him fired and he's taking revenge on me!"
The elevator seemed to take forever. I kept glancing over my shoulder, expecting to see Preston's bloodied face appear around the corner. When the doors finally opened, I practically fell inside, jabbing at the garage button repeatedly.
As the elevator descended, I gave the emergency operator my location in gasping breaths. "Please hurry," I begged, "he's drunk and violent."
The garage was dimly lit and eerily quiet when I reached it. I ran to my Porsche, fumbling with the keys, dropping them once before managing to unlock the car. Just as I slid behind the wheel, movement in my rearview mirror caught my attention. Preston stumbled through the stairwell door, his white shirt now crimson-stained, his eyes searching the garage until they locked on me.
"Shit," I whispered, jamming the key into the ignition.
The engine roared to life, and I floored it, tires squealing as I shot toward the exit ramp. Outside, rain was coming down in sheets, turning the New York streets into shimmering rivers of reflected neon. I merged into traffic, wipers working furiously, my breath coming in short gasps.
My phone rang. Devon's name flashed on the screen.
I hit the speaker button. "Hello?"
"Where are you?" His voice was clipped, tense.
"West Avenue," I gasped, checking my mirrors. "Preston is chasing me. He's drunk and completely lost it."
"What? Stay on the—"
A violent jolt cut his words short as something slammed into my rear bumper. My phone flew from its mount, clattering somewhere beneath the passenger seat. Through the rearview mirror, I could see a black Range Rover riding my tail, its headlights blinding in the downpour.
"Do you think you can get away, Aria?" Preston's voice carried through his open window, eerily clear despite the rain.
I swerved right, taking a side street, hoping to lose him. The rain intensified, making it nearly impossible to see more than a few feet ahead. Water splashed up from the wheels as I navigated through increasingly flooded streets.
Another jarring impact from behind sent my car fishtailing. I fought the wheel, barely maintaining control. "Completely insane," I muttered, pushing the Porsche harder.
I turned again, onto what I thought was a less flooded street, only to realize too late I'd made a terrible mistake. The water ahead was much deeper than it appeared, already reaching halfway up parked cars. I slammed on the brakes, but momentum carried me forward into the murky pool.
The Porsche shuddered as water rushed around it. The engine sputtered, coughed, and died. Panic clawed at my throat as water began seeping through the door seals.
My phone lit up somewhere below the seat, Devon's name flashing. With trembling fingers, I retrieved it, finding a text: [Send location.]
I complied immediately, a wave of relief washing over me. "If anyone can find me in this mess, it's Devon," I thought, surprising myself with the certainty of that belief.
The water continued rising inside the car. I climbed onto the seat as it crept past the floorboards, my designer heels long abandoned. Outside, the Range Rover had stopped at the edge of the flooded area, Preston's silhouette visible behind the wheel, apparently unwilling to follow me into the water.
Small mercies, I supposed.
Minutes stretched like hours as I waited, shivering in my sodden clothes. The rain hammered the roof, a deafening soundtrack to my racing thoughts. Then, headlights pierced the downpour—not Preston's Range Rover, but the sleek outline of an Aston Martin, carefully navigating the flood's edge.
---
I nearly cried with relief when I saw Devon's car approaching. He stopped as close as he could get, then opened his door. Water immediately rushed into the Aston Martin's pristine interior.
"Get in!" he called, voice cutting through the storm.
I didn't hesitate. I jumped from my car roof, gasping as the cold water reached my thighs. I waded toward him, struggling to maintain my balance against the current that had formed in the street.
When I reached his car, I had to climb over Devon to reach the passenger seat, my soaked clothes pressing against his dry ones. I felt his gaze intensify as my wet dress clung to every curve, but he quickly averted his eyes, focusing on backing the car out of the flood.
"Where to?" he asked tersely, once we'd reached drier ground.
I pushed wet hair from my face, suddenly aware of how completely drenched I was. "My apartment, please."
Devon raised an eyebrow. "Pretty calm for someone who nearly drowned."
A small, defiant smile tugged at my lips despite the situation. "Would you prefer I cry for you, Mr. Kane?"
From the back seat, Marcus made a sound suspiciously like a suppressed laugh. Devon shot him a glare in the rearview mirror.
"I'll handle the police report regarding Mr. Scott," Marcus offered as Devon pulled over near a well-lit intersection.
Devon nodded, letting Marcus out—without offering him an umbrella, I noticed. The rain had slowed to a steady drizzle, but it was still coming down.
"Shouldn't you give him an umbrella?" I asked as Marcus jogged away.
"Do you always concern yourself with things that don't concern you?" Devon replied coolly.
I rolled down my window. "Make sure Preston pays for my car!" I called to Marcus before the window hummed closed again.
I sank back into the leather seat with a sigh. "That car was practically new. Probably totaled now."
Devon's gaze flickered to me, then back to the road. In the dim light of the dashboard, his profile was sharp, imposing—and inexplicably reassuring. I wrapped my arms around myself, suddenly aware I was shivering.
Without a word, Devon turned up the heat.