Crashed (Driven, #3)(84)

My tears sting, and the swelling in my eye from where he ambushed me, hurts like a bitch. My hands are shaking and my breath hitches in fear, while the increased volume of Zander’s chant is adding a heightened level of stress to the whole situation.

It’s the only sound I can hear in the early morning silence—the chants of a little boy knowing he has no hope left. And with each passing moment, the whispered words get louder and louder as if he’s trying to drown out the sound of his dad’s voice.

“Wh—what do you want?” I finally ask over Zander’s voice, sensing his grasp on reality is long gone. And I don’t know how to rationalize with a crazy person.

He steps toward me, his eyes running down the length of my body, and even though my nerves are already on high alert, the look in his dead eyes when he scrapes them back up causes new ones to hum. Warning bells go off and my stomach squeezes violently—so much so that I have to fight the nausea that threatens.

He reaches the gun out, and I freeze as he runs the tip of it up and down the side of my cheek. The cold of the steel, the hard reality of the metal on my flesh and what it represents, causes the blood in my veins to turn to ice.

“You’re a pretty little thing aren’t you, Rylee.” The way he says my name, as if he’s f*cking it with his tongue, has me gagging. In an instant he has my cheeks squeezed tightly in his hands, his face inches from mine. Tears start streaming down my face. I want to be tough. I want to tell him to f*ck off and die. I want to scream for Zander to run and get help. I want to plead with God, with anyone, for help. I want to tell Colton I love him. But I can’t because none of that is possible right now. My knees are shaking, my teeth are trying to chatter inside of his grip. Everything I am—my future, my possibilities, my next breath—is at this man’s whim.

He comes in closer so I can feel his breath feather over my lips as his fingers dig deeper into the sides of my cheeks, and I can’t help the cry of fear that falls from my lips. “The question is, Rylee … exactly how far would you go to protect one of your boys?”

“Fuck you.” The garbled words are out of my mouth before I can stop them, anger removing the filter between my head and mouth. And before I can blink, his fist slams into my abdomen, and I’m propelled backwards. I land with a thud against the concrete patio, my shoulders and head hitting the wood fence behind me.

The terror consuming my body overshadows pain from the blow. I’ve landed near Zander so I scramble as quickly as I can over to his side and pull him into me, trying to protect him in any way I can. I know he’s behind me, can feel the heavy presence of the gun I know is pointed at me, but I rock Zander.

“It’s okay, Zand. He’s not going to hurt you. I’m not going to let him hurt you,” I tell him in a hushed voice, but Zander doesn’t stop rocking, doesn’t stop chanting, and I’m so petrified right now I start chanting for the superheroes with him as we sit in a backyard built on hope and what I fear will soon be marred with violence.

“I’ve come to take my son.” If I thought his voice was cold before, his tone now matches the steel of his gun.

“No,” I tell him, the waver in my voice betraying the confidence of what I want to say.

“Who the f*ck do you think you’re dealing with?” he growls, pointing the gun into my back, its hard nose digging deep between my shoulder blades. “It’s time to step away from my son.”

I squeeze my hands into fists to quit their shaking so Zander doesn’t know how scared I am. I don’t want his father to realize it either. I force a swallow as Zander’s sobs start racking through his body, and if I didn’t already know, I know now with such clarity—with a cold sweat breaking over my skin and fear in my heart—that I can’t let his father take him. That I’ll protect him with everything I have because no one else could before.

The muzzle in my back digs deeper, and I bite back a yelp of pain as tears freely flow down my cheeks. I begin to worry my bottom lip between my teeth, because in a moment I’m going to stand up. And when I turn around I have to show him I’m not scared of him. I have to put on the performance of a lifetime in order to save this little boy.

“Now!” he shouts at me, my body jumping as his voice cuts through the constant hum of Zander’s chanting.

I lean my mouth down by Zander’s ear and try to still him as he rocks, hoping that my words get to him—break through the world he’s transported his mind to—in order to save himself from the fear and memories of his father.

“Zander, listen to me,” I tell him. “I’m not going to let him take you. I promise. The superheroes are coming. They’re coming okay? I’m gonna stand now but when I say Batman I want you to run as fast as you can into the house okay? Batman.”

I just finish my words when I feel the gun leave my shoulder blades but feel his boot connect with my left side. I groan in pain as I absorb the impact, tensing my arms around Zander as we push harder into the fence we’re cornered against.

“Get the f*ck up, Rylee.”

“Batman, okay?” I say again, gritting my teeth as I breathe through the pain and force myself to rise on wobbly legs. I take a deep breath and turn to face him.

“You’re a tough cookie!” He sneers at me. “I like my women tough.”

I swallow the bile rising in my throat and force evenness in my tone that I hope I can maintain. “I’m not letting you take him.”