Page 89 of A Killer's Obsession

“Emilio!” I scream, his name tearing through my throat as I twist, trying to find him. “Emilio!” I call out again, panic lacing my voice.

No response. Only the groan of the wrecked truck and the faint hiss of leaking fuel. My chest tightens until I can barely breathe. I crawl back inside, searching blindly for anything—a weapon, a phone, anything at all. My fingers close around a shard of glass, my hand shaking.

Then I hear it.

The sound of footsteps and crunching glass outside the wreck. A low whimper escapes my lips. “Emilio?” My voice breaks.

The footsteps stop just outside the shattered window, and everything in me goes still. My heart slams so violently against my ribs that for a moment, I swear it’s trying to escape. The figure bends, and the weak glow of a distant streetlight catches its face—no, not a face. A mask.Hismask.

A strangled noise tears from my throat. I scramble backward, my hands slipping over glass and blood-slick metal. My legs hit the backseat, and I push myself between them, desperate, half blind with panic. I am barely between the seats when a gloved hand shoots through the window, fingers closing around my ankle like a vice.

I scream, kicking and thrashing, but he doesn’t flinch. The grip only tightens, dragging me backward inch by inch. I kick again, connecting with something solid—his arm, his shoulder, I don’t know—but it proves absolutely useless as he continues to pull. My fingernails rip through the leather seat as I claw for leverage, for anything to hold onto. He yanks hard, and my grip slips.

“No, no, no, no, please no!” The words tear from me in a half sob, half scream as I am dragged through the cabin, my body scraping across the broken glass scattered through the wreck.

Shards bite into my skin, slicing fire across my stomach and arms as I am hauled out of the truck completely.