Page 103 of Savage Roses

“Where are we going?” I yell as Dad tensely grips the wheel. “They’re tailing us. I don’t think it’s such a great plan to go veering off with no end in sight. They have more resources than we do.”

“We’ll head to the airport. Try to buy a flight somewhere. That’s what your trusted boyfriend wanted, wasn’t it?”

I ignore him and the bitter inflection of his voice. Dad’s never changing. He’ll hate Salvatore ’til the day he dies… even if Salvatore’s only ever protected me.

For miles, we carry on breaking the posted speed limits. Dad clumsily keeps our car intact despite the wild maneuvers he pulls off getting us onto the highway and forcing his way into the fast lane. The white vans barrel behind us, steadily tracking every move we make.

Even if we do make it to the airport, they’ll simply accost us there.

“I have a plan,” Dad says. “I’ve been thinking… we need a diversion. Somehow get you inside the airport.”

“And what about you?”

He doesn’t answer straightaway. When he does, he’s explaining the finer points of his plan. “I’m going to try to lose them near the parking garage. It’s the perfect chance to use the dark environment to our advantage.”

I repeat my question only to be drowned out by the van tailgating us ramming into our rear end bumper. My grip on the overhead handle tightens and my heart leaps into my throat. Dad almost loses control of the car, but corrects himself as it jerks to veer into the next lane.

Ahead of us the huge sign welcoming us to the local airport slips into view.

“Ready?” he asks, pressing harder on the gas. “I told you to hold tight, Delphi. This is… very dangerous.”

Just what he means by ‘very dangerous’ is something I discover a split second later.

As we’re headed for the entrance into the departures lane, he hooks the sharpest left possible. So abrupt, so unexpected, we’re crossing onto the wrong side of the airport traffic, and diving straight into the tunnel that leads to the parking garage.

Before the van can even register what we’ve done, they’re already stuck in the lane for departures, cordoned off by a cement barrier.

I scream and push myself against the carseat as Dad goes over 50 in the tight, dark enclosed parking garage. He whips the car around a narrow corner, clipping a parked SUV, and then slams on the brake.

“Get out!” he yells. “Grab your emergency bag in the back and run for that elevator over there! Now, quickly, stick to the shadows, away from the light posts. I’m going to distract them.”

I’m scrambling to do as told. I have the emergency bag Stitches said would have everything I need, and I stumble slinging it over my back, preparing myself to run.

“But, Dad—”

“Here they come, GO!”

I do as told. I back away and then take off. I crouch behind the many rows of cars in the dark, scarcely lit parking garage. In the background, car tires screech and scrape against concrete as Dad’s car whizzes by, closely followed by two white vans.

It worked!

They don’t seem to notice I’ve gotten out of the car. Hopefully, Dad will be able to shake them off…

My wishful thinking is dashed only footsteps later. As I scurry toward the elevator at the end of the parking garage level, gunshots break out. The kind of final gunshots that end a commotion that’s in-progress. Once the gunshots sound, there’s no more tires screeching. No more growls of car engines being pushed to their limit.

The parking garage goes eerily… silent.

“Dad,” I croak, stopping where I am. For a moment longer than I probably should, I stand alone in the dark of the garage, staring out at the sea of parked cars.

Should I go find him? What if they’ve shot him? What if he’s lying bleeding and they’re about to—

I shove aside the thoughts. Dad wanted me to make it to the elevator. Salvatore would want me to get the hell out of here. I have no other choice but to get the hell out of here. Then maybe I can regroup and devise a plan.

My legs carry me the rest of the way without my conscious thought. I smash a finger to the up button outside the elevator doors, my heart pounding in my ears. The ding noise echoes in the eerie dark silence and the doors slide open. I rush to get on and then falter to a halt.

“Hello Delphine,” says a man with a hideous scar on the side of his face. He raises his hand, clutching the barrel of his gun and strikes me with the butt of it. “I knew we’d meet again.”

salvatore