He didn’t answer.
He turned in his seat, face flat, eyes cold.
And then he moved.
Fast.
He grabbed my jacket collar before I could react. His hand was like a vise.
I jerked back, but he had sixty pounds on me and years of physical labor in his muscles. He slammed me against the passenger door so hard my head cracked against the window. A flash of pain exploded behind my eyes.
I threw my hands up instinctively and he hit me twice in the ribs. Controlled. Deliberate. Like he’d decided exactly where.
The pain was immediate, sharp, stealing my breath.
I tried to open the door, fumbling for the handle, and he grabbed my arm and wrenched it back. My shoulder screamed.
Then he reached into my jacket pocket and pulled out my phone.
He checked the screen.
Seven percent battery.
No signal.
He didn’t hesitate.
He opened the window just enough to shove it out, tossing it into the ditch like it was trash.
Then he leaned across me, popped the door, and shoved.
I hit the gravel hard. Hands first, then knees, rain soaking me instantly. My palms scraped raw, grit biting into skin.
By the time I lifted my head, his taillights were already disappearing down the road. Red dots fading into gray rain.
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