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And he knows it.

I slam my foot harder into the gas. I don’t care if I flip the fucking car. I will get to her if it kills me.

But as the blocks crawl by on the GPS... as I watch him cross the street to her house... I realize the truth.

I’m not going to make it.

I’m still too far.

I’m not going to make it.

Dexter’s growl is my only warning. Deep. Unearthly. The kind of noise that doesn’t belong in a tiny, fluffy dog with a snaggletooth and pink toenails.

Then a shadow moves—fast.

Something slams into me like a brick wall wearing skin, and I’m hurled against the door. My head cracks against the wood with a sickening thunk that blurs everything in a spray of stars.

I don’t scream. Or maybe I do. I can’t tell.

I can barely see.

My vision splits—white-hot pain on one side, darkness on the other.

My fingers are slick on the knife—my mother’s knife—and I don’t even aim. I just slash.

I feel it land. Feel it resist.

A sound erupts inches from my ear—part snarl, part scream. Wet and raw.

Dexter loses his mind, barking high and fast, circling our feet like he’s ready to throw himself into battle.

Please, Dexter. Just run. Hide.

My vision clears just enough. I already know who I’ll find:

The rideshare driver.

Bleeding from his face. One eye squeezed shut, hand clamped over it. He’s panting, shaking with fury. And even with blood dripping down his shirt, he’s smiling.

“You really thought that fake phone call was gonna fool me?” he spits. “You’re alone, sweetheart. I knew it the first time I picked you up.”

My stomach lurches.

He knew.

And I’m standing here with a knife, a dog the size of a soda can at my feet, and my stalker-issued phone just out of reach.

If only I could get to it, I’d call him like DoorDash. Express delivery for two ninety-nine? Sure.

But even if I did, he’d never make it in time.

The thought centers me. No one’s coming.

I have to do this myself.

He lunges.

I barely get the knife between us when he throws his full weight into me—forcing the blade into his own torso.