Page 109 of Held-

“Hold up.” Brayden's entire body tenses beside me, his hand suddenly gripping my thigh. “Do you recognize that car behind us?”

I glance in the rearview mirror, my pulse instantly accelerating as I spot the sleek black Mercedes following too closely behind us. The tinted windows make it impossible to see who's driving, but I don't need to see the driver's face to know exactly who it is.

“Ethan,” I breathe, my fingers tightening around the steering wheel. “It's his dad's car.”

“Don't stop,” Brayden demands. “Keep driving.”

“He's not supposed to be anywhere near me. The protective order?—”

“Exactly. Which is why we're calling it in. We need to call from your phone so they can trace it. Where is it?”

“My purse.”

Brayden reaches for it, but I jerk the car, slamming him into the passenger side door.

“He's trying to pass us,” I say, panic rising in my throat.

“Don't slow down. Don't stop. If he gets in front of us, he might try to block the road.”

I press harder on the accelerator, but my little Honda is no match for a Mercedes. Ethan's car pulls alongside us, engine growling as he accelerates.

“He's trying to run us off the road,” I gasp as the Mercedes swerves toward us. He veers closer, metal nearly kissing metal. My heart pounds so hard I can barely hear anything else. Ethan's face appears in the window again, mouthing something I can't understand. Brayden finally fishes my phone out of my purse, punches 9-1-1, then puts it on speaker.

“911, what is your emergency?”

“We're on Main Street heading toward Oakwood Drive,” I say. “My ex-husband, Ethan Kincaid, is following us. He’s violating a protective order and trying to run us off the road.”

The Mercedes suddenly accelerates, cutting in front of us so sharply I have to slam on the brakes. My seatbelt locks, digging into my chest as the car fishtails slightly.

“Shit,” Brayden hisses. “He's stopping.”

Sure enough, the black car screeches to a halt directly in front of us, blocking the road. I brake hard, my little Honda skidding to a stop just inches from Ethan's bumper. My heart hammers against my ribs as I watch Ethan throw his car door open and step out onto the street.

“Stay in the car,” Brayden commands, already reaching for his door handle.

“No!” I grab his arm. “That's what he wants. If you touch him, you'll be the one arrested.”

The dispatcher's voice crackles through my phone. “Ma’am, are you still there?”

“Yes, he's blocked the road and gotten out of his car. Please hurry.”

Ethan stalks toward us, his styled hair and expensive coat a stark contrast to the fury twisting his features. He looks unhinged in a way I’ve never seen before. This isn’t the polished, calculating man he shows the world. This is the version he kept tucked behind forced smiles and gentle tones—the one who surfaced only when doors were closed and no one else could hear.

His eyes dart, wild and unfocused, and there’s a sharp edge to his movements that sends a chill straight through me. This isn’t rational Ethan. This is the side of him built on control and entitlement, the one that always simmered beneath the surface, waiting for the moment someone dared to challenge him. This is something far more dangerous.

“You need to get officers here now. I can't promise I won't break his fucking neck if he tries to touch her.” Ethan reaches my door. He pounds his fist against my window so hard I'm surprised the glass doesn't shatter.

“Get out of the car, Cece! We need to talk!”

I press the lock button, making sure all doors are secured. My hands are shaking so badly I can barely hold the phone. “I'm not getting out!” I shout back, though I'm not sure he can hear me through the glass. My heart is a frantic drum in my chest, adrenaline making my limbs feel weightless and useless all at once.

“Ma’am. What is the man doing?”

Ethan's face contorts with fury, and he slams his palm against my window again. “Open the goddamn door, Cece! You're embarrassing yourself with this restraining order bullshit!”

“He's trying to force me out of my car,” I tell the dispatcher, my voice shaky.

“Units are enroute,” the dispatcher assures me. “Stay inside your vehicle and keep the doors locked.”