Page 35 of The Underboss’s Secret Twins (Underworld Heirs #2)

SOFIA

T he engine roars beneath us, the vibrations rattling my bones as the car tears down the slick road. My breath is shallow, my hands white-knuckled on the seatbelt. "Faster," I urge, my voice barely audible over the growl of the tires against wet asphalt.

The driver doesn’t need to be told twice. He grips the wheel tighter, jaw clenched, eyes sharp on the road ahead. The speedometer ticks higher, but so do my nerves.

The SUV behind us is relentless. Its headlights loom in the rearview mirror, two unblinking eyes locked onto their target. I can’t see who’s inside, but I don’t need to. The intention is clear.

They’re not just following.

They’re closing in.

A sharp turn approaches. The driver jerks the wheel, sending us skidding dangerously close to the curb before he corrects. I slam against the door, my ribs aching from the impact, but I barely register the pain.

I twist in my seat to get a better look.

The SUV mirrors our every move, its bulk cutting through the rain-slick streets with terrifying precision. Whoever they are, they know what they’re doing.

They know where we’re going.

"We can’t keep this up," the driver grits out, his voice tight. "They’ll run us off the road before we even hit the city limits."

My mind races. The main roads are too exposed. We need an exit. A way to disappear before?—

A brutal slam from behind lurches us forward.

My body whips forward against the seatbelt, a sharp gasp ripping from my throat.

"Shit!" the driver curses, wrenching the wheel to regain control.

The SUV falls back for a breath—only to accelerate again.

They’re toying with us.

My fingers fly to the door handle, gripping it like a lifeline. I scan the street ahead, heart hammering. Options. I need options.

A side street appears on the right—a narrow, dimly lit alleyway wedged between two old brick buildings.

"Turn here!" I shout.

The driver hesitates. "That’s a dead end!"

"Do it!"

He obeys.

The car jerks violently to the right, fishtailing as we squeeze into the alley. The walls are tight, the space suffocating, but for a second—just a second—I think it might work.

Then I hear it.

The deep, guttural growl of an engine. The SUV follows. "Fuck," I breathe.

The driver punches the gas. The alley narrows. Trash bins blur past. My pulse spikes. If the SUV catches up, we’re done.

Adrenaline floods my veins, but something about it is different this time. The fear is there—it always is. The sharp edge of it, the way it hones my instincts, heightens my awareness, pushes me to act fast and think faster. I’ve lived with fear my whole life, and most of the time, I’ve embraced it.

I used to crave danger.

I ran toward it, rather than away.

It started when I was a kid—sneaking into places I wasn’t supposed to be, slipping through the cracks of a world built to keep girls like me in neat little boxes. I learned quickly that fear and thrill are two sides of the same coin, and once you start chasing one, you can’t stop chasing the other.

Becoming a journalist only made it worse.

Every investigation, every late-night stakeout, every confrontation with men who could kill me without blinking—it all became part of the high.

I was always out for the next big lead, the next truth waiting in the shadows, the next moment that made my pulse hammer against my ribs.

I told myself it was about justice, about exposing corruption, about making a difference.

But deep down, I know the truth.

I liked standing at the edge of the abyss.

And I always thought I could handle it.

But now—now I feel it differently. Because it’s not just me anymore.

A hand drifts to my stomach, fingers pressing lightly over the spot where a life I never planned for is growing inside me. The thought is so foreign, so incomprehensible in this moment of chaos, but it hits with the force of a wrecking ball.

I’m not just running for myself.

I’m running for us .

And suddenly, the thrill is gone.

The danger isn’t exciting anymore. It’s suffocating.

I don’t want this kind of life for my baby.

I don’t want my child to grow up like I did—constantly looking over their shoulder, never knowing if today is the day everything comes crashing down. I don’t want them to inherit my hunger for risk, the reckless part of me that never knew when to stop.

I want out. And God knows, Marco would have given me that kind of protection. He would have kept both of us safe from my line of work. It's not him, it's what I do that has constantly put me in danger.

How could I have been so blind?

The SUV slams into the back of our car again, snapping me back to reality. The impact sends us skidding, the tires screeching against the pavement. The driver swears, gripping the wheel like a lifeline.

The road ahead opens into a busy street—an escape if we can make it.

"We need to lose them," I say, my voice steadier now.

The driver nods. "There’s an underground garage a few blocks ahead. We can ditch the car, get another."

I swallow, forcing down the lingering fear clawing at my ribs.

The car jerks beneath us, the tires struggling for grip on the wet pavement. The driver’s knuckles are white on the wheel, his breathing ragged as he maneuvers through the chaotic mess of traffic.

The SUV is still there. A hulking, merciless shadow behind us. It lingers just out of reach, waiting, watching.

I glance ahead—and spot it.

A narrow, unmarked road branching off from the highway, vanishing into a dense stretch of forest. No lights. No traffic. Nothing but darkness and trees.

An escape.

"Take that road!" I shout, pointing ahead.

The driver hesitates for a fraction of a second, his eyes darting between the main road and the path leading into the unknown. Then, with a curse, he wrenches the wheel.

The car swerves violently, the back tires fishtailing as we veer off the asphalt and onto the dirt road. The sudden shift throws me against the seat, my heart hammering as we plunge into the forest.

Branches lash at the sides of the car, scraping against the windows like clawed fingers.

The road is rough, uneven, barely more than a worn trail winding between towering trees.

The headlights slice through the darkness in broken flashes, illuminating patches of thick underbrush, gnarled roots, and the eerie emptiness beyond.

But we’re gaining distance.

I twist in my seat, my breath hitching as I watch the SUV hesitate at the turn. It’s heavier, bulkier—less suited for the unstable terrain. For a moment, just a moment, I think we might actually pull ahead.

Then it follows.

Its headlights reappear in the rearview mirror, bouncing wildly as it barrels over the uneven ground, relentless.

"They’re still coming," I whisper, dread curling deep in my stomach.

The driver grits his teeth. "They won’t be able to keep up. Not on this terrain."

I want to believe him.

The road narrows further, forcing the driver to slow. The tires churn through the mud, struggling for traction as the car bucks beneath us. Every jolt rattles my bones, the impact vibrating through my seatbelt.

The forest thickens. The canopy overhead smothers what little light remains, plunging us into near-total darkness. My pulse quickens as I strain to see ahead, my body tense, bracing for what I can’t predict.

"We need to?—"

A sickening jolt.

The car lurches violently, the front end dipping forward as something massive slams beneath us.

A rock.

A loud crack echoes through the night. The steering wheel wrenches from the driver’s hands, the car spinning sideways.

"Shit, hold on!"

I barely have time to react before we hit something—hard.

The impact slams me forward. My skull cracks against the window, a blinding flash of white bursting behind my eyes. Pain explodes through my ribs, my body snapping against the seatbelt like a ragdoll.

For a breathless second, the world tips sideways.

Then everything goes black.

What could be hours or minutes later, a sharp, piercing pain pulls me back to consciousness.

I groan, my eyelids fluttering as I struggle to open them. My head is throbbing, my entire body screaming in protest. A thick, coppery taste lingers on my tongue. Blood.

Darkness surrounds me. The car is still. The shattered windshield gapes open to the night, the jagged edges of broken glass catching faint slivers of moonlight. The air inside is thick with the acrid scent of gasoline and scorched rubber.

I try to move. Pain lances through my side, sharp and unforgiving. My seatbelt is locked tight across my chest, pinning me down. I fight against it, my fingers clumsy, my limbs weak.

Then I hear footsteps, crunching against the leaves, coming closer.