Page 88 of Theirs to Hunt (Girls Like Us #1)

Chapter eighty-eight

W e were two blocks from Calhoun Tower.

Morning traffic. Green light ahead.

She was singing, windows cracked. I could see her head bobbing through the back windshield.

Then a blur. A flash.

A car from the other lane veered directly into her path.

Head-on. Full speed. No hesitation.

It hit with a metallic scream. Glass shattering. Steel buckling. Airbag smoke clouding everything.

"REAGAN!"

I slammed the brakes, tires screeching as I jumped out, heart in my goddamn throat.

The driver’s side was cav ed in, but the Bentley held. Bent. Crushed. But intact.

The sound of metal crumpling still echoed in my head as I sprinted to the driver’s side, gravel slicing into my shoes.

Smoke billowed from under the hood, acrid and sharp.

She was not moving.

I reached for the handle. Locked.

I yanked harder. Nothing.

"Reagan!"

Her head lolled to the side. Blood trickled from her temple. Her skin, too pale. Too still.

I pounded on the window. Tried to smash it with my elbow. Nothing.

The bulletproof glass did not give. Not even a crack.

"God, fuck, come on!"

People started gathering.

A bystander ran up with a tire iron, took a swing. Nothing.

Another woman already had her phone to her ear, calling 911.

"Fire department’s en route!" she called out. "They’re coming!"

It was not fast enough.

I dropped to my knees beside the door, chest heaving, hand pressed flat to the glass like she might feel it.

"Come on, Bambi. I’m right here, okay? Just... just wake up. You can yell at me for being overprotective, but you gotta wake up."

Nothing.

Then it hit me.

The remote system.

The Bentley had a remote override.

I did not have access. But I knew who did.

I fumbled my phone out of my pocket, hands shaking, and hit the contact.

"Dad. I need you to open the car. Remote access. Now."

No confusion. No delay.

Just Grayson’s voice, calm and sharp.

"She is trapped?"

"Bulletproof glass. Jammed doors. She is unconscious. We do not have time."

"I am on it."

Seconds dragged. Too long. Too fucking long.

I knelt again, one hand on the handle, the other still pressed to the glass.

"Reagan, baby, stay with me. I am not ready. I have not told you enough things yet. Haven’t pissed you off the right ways. Haven’t kissed every part of you. You do not get to go yet. You hear me?"

The locks clicked.

I ran to the passenger side.

The driver’s door had been shoved back from the impact. No way it was opening.

I yanked open the other side and caught her as she started to slump forward.

Warm. Still breathing.

"She is breathing!" I shouted, relief crashing through me as the fire truck came around the corner.

I cradled her to my chest, hand at the back of her head like she would break if I let go.

"You scared the shit out of me," I whispered, forehead resting against hers. "That’s strike one. If you do not wake up soon, you are looking at strike two."

The paramedics moved in, th eir voices distant through the rushing in my ears.

"Sir," one said gently. "I need to get a collar on her and check for spinal damage."

I let go.

Only because she needed it. Only because she mattered more than anything else right now.

I stepped back as they slid her onto the board, every part of me burning with helplessness.

I ran a hand through my hair, chest heaving.

That is when I realized the ringing.

It was not in my ears. It was my phone.

But I did not answer.

They were loading up my life into the back of an ambulance. And I was not letting her out of my sight again.