Gulping down a painful sob, I look at him, and it’s a mistake. He can tell what I'm about to do before I do it. In a panic, he throws his arm out at me, and I fight back, shielding his blow with my arms. I feel a small crack in my wrist when he makes contact again. I let out a short scream and a grunt as I swing back. The car shifts back and forth on the two-lane highway, and I see the terror in his eyes as we barely miss the side rail.

“You crazy, bitch!” he screams at me. Instead of pulling his arm back to swing again, he outstretches his right and squeezes his hand around my throat. His fingers are a vice grip. My pulse gets louder and louder in my ears as I try to maneuver away. I’m pinned, still buckled and quickly feeling the pressure of suffocating.

I have to think. The rumbling of the motorcycles is closer now. Hugo keeps checking his mirrors, and his eyes are wide. He’s scared.

The good news is that with his hand holding me, he can’t reach his phone.

The bad news is that with the spots and darkness blotting my vision, he won't have to hold me for long.

It takes some maneuvering, but I manage to get my foot up and over the center console, shoving it into his leg. The car immediately slows as his foot comes off the gas.

“You’re going to kill us both,” he grunts as I get my foot on the steering wheel.

That’s what I want. The words ring loudly in my still-pounding head.

The car vibrates violently when it hits the guard rail, but it doesn’t stop us. Sparks fly outside my window just before he knocks my foot away and veers the car back to the lane. The jerking motion allows me to move away and out of his grasp.

I suck in air so quickly it makes me want to throw up. Tears stream down my face as I feel my cheeks pulse with the returning oxygen. But it isn’t long before he’s reaching for me again. I’m able to evade him, kicking without abandon, and I land a couple good hits to his face. Blood drips from his nose, and for a moment he stops trying to hit me.

The reprieve gives me a second to breathe—until I realize he’s pulling his phone out.

He’s calling for backup. He’ll order his guys to gun down my boys with little more than a text. My body is too exhausted to move, and my brain is still pounding.

I pray Murph is carrying something to protect himself. I pray they all are.