The Prey

I was squirming, fidgeting, doing everything in my power not to open the door and jump out of the car. The urge to flee was overwhelming like a primal instinct screaming at me to escape while I still could. But I couldn’t.

Kyle was driving and I sneaked a glance at his knuckles, white on the steering wheel, jaw clenched in barely contained anger. He was pissed—pissed as hell—because I’d made him wait an extra ten minutes. And now he was taking it out on the road driving the car with reckless speed.

I hated it. Hated how I was obeying Judas, how I was letting fear dictate...