Chapter 3 - THE HIGHWAY TO HELL
The headlights of the Dodge Charger bore down on us like the glowing eyes of a rabid hound. Rain lashed against the armored SUV, the wipers thumping in a frantic rhythm that mirrored my racing heart. Another contraction tore through my pelvis, blinding me with pain so acute I bit down on my lip until copper flooded my mouth.
"He knows," I gasped, clutching Ethan’s sleeve with whitening knuckles. "He went back... to check... he saw the door was open."
"He won't touch you," Ethan said. His voice was remarkably level, but his eyes were pure flint. He reached beneath the driver's console partition and pulled a sleek black Beretta from a hidden compartment, checking the slide with a clean, practiced click. He placed it beside him on the leather seat, well within reach, then leaned forward toward the front compartment. "Vance, take the bypass. Don't let him box us into the construction corridor."
"He's driving like a man with nothing left to lose, sir," Vance responded calmly, his knuckles white on the leather steering wheel as he weaved the heavy armored SUV through midnight traffic. "He’s trying to pit-maneuver us before we hit the avenue."
"Let him try," Ethan replied coldly. "This chassis is B6 ballistic steel. If he touches our bumper, drive him into the median."
Suddenly, the Charger surged forward, its supercharged engine roaring over the sound of the rain. With a sickening crunch of tearing fiberglass and screeching metal, the front fender of the Charger slammed into our rear right wheel well. The impact violently jolted the heavy SUV. I screamed as the sudden shift threw me against the back of the front seat, my belly colliding painfully with the padded leather.
"Grace!" Ethan lunged across the cabin, his arm wrapping around my waist, anchoring me firmly against his chest. His heart beat strong and steady against my ear, an island of absolute defiance amid the chaos. "I've got you. Breathe. Look at me, Grace, breathe through it!"
I could feel the crown of the first baby pressing low, an unbearable pressure that warned me time had run out. My body was shivering uncontrollably, the lethal chill of the negative fifty-degree freezer still trapped deep inside my marrow while the labor pains tore me apart from the inside.
"The head... Ethan, the baby is coming now!" I wept, tears freezing on my numb cheeks before being smeared away by his thumb. "I can't stop it!"
"Don't stop it," Ethan urged softly, his eyes boring into mine with an intensity that held my fracturing mind together. "Bring them into this world. I will keep the dark away from the door."
Outside, the Charger struck us again, harder this time. The SUV shuddered, its rear tires skipping across a patch of hydroplaning water. Through the rain-streaked glass, I caught a brief, illuminated glimpse of the driver's face behind the Charger's windshield.
It was Derek.
His face was contorted into a mask of frantic, manic desperation. His jaw was clenched, his hair soaked, his eyes wide with the realization that if I reached that hospital alive, his life was over. The four hundred thousand dollars he owed, the triple-indemnity insurance policy, the fraudulent financial ledgers he'd stolen—everything would bury him under the prison floor. He wasn't just trying to disable the car; he was trying to flip us into the concrete pillars of the overpass.
"He's pulling alongside the driver's side!" Vance warned, his voice sharpening. "He's got a firearm!"
"Vance, hard brake on three," Ethan commanded. His voice dropped to a whisper, cold and lethal. "One. Two."
The Charger pulled level with our front window. Derek raised a black revolver, his face illuminated by the dash lights, his mouth twisted into a silent scream of murderous intent.
"Three!" Ethan barked.
Vance slammed the heavy brake pedal to the floor. The armored SUV dropped speed instantly, anti-lock brakes groaning as the massive vehicle dug into the wet pavement. Derek's Charger, carrying too much forward momentum, shot ahead by ten feet.
"Now," Ethan said. "Clip his rear quarter."
Vance cranked the wheel to the left and floored the accelerator. The reinforced steel bull-bar on the front of Ethan's SUV slammed directly into the rear flank of the Charger. The physics were brutal and unforgiving. The lighter sports car was spun sideways, its tires losing all contact with the rain-slicked road.
The Charger flipped.
It rolled twice across the median, sparks showering into the night like festive Roman candles, before slamming violently into an industrial light pole in a cloud of shattered glass and steam.
"Keep driving," Ethan ordered without looking back. "The hospital is two blocks away."
He turned his full attention back to me. His hands were gentle as he rearranged his heavy wool coat over my trembling legs. Another contraction hit me, so massive that the entire world went white. I arched my back, a guttural, primal cry tearing from my chest.
"Push, Grace," Ethan whispered, his large hand cradling the back of my neck, supporting my head. "Push! You are stronger than whatever he tried to do to you. Bring them home!"
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I pushed with every lingering shred of energy in my failing body. The pain was an ocean, but Ethan's silver eyes were the lighthouse holding me above the tide. With a wet, slippery rush, the pressure released.
Inside the speeding SUV, beneath the glow of the amber dome light, the thin, fragile wail of a newborn baby broke through the sound of the rain.
