Chapter 5
Parker
“Shit.”
Dazed eyes bug out of my face. This guy isn’t slowing down.
I’m going to die. I am going to die and I never got to fulfill my lifelong dream of being a possum mom.
Or fostering a family of drunk raccoons and aiding them back to a life of sobriety.
My life is now rendered meaningless, with no legacy left behind.
And when Ophelia, who will be tragically heartbroken, goes to clean out my apartment, she will not find my eternal love letters addressed to her, and the boys, doused in perfume that smells of me, notes of vanilla and blood orange, as I am a simple girl who loves playing with danger.
Today, though, danger has won, and it appears I have run out of time to organize such sentiments.
“Oh death, be kind to me,” are my last wallowed words before the collision thrusts my body into the hot and humid sky.
Floating for what feels like minutes, I relax into the pain.
I imagine it’s only mere seconds, though.
Gravity is quick to respond, pulling my body back down onto a sharp object that wishes to stab me.
I allow myself to lie limp over it, accepting my fate, never taking my eyes off the stars that bring me peace, until I am forced to.
Almost as quickly as I made myself comfortable, my body is on the move.
With feet in the air, my backside is the first to reconnect with the death trap on wheels after a brief moment of separation.
I land hard. Tingles of discomfort flow up my spine while a dull throbbing pain finds a new home in my buttocks region.
But no, this ride isn’t done yet. The force from the impact and the fact that his fucker is still speeding forward sends me flying into his windshield.
My back makes direct contact with it first, knocking the wind out of my lungs immediately, causing me to wheeze breathlessly.
Arms and legs continue to flail forward and my head bounces off the glass once for good measure. Yup, this is fucking torture.
Rolling upward on the slanted tinted glass, momentum continues to control this situation and I am suddenly bouncing along the aluminum roof.
Pops from the metal denting fill my dazed head.
My eyelids are heavy. A concussion would make sense, but a severe brain bleed with only hours to live seems to be more of a rational thought.
Perhaps the added spinal cord injury and collapsed lung has turned my hours left on this earth to thirty minutes.
It’s hard to say until it happens, I suppose.
I mean, who doesn’t love a good surprise, right?
The screech of spinning tires coming to a halt followed by the smell of burning rubber transcends this experience into another dimension, because I am once again on the move, and for the first time I am wondering if I am talking to my dead self as I watch my body bounce around lifelessly or if I am still alive and actually experiencing this fucking nightmare.
Everything is spinning, including me. Closing my eyes, I attempt to control the lightheaded sensation washing over me.
The only way I can describe this horrific feeling is, imagine I am rolling down a giant hill with slopes and no matter how hard I try, nothing can stop me.
Dizziness mixed with nausea overwhelms my stomach.
Tiny bumps add small shots of pain to my sides and arms.
Wait. I can feel. My nerves are still functioning. How?
Why?
Realization washes over my discombobulated mind.
Fuck me, I am still alive.
There is nothing more I despise than being dizzy with a side of nausea. I’d rather be stuck on the toilet with sharp pains of my impending death attacking me from the inside than feel nauseous. Dead me would never allow alive me to feel this way.
Finally, my body stops rolling. Gravel is embedded into my cheek, my hair is disheveled, and my legs and arms have me star-fishing in the middle of the road.
This should be fucking great for business, bounty hunter by day, lady of public star-fishing by night.
If only my parents could see me now. R.I.P.
“You dented my car!” an angry male voice echoes in my ears, followed by multiple other voices, only adding to my jumbled brain's confusion. Lying motionless, everything hurts. I cough a couple of times, attempting to regulate my breathing.
“Oh my God, Parker! Are you okay?” Taco shouts, only hurting my brain more.
I murmur, “Please, stop talking,” while I continue to gather myself. Sharp pains originating at my ribs follow as I roll to my side. An unexpected cry breaks out from my throat as I push through the pain. Please, Mom and Dad, look away. This is wildly embarrassing.
Facing the red brake lights, I blink a couple more times while gathering my bearings, and slowly the lights go from six blurry images to two. Then it occurs to me what was just shouted at me. Shaking my head, it tilts slightly at the accusation.
Pardon fucking me?
“Me?” I cough while continuing to speak, appalled by the driver’s anger directed my way.
The audacity. “You! You hit me. You!” He doesn’t turn to face me, nor does he take a step toward me to see if I’m okay, which is also really rude.
And it only pisses me off further. “And now you’re mad at me for denting it with my broken body?
I fucking flew through the air. I was hurled over that deadly weapon like a limp noodle.
And now you’re implying this is my fault. Are you fucking high?”
Laughter erupts in my ear through the comms piece I am wearing. I bite the inside of my cheek to resist the urge to join them, because I need to be a serious person in this very serious situation.
“Why are you alive?” My eyes widen in shock.
That’s his follow-up? How is this even my real life right now?
I’m irate. Heat warms my face, my cheeks are without a doubt fire engine red.
Crawling forward on my hands and knees, my head is still slightly off balance, and standing is proving to be a challenge.
This pompous asshole has yet to turn to face me.
I can only slightly see his profile, and his concern is why am I alive?
He should be grateful because murder is life in prison and, based on his extravagant apparel, he wouldn’t last thirteen minutes locked up.
Gold accessories sparkle under the streetlight, and vomit attempts to rise from my stomach into my mouth.
Flashy assholes have never been my thing, unless they are paying my reward money.
God, I hope he gets fucking robbed. It’s not typically my character to wish such harm on people, but the gloves are off right now.
As I continue to crawl pathetically along the filthy ground, a thought washes over me.
I freeze, panic-stricken. Bensen. Another wave of adrenaline ignites inside of me and I fight through the pain and push my body up to stand.
Stumbling briefly, I hold my arms out for balance and Tac breaks my concentration.
“She’s gone, Parker.” Defeat and dread follow.
My face goes from high alert pain to disappointment within seconds.
Shit. The longer this takes, the more opportunity other hunters have to snatch her.
Not responding, my silence explains it all. Ophelia jumps in next in an attempt to comfort and reassure me. “We already have the sparrows watching each exit. As soon as she moves, we will know. Parker, we always get them. You are the best for a reason.” A tiny smirk forms on the corner of my lip.
“I mean, it’s a team effort,” I respond modestly, in an effort to tame the ego she is stroking.
“Great, and she’s talking to herself. This is not how it was supposed to go,” the jackass shouts into his car, followed by his clenched fists pounding onto the roof of said car.
Before I can rebut his rudeness, he glances toward me, frowning ever so handsomely.
Dark, thick glasses frame his eyes. A sharp jawline with a five-o’clock shadow makes my lady parts tingle on top of the thick, dark brows and his tight white dress shirt hugging his biceps.
It all sends my endorphins into a frenzy against my will.
I am nearly done for. A well-dressed, put-together man, despite his showy gold jewelry, does things to me I cannot explain.
Damn him. The nerve on this guy. A handsome murderer.
Attempted. It’s always the ones you would never suspect.
Taking a wobbly step forward, I try to hide my sudden arousal and focus back on him fucking hitting me with his car and firmly state, with my finger pointing at him, “I want your license, insurance, and…” Before I can say registration, my feet do me dirty, tripping on a pothole, and I fall ass over head.
At this point, my head is pounding, my body hates me, and I fear if I try to get up once more to confront my assailant, I will only further injure myself.
This is going horribly. The ringing in my ears ends when Connor, of all people, speaks up, engaging with the group.
“You definitely need the yoni after this, boss.”
Fuming through gritted teeth, I politely reply, “Connor, please shut up.”
Looking up as I am laid flat out on the road, Handsome Murderer’s feet are moving, but not toward me. Because apparently that would be an insane thought to have. But I see one foot disappear and the car door begins to move. Realization and shock overwhelm me. He is going to leave me here.
“This was all your idea. If you want to know if she has a pulse, you go check. I don’t care.
I got my points. What do you have? Huh? Other than your bucket hat?
” The car door slams shut following the random and most peculiar outburst. My body vibrates at the sound.
Nothing at this point feels great. From sounds vibrating in my ears to laying down, like I currently am, on the ground.
This is so fucking annoying. Pity party for one.
I have arrived for my seat at the table, please.
“Hey, P?”
Blowing out a sigh, I answer, “Huh?”
Ophelia’s hesitant voice follows up. “Should we call emergency services?”
Flashbacks of SWAT flood my memory. Oh god, no, not again. I can’t have anything like that happening again. I can’t have the agency think I am a completely incompetent asshole who only causes issues. I can’t.
Shaking my head, I am quick to answer. “No. Absolutely not. I’ll be fine. I just need another minute.”
A revving engine fills the empty street. Looking up, I find the red brake lights have disappeared as the dark luxury car takes off down the street, and my handsome almost murderer flees the scene. This night went from shawarma to near-death really fucking quick.
“Sorry, P. But you should probably get up soon, don’t you think?
If you don’t want the attention, of course.
I know it hurts. Well, I can only imagine.
I’ve never been in your situation before.
” She pauses mid-thought before continuing.
“I’ll have bags of ice sent over to your place so you can have a soak when you get home.
Oh boy, and now I’m rambling. But maybe it’s time to stand up now?
Yeah?” Ophelia is nervously speaking. Each sentence acts like a question because she is unsure how to proceed.
And I don’t blame her. We have never been in this situation before.
She’s right, though. The wallowing must now end and can recommence once I’m home.
“Thank you, O. How about we play a game first?” I innocently ask.
Taco is first to respond, his interest piques as he says inquisitively, “Tell me more.”
Chuckling mixed with groans of pain while rising to my hands and knees, I tell him, “Who wants to play a game of where’s my car parked?”