Chapter Seventeen - Zoe #2
I hold my breath again, keeping myself hidden behind the bush, heart racing in my chest. The fear claws at me, making it almost impossible to stay still, but I can’t afford to give myself away.
They throw open the window and peek out, their practiced eyes scanning the area.
None of them pay close attention to the dingy bush below because they probably can’t fathom I’ll be crouched on the floor, hiding behind it.
They’ll find me if I don’t stay calm. They’ll drag me back.
And worse—Lukin will make sure of it.
And then, slowly, after what feels like forever, they turn, scanning the area for a moment longer before vanishing from view.
My body moves before my brain can catch up. The moment the last of the men disappears into the building, I scramble to my feet, ignoring the sting in my legs as I push myself forward. I don’t stop to think—I just need to go.
I spot a cab parked on the corner, the driver lounging lazily inside it, waiting for his next fare. Without a second thought, I rush toward it, flinging the door open and jumping inside.
The door slams shut behind me, and I barely register the driver’s face as I rattle off my address, my voice panicked, breathless.
I don’t wait for him to respond. I don’t need him to speak. I just need to get out of here, away from the gala, away from the chaos that’s spinning faster than I can control.
The cab starts moving, pulling away from the curb.
The city lights blur outside, the sound of the engine humming under me, and I allow myself a brief, shallow breath. I close my eyes, trying to force myself to relax.
But it’s not that easy.
My palms are sweating, my chest heaving with each breath. I can’t stop thinking about the men who were just in the bathroom, tearing the place apart. I can still hear the echo of the door slamming open, the rush of footsteps inside. I can’t get their faces out of my head.
Lukin’s men were close. Too close.
“Better make sure our paths don’t cross next time. If I see you again, I won’t let you go.”
I shudder.
My heart skips, the fear creeping back in as I sit there, rigid, every part of me still on high alert. It’s all too much. Too fast. The pregnancy. The running. The hiding.
The thought of him.
Lukin.
What will he do when he finds me again? How far would he go to make sure I’m not slipping away from him? The thought twists in my stomach. I don’t know the answer, but I don’t have the strength to face it.
I glance at the rearview mirror, watching the reflection of the city pass by. The lights fade into the distance, but the reality of what’s happened, what’s still hanging over me, doesn’t go away.
I may have escaped for now, but I know it’s only a matter of time before the storm catches up with me. I have to do something. If it means moving cities, I’m willing to go that far. I’ve seen Lukin’s desperation to get me, and I’m not going to let that happen.
As the fear and anxiety slowly ebb, I realize that something feels off.
The cab is moving smoothly through the streets, but the driver is too quiet.
Too still. His eyes remain fixed on the road, never darting to the rearview mirror, never acknowledging me.
I try to shake off the creeping suspicion that’s gnawing at the back of my mind, but it’s there, growing stronger with every block we pass.
I snap my head toward the window and that’s when I notice the streets, the landmarks, nothing feels familiar. The buildings look different, the streets strange. The turns are all wrong.
We’re not heading toward my apartment.
Fear. Hot. In my blood.
The realization hits me like a wave of ice-cold water. Panic claws at my throat, tight and suffocating.
“You missed the turn,” I say, my voice steady, but my heart is racing. I force myself to stay calm, to keep it together.
But there’s no reply.
I lean forward, my hands gripping the seat in front of me. “You’re going the wrong way,” I say again, my voice sharp, but still no response. The driver doesn’t even flinch.
I swallow hard, the weight of the situation sinking in. My mind races, every warning flag going up at once. And then it clicks—this man works for Lukin.
Maybe it’s the suit. Maybe it’s the way he’s driving, the silence in the car. I don’t know, but something about him screams Lukin—like a shadow, waiting to close in.
My breath catches in my throat. I can feel the cold sweat breaking out across my skin.
“Stop the car!” I command, panic rising. “Where are you taking me?”
Still, there’s no response.
My heart pounds in my chest, and the silence between us grows unbearable. I know now. I’m not going home. My fear and anxiety turn into red hot anger, and I don’t think. I act.
Without a second thought, I reach over, my hand shaking as I grab the wheel from the driver’s hands.
I jerk it hard to the left, the movement too fast, too desperate.
The car swerves violently, the tires screeching against the asphalt in a high-pitched, ear-splitting scream.
The world spins around me, the screeching of metal and rubber deafening in my ears as I struggle to control the wheel, but it’s too much.
The car crashes into something—a barrier, a guardrail, I’m not sure—and the impact is brutal. The force throws me against the seat belt, my body snapping back with a sickening crunch. The world goes white for a moment, the sound of the crash still ringing in my ears like a thunderclap.
The next thing I know, I’m coughing, the acrid smoke filling my lungs.
My head throbs, and I feel blood dripping from my temple, sticky and warm.
My vision swims as I crawl out of the car scraping my knees against the rough pavement.
My legs feel like jelly, shaking beneath me, but I force myself to move.
I don’t know how much time I have before—
Before I see him.
Lukin.
He’s standing a few feet away, like he’s been waiting all along, his presence just as suffocating as it always is.
His suit is untouched, pristine, like nothing’s happened, like he wasn’t just a step ahead of me the entire time.
His eyes gleam with something dark and possessive, and a cigarette hangs from his lips, smoke curling lazily into the air.
For a moment, I can’t breathe. I can’t move. The world feels too small, too heavy, and he’s the center of it, drawing me in without lifting a finger.
He walks forward, slow and controlled, like he’s savoring every step. He kneels down beside me with an eerie calm, his fingers brushing my face, the touch so soft it makes my skin crawl. I flinch, but he doesn’t seem to notice—or care.
“I told you,” he murmurs, his voice low, laced with dark satisfaction, “there’s no escape now.”
I want to say something, to push him away, to tell him to leave me alone, but my throat feels tight, my body too weak to fight. I try to speak, but nothing comes out.
And then, to my surprise, my phone buzzes loudly in my clutch, cutting through the tension. I can hardly believe it still works after the crash, but I don’t care about that right now. I just need to get away from him.
But before I can react, he raises an eyebrow, his grin curling at the edges.
“Go on,” he says, his voice taunting, “Answer it.”
I hesitate, but I know he’s not going to let me get away with ignoring it. With a shaky hand, I pick up my phone, surprised to see the time. It’s only 8:00 p.m. Why does the street feel so desolate, so empty? Where are the people?
And then I see it—Dr. Martin’s name on the screen. My heart skips a beat.
After the pregnancy test in my bathroom, I’d taken myself to the clinic yesterday, trying to get a more definitive result. Dr. Martin is a good friend of mine, and I told him to call me as soon as the results were ready. He promised he’d let me know right away.
I don’t want to take the call so I try stuffing it back in my clutch.
Lukin frowns as he watches me, the amusement in his eyes fading. His lips curl slightly.
“Doctor?” he asks, his voice calm, though there’s an edge to it now. “Are you okay? Are you sick?”
I push his hand away, trying to pocket the phone, but he snatches it out of my grasp before I can stop him. He holds it up to his ear, taking the call without hesitation.
“Zoe?” Dr. Martin’s voice crackles through the speaker, cheerful and clear. “I wanted to confirm the test—congratulations, you’re definitely pregnant,” he chuckles. “I won’t be at the clinic tomorrow, but how about we meet for drinks? Maybe we can talk about all the available options and—”
I can’t hear the rest of the words, because the second Dr. Martin finishes his sentence, Lukin’s grin vanishes. His eyes snap to mine, dark and unreadable. The temperature in the air shifts—heavy, suffocating, charged with something dangerous.
Without another word, Lukin hangs up, his hand still holding my phone like a lifeline.
His gaze locks with mine, and everything changes.
The silence between us thickens, but this time, it’s different. There’s no smugness. No arrogance. It’s just pure, unfiltered anger.
And for the first time, I’m not sure how to escape it.