Chapter 7 - Blood and Asphalt
The black utility van accelerated recklessly down the private, winding estate road, fishtailing against the wet asphalt as the tires fought for traction against the slick autumn leaves.
Grant hung onto the rear bumper for dear life, his fingers hooked beneath the heavy metal latch, his boots dragging along the pavement and sending up showers of orange sparks. Every bump in the road felt like a sledgehammer hitting his joints, but he refused to let go. Inside that van was the only woman who had ever made his cold, corporate life feel like something worth living—and the unborn child who carried his future.
Through the rear window glass, Richard Hale’s cold, محاسبه face loomed large. The disgraced shipping tycoon pressed the heavy iron wrench harder against Grace’s temple, causing her to cry out in pain.
“Stop the van, you cowardly old bastard!” Grant roared over the howling wind, his voice tearing from his throat.
Inside the van, Richard looked back through the glass with a twisted, malignant grin. He reached out, slammed his hand onto the interior cargo release button, and the heavy metal back doors popped open with a loud mechanical clunk, swinging violently outward into the rushing wind.
“Let’s see how tough you are at sixty miles an hour, Whitmore!” Richard shouted over the roar of the engine.
With a vicious kick, Richard shoved Grace aside—sending her sprawling safely against a pile of spare blankets in the corner—and lunged toward the open doors, aiming a heavy, steel-toed boot straight at Grant’s face.
Grant reacted with lightning-fast predator reflexes. Just as Richard’s boot lashed out, Grant caught the man’s ankle with one hand, braced his boots against the rolling bumper, and hauled downward with every ounce of his massive upper-body strength.
Richard shrieked as he was violently yanked forward out of the van, his body tumbling over the metal edge. With a sickening thud, the older tycoon hit the asphalt, rolling over three times before slamming hard against a roadside oak tree.
The van’s driver panicked, slamming on the brakes. The tires locked up, smoking furiously as the vehicle spun sideways across the road, finally crashing front-first into a stone retaining wall and stalling out.
Grant didn’t hesitate. He pulled himself up into the back of the cargo hold, dropping heavily onto the floorboards.
“Grace!” he gasped, crawling frantically across the metal floor.
“Grant!” Grace sobbed, bursting into tears as she threw her arms around his neck, burying her face into his bloodied shirt. “I thought... I thought they were going to kill us!”
“It’s over. I’ve got you. I’ve got you,” Grant repeated fiercely, holding her trembling body tight against his chest while his breathing came in ragged gasps.
Suddenly, the front door of the wrecked van flew open. A dazed, bleeding Richard Hale stumbled out from the driver’s side, clutching a heavy hunting rifle he had grabbed from the dashboard rack. His face was covered in blood, his eyes wild and insane with absolute ruin.
May you like
“You ruined my family!” Richard screamed, raising the barrel of the rifle directly toward the open back doors of the van, aiming squarely at Grant’s chest. “You took everything! Now you die in the dirt!”
Grace gasped, throwing her body in front of Grant’s just as Richard’s finger began to squeeze the trigger.
