The tires screamed against the asphalt as Eric forced his car to speed forward, pain be damned. He kept his burning gaze locked on the vehicle ahead, the one Anne had just willingly entered. His heart hammered against his ribs, faster and harder with every passing second.
As if sensing his presence, Anne turned around from the passenger seat.
Her eyes met the road behind them — met him — like she could see right through the speed and distance between them.
And she smiled.
It wasn't a smile of guilt.
It wasn't a smile of regret.
It was a wicked, knowing smile.
Anne was enjoying this.
Eric's fingers dug into the steering wheel, his knuckles whitening. His body screamed in protest, blood still sliding sluggishly over his side from earlier wounds, but he refused to ease up.
She needed to know who she was dealing with.
She needed to see just how far he was willing to go.
