“You didn’t think I’d look you up?” she countered. “Paris Lucan, son of Jonny Lucan; the mafia boss from 1988 to 2014. Jonny’s death was unexplainable, but there were signs of it being a murder.” She kept her gaze forward. “I don’t know why you murdered your father, Paris. And there’s probably a reason, but just know,” she glared at him, “I don’t trust you. It’s going to take a lot more than just giving me puppies and taking me on lovey-dovey dates to earn it. So tell me,” her eyes darkened, “what do you want from me?”
Paris sighed, pressing his head to the back of his seat. “Fuck, you’re too smart for your own good.”
“Mm,” she said, “no, I’m pretty smart. But I need it to survive in this world.”
They were both silent.
“Riley… there are things going on that you aren’t going to understand,” he told her. “And I know I’m hiding things, I know you can tell I have a big, bad, terrifying past, but what I want you to understand,” he looked to her grimly, “is that I’m trying to reform our culture. My father was a horrible man who hurt your mother deeply.”
“She’s never told me this,” Riley responded suspiciously.
“She wouldn’t,” Paris said vaguely. “But the plans my father had were cruel, and had you centered around it.”
Her lips parted in confusion.
“I killed him because of something dangerous he was developing and he wanted to kill you with it, and now he has a copycat who wants to murder you, as well, but none of us know who it is. I want you to know, Riley,” he said, “it’s okay if you don’t trust me, but I can’t let you go with a serial killer out there; one that my father created.” His eyes darkened. “The killer is probably one of the people you know very well.”
Her breathing quickened, and she stared outside, trying to think of who the killer would be.
If it was Claire or her mom, then Paris shouldn’t have taken them in his own house, and Ryan was too stupid and self-centered to kill someone and risk going to jail and being hated.
Then who was it?
If it was Paris, then why would he tell her these things if it was so confidential?
Ugh, her brain was hurting. Everything hurt.
“So,” he said, “we’re here. Ready to go inside?”
She looked up, finding them in the same place he parked before.
Oh, wow. She had amazing timing when she shocked him.
“Ready to go ea—” he started.
But she watched him glance in the rearview mirror before his face went white.
And he turned on the car, the engine roaring as he slammed the gearshift into drive.
“Head down!” he called, making confusion swirl inside when she looked behind her, finding a truck speeding toward them at hundreds of miles per hour. “HEAD DOWN!”
She listened, and Paris slammed on the gas, making her shriek when they launched forward.
She spared a glance at him when the speedometer reached twenty then forty then eighty.
“Paris!” she called in fear. “Paris, what’s happening?”
He glanced at her. “Clutch the door, now.”
She caught the handle on the door, and he swerved to the side, making her scream as they entered a field, the bumps rattling her bones.
She heard the truck zoom past them from behind at light speed.
She was gasping, and Paris was too, adrenaline pumping through their veins.
“Jesus Christ,” he muttered in panic, pressing his head to the seat as he kept his eyes on the rear-view mirror.
“Paris...?” she whispered.
He clutched the steering wheel suddenly, hands tightening around the leather. “He’s coming back. Fuck,” he muttered when Riley found the truck backing up and getting onto the field. “Hold on,” Paris said.
And he hit the gas again, lurching the car toward the forest ahead as Riley screamed in panic, clutching onto the door handle for dear life.
Paris swerved to the right of the trees and sped past them from the side, the truck following behind them.
He then spun the wheel to the right, making her cry out when they entered the road again, zooming down the highway.
“Riley!” Paris yelled.
“What?” she called back.
“I’m about to do something terrifying!” he called, switching lanes on the toll highway until they hit the far right. “But don’t worry!” he told her over the engine. “We’re going to be okay! This car can handle it! Just press your head to the back of the seat!”
“What are you talking about?” she cried.
“Trust me!” he told her.
And they hit a bridge, Riley’s eyes widening when he drifted to the right, the truck coming close behind them.
But she was more focused on Paris.
“Paris!” she screamed. “Paris! What the hell are you doing?”
“Hold on!” he told her.
“Don’t tell me you’re going to jump off right now!” she yelled. “That’s INSANE!”
“Press your head to the back of the seat!” he said. “Do it NOW!”
She listened, still trying to reason with him. “PARIS, WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING? PARIS!”
And he drove off the edge, making her scream while they flew off, her stomach sinking to her feet when tears left her eyes, and they got father and farther to the road below them.
“PARIS!” she cried.
“HEAD BACK!” he yelled in response.
She pressed her neck to the back of the seat, and they ground got closer.
Oh, God, she was going to die, wasn’t she?
But Paris pressed her head to the seat with his hand; clearly to prevent her from breaking her neck or getting whiplash, but she screamed out as they got inches.
And the tires hit the ground, lurching her forward with inhuman force, but Paris’s hand kept her head from falling forward.
And he’s clearly done this many times before, because his head never left the seat.
And right as the impact burst through her body like fireworks, he took his hand away and continued driving, speeding away from the bridge at a hundred miles per hour.
Riley gasped heavily while her heart pounded against her ribcage, the force from Paris speeding not helping the hollow feeling in her gut.
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