60. Renee

Deacon continues to rant and rave while I struggle to type out a coherent message without him noticing. His voice is an angry cacophony but I have to stay vigilant. All of Deacon”s yelling will definitely get?—

”What the fuck do you think you”re doing?”

Before I can answer, we swerve severely as Deacon reaches over and snatches my phone. I don”t even fight him as I cradle my stomach protectively. Tears blur my vision and I have to force the panic down.

That was my last hope.

He”s going to kill us.

It”s not the first time the thought has run through my head, but as Deacon tosses my phone out the window, it feels more and more likely that that”s going to happen.

I”m sorry, Weston. I”m so sorry. I swear to God I tried.

”You thought you were gonna call for help, huh?” he shrieks as he whips into a turn that leads us down a deserted road. ”Well, there”s no one coming to help you, Renee. Not the cops, not your father, and not your precious fucking Weston.”

He says it with a hatred that I”ve never felt from him before. I feel the chill of it deep down to my core.

”Deacon, please,” I beg one last time. ”Please, just let me go home.”

He grits his teeth and says nothing as we approach a bridge and then slow down. Irrational hope hits me—maybe there”s some salvaging this. Maybe Deacon has realized how batshit fucking crazy this is going to make him look in the long run.

Then he snuffs that hope right out.

We stop in the middle of the bridge. He gets out, slamming his door behind him, then stalks around to my side and drags me from the car. I cry out as his nails dig into the meat of my upper arm and break skin.

”Deacon—!”

”Get out, bitch,” he snaps at me.

I stumble over my feet but I manage not to fall; Deacon has too good a hold on me for that. His grip shakes, like his fury can”t contain itself in his body. He pulls me to the railing of the bridge. It didn’t look so high up at first, but now that I have a look at it, any fall from it is definitely going to kill me. It’s pure concrete at the bottom.

I clutch at his elbow. ”Deacon, calm down! We can talk about this?—”

”Don”t you get it, Renee? I”m done talking.” He spits on the ground at my feet. ”I”m done playing nice. I think it”s only fair. You took my life, so how ‘bout I take yours, eh?” He thrusts me toward the edge.

”You”re fucking crazy. You”re?—”

A gravelly sound steals my attention. My head jerks to the side, and a car pulls up to a skidding stop.

My heart leaps into my chest.

Weston.