The Driven Series Boxed Set - Limited Edition (Driven #1-4)

by K. Bromberg

  “Colton I didn’t try to—”

  “Shut up, Tawny! I don’t care about your goddamn pathetic excuses! ” I shout at her because I’m on a roll and fuck if it doesn’t feel good to let it out. Release all of the anger and the fear and the uncertainty that’s ruled my life over the past few weeks. Left me a goddamn disoriented mess just like driving blindly into the smoke after a crash to hope I come out the other side of its oppressive fucking haze. “You didn’t try to what?”

  My anger’s eating me raw. I need to move. Need to expel some of it so I shove open the door of the Rover and start pacing back and forth, shoving my free hand through my hair as my feet hit the ground beneath me.

  “You didn’t try to use my accident—my fucked up head—as a means to get what you wanted? Tell me I slept with you when I didn’t? Trap me into being the daddy for your illegitimate kid? How fucked up is that? What kind of piece of shit does that, Tawn? Huh? Can you answer me why the woman I used to know—was my friend once upon a fucked up time—had to stoop so damn low that you used a kid to try and get me back?”

  There’s not enough asphalt in this parking lot right now to help me abate the fury in my veins, because the more I think about it—about what she was trying to do to me—the stronger my rage grows.

  Goddamn right she’s quiet, I tell myself, when she doesn’t respond to a single thing I’ve said. All I hear are whimpering cries on the other end of the line.

  “To think I used to care about you. Fucking unbelievable, T.” I shake my head and swallow a huge gulp of air. “Is this how you treat the people you claim to love? Use a kid to manipulate? To deceive to get love?”

  “You got back the results.” It’s not a question, just a soft statement that’s eerily calm.

  And she knows.

  “Yeah, I got them back.” The quiet steel in my voice should have her running for cover.

  “You fucked with me once, Tawn. I dealt with it as gently as possible since our families are connected.” I lean my back against the Rover and just keep shaking my head, my pulse racing, and breath panting out in shallow breaths. “But you obviously don’t care about that because you just majorly screwed with me again. Tried to ruin me with the one thing you know would fuck me up more than anything else. So I suggest you listen closely because I’m only going to say this once. I’m done with you. Don’t contact me. You sure as fuck better not contact Ry. And family functions?” I laugh and it sure as shit isn’t because I’m feeling happy. “I suggest you have the stomach flu or some other reason not to attend. Got it? You were my friend and now you’re just … nothing.”

  “Please listen,” she pleads and her voice—the voice that used to mean something—does absolutely nothing to me. At all. “Don’t be so cold—”

  “Cold?” I shout at her, my body vibrating with anger. “Cold? Cold? Get ready for the polar fucking ice cap because we’re done. You’re dead to me, Tawny. Nothing else left to say.” And I hang up the phone despite the sob I hear coming through the other end. I turn and brace my hands on the side of my car as I process everything. As I try to comprehend how a childhood friend could do that to me.

  And I realize it doesn’t really fucking matter. The whys, the what fors. Any of it.

  Because I have Ry now.

  Holy shit. I’m so wrapped up in my head and what I just did, that I forgot the whole reason I did it.

  Rylee.

  I get in the car as I fumble with the phone in my hand, and it takes me a second to bring her up from my recent calls list. The phone rings but I’m impatient. “C’mon, Ry!” I pound the steering wheel with my fist as the ringing filters through the speakers of the car.

  “Hey!” She laughs.

  The sound. My fucking God, that carefree sound in her voice grabs a hold of my damn heart and just squeezes it so tight I feel like I can’t breathe. It’s like all of a sudden all of the bullshit is gone with Tawny and the crash, and even though I can’t take a breath, I feel like I can breathe for the first time in a long ass time. Is this what it’s supposed to feel like? Fucking clarity and shit?

  I start to speak and I can’t. What the hell? It’s like I want to say everything to her at once and yet I can’t think of how to start. I start laughing, like batshit crazy laughing, because I’m the middle of some shitty strip mall and it hits me now?

  “You okay?” she asks in that sexy tone of hers.

  “Yeah,” I choke out through my laughter. “I just—”

  The giggle comes through the speaker loud and clear and I just stop talking. It’s Zander’s and it’s the first time I’ve ever heard it. The sound cuts me open like a filet knife. I swear to God I couldn’t be any more of a chick right now with my emotions all over the fucking place.

  “Go get your glove in the backyard and we’ll get going, okay?” I hear him agree through the line. “Sorry, you were going to tell me what was so funny.”

  And I start to talk, begin to tell her about the test results when I hear a sound that is so horrifying it reaches into my chest and tears into my hardened heart. “What the fuck is that?” I can’t say it quickly enough because despite the high-pitched scream that sounds like a wounded animal fighting for his life, I can still hear Rylee moving through the phone line.

  My stomach churns at the sound and her goddamn silence. “Ry? Tell me what’s going on. Ry?”

  “No, no, no, no!” she says and there’s something in her voice—fear, disbelief, and shock mixed with defiance—that has shivers dancing up my spine and has me immediately starting the car and throwing it into gear.

  “Goddammit, Ry! Talk to me. What the fuck is wrong?” I yell into the phone, panic overtaking me, but all I hear is her heavy breathing. And then whimpering. “Rylee!”

  “You can’t have him!” she says in an eerily calm voice, which sounds far away and has me cutting off some poor schmuck in the lane next to me.

  “Who’s there, Ry? Tell me, baby, please,” I plead, fear like I’ve only ever known in my youth tasting like bile in my mouth. Fear in my every fucking nerve. I struggle with deciding whether to hang up and call 9-1-1, but that would mean I’d have to hang up on her—not hear her, not know she’s okay.

  “You fucking bitch!” is all I hear before she cries out in pain and the phone goes dead.

  “No!” I scream and smash my hand into the steering wheel. My eyes blur as I try to push the numbers on my phone, but my fingers are shaking so damn bad that I can’t even manage 9-1-1 until after the third try.

  “9-1-1. What’s your emergency?” The disembodied voice answers.

  “Please help them. They’re screaming and … they’re screaming!” I plead with her.

  “Who’s screaming, sir?”

  “Rylee and Zand…” I can’t fucking think straight; ice floods my veins and my only thought is I need to get to them so I don’t even realize I’m not making any goddamn sense. “Please, someone is there and—”

  “Sir, what’s your name? What’s the address?”

  “Co-Colton,” I stutter out when I realize I don’t even know the address. Just the street. “Switzerland Avenue.”

  Oh fuck. Oh fuck. Hang on, baby. Hang on. I’m coming. It’s all I repeat in my head—over and over—as my body shakes.

  “What’s the address sir?”

  “I don’t fucking know!” I shout at the 9-1-1 operator. “The one with all the goddamn paparazzi out front. There’s no one else in the house but her and a little boy. Please! Quickly.”

  And when I look up from ending the call, I have to slam on the brakes as I hit fucking road construction.

  “Fuck!” I yell, laying in on my horn like it’s my lifeline.

  Rylee.

  She’s my only thought.

  Rylee.

  Please God, no.

  NO.

  Please no.

  Rylee.

  She’s my only focus as my tires squeal around the last turn onto her street. I’m a goddamn mess and the sight of police cars scattered
all over the block – doors open, lights on, sirens off – scares the shit out of me.

  Then a sliver of relief.

  If they were injured, ambulances would be here. And if they were still inside, then the police would be running around in a frenzy to try and help them. But they’re not. No one is doing a goddamn thing except for all huddling together, a line of black uniforms, shoulder to shoulder.

  See? They must be safe.

  Something to my right catches my attention. I freeze. Never mind. The ambulance is here; its lights are flashing but its siren is silent.

  Spiderman.

  Why isn’t the siren on?

  Batman.

  Why is everyone standing around?

  Superman.

  Where the fuck is Rylee and Zander?

  Ironman.

  Thoughts scream in my own head, but I can’t process them. They’re lost in the fear clenching every single fucking part of me. The damage must be done. He’s already taken them.

  Or worse.

  Numbness hits and the tang of fear I’ve only ever tasted before back in that dank fucking room of my youth fills my mouth. Owns my soul. Takes over.

  I drive as far as I can into the melee. With fumbling fingers I fling the door open, the Rover still running, and sprint as fast as I can down the sidewalk. I try to shout, to call for her so she knows I’m here, but all that comes out is a rasp of sound, her name broken.

  Policemen shout at me. I can’t hear a word they say because my only focus is on the front door, the caution tape I can now see being pulled tight across the street, and the intensity on the faces of the wall of uniforms.

  Two cops rush me. I resist, try to shove them off me and push as far as I can toward the house.

  “Rylee,” I grunt out as they slam me against the cruiser behind me. Even with adrenaline owning my body, I have nowhere near enough strength to break free from a two officer tag team.

  But that doesn’t stop me from trying.

  “Where is she?” I yell as I continue to struggle, fear and adrenaline dominating my body and mind. “Rylee!” I resist but when I see other officers put their hands on the butts of their holstered guns, I relent.

  Calm the fuck down, Donavan. Good luck with that.

  “Okay,” I tell them as I shrug their hands off of me. “Please just tell me—I’m the one who called—I know who’s in there!”

  And now I have their attention.

  Within moments I’ve explained everything I can think of, but they haven’t said a single word to me. Nothing.

  An officer tells me to stay put, another keeps his hand on my shoulder, afraid I’m going to fucking bolt. And he’s right. I do want to. So I do the only thing I can, I put my head in my hands and try to keep from choking over the fear lodged in my throat.

  And I repeat the chant that she’s said for me in my time of need. Over and over. Fucking Christ. Where are the superheroes when I need them?

  Or are they not coming because it’s already too late?

  The officer must sense my restlessness, must know that if I don’t move some, I’m going to implode with the pressure in my chest and fear in my heart – the one Rylee brought back to life. So he releases my shoulder and I’m immediately on the move, feet eating up the same six concrete panels of sidewalk, over and over.

  I look up when I hear footsteps. “Talk to me. Please,” I beg. “Tell me she’s okay. Zander’s okay. He’s fucking traumatized. Please.” My voice breaks as tears prick the back of my eyes like pins. I welcome the pain, hold onto it because it’s the only way I can cope right now with all of the unknowns.

  “The woman and little boy—”

  “Her name is Rylee!” I shout. “She’s not a faceless, nameless victim. She’s my Rylee.” My checkered flag. Oh god! “And Zander. Rylee and Zander. Call them their names. Acknowledge that they’re people with families goddammit!” I fist my hands, desperate to hurt something, break anything, to abate my restlessness. But it won’t help. Nothing will. Except for getting to see them.

  I lace my fingers on my neck and pull down, force myself to breathe. I need to calm the fuck down or they’re going to kick me out of here. My chest aches and if I had any doubt before I know for sure now: That woman owns this heart of mine.

  Rylee. Hang in there, baby. Be strong. For me. For Zander. Please.

  The police office looks at me again and I’m such a fucking mess—so inside my own head—that I forgot he was coming to give me information.

  “Rylee and Zander,” he says using their names, “and the suspect are isolated in the backyard.”

  “Then go in there and get them the fuck out of there! C’mon! Do your goddamn jobs!” I shout with hands fisted and teeth gritted. My mind is so overwhelmed that the stupidity of my comment doesn’t register until I notice the officer before me glance to the one beside me.

  And then I know.

  “Has he hurt her?”

  Silence.

  “A gun?”

  Crickets.

  “Has he hurt Zander?”

  “No.”

  No to all of the questions or just the one about Zander? What are they not telling me?

  My chest constricts. My world spirals like the tumbling of the car in the wreck. One second. That’s all I allow myself to feel before I shut down. Fuck this. Fuck everyone.

  I shove away from them, pace down the sidewalk, and try to wrap my head around all of this. Take a moment. Then I stride back to him, know it won’t do a bit of goddamn good, but ask anyway. “You’ve gotta get me in the house. Right. Fucking. Now!” I demand as a dog starts barking somewhere.

  “Sir, keep your voice down. The suspect doesn’t know we’re here and we’re trying to keep it that way. We’ve got tactical in the kitchen to take a shot if need be. We don’t want to escalate the situation.”

  And all I hear is that he doesn’t know we’re here. So that means Rylee doesn’t know we’re here. She doesn’t know help is here. And that scares the shit out of me more than anything.

  My selfless saint.

  “If need be? He has a fucking gun right? What more do you need to know?”

  “We’re doing everything we can,” he says in that placating tone I want to rip from his throat.

  “No you’re not!” I bark. “Do you have them safe? NO YOU DON’T!”

  “Sir, if you can’t settle down, we’re going to have to escort you from the premises.”

  Panic rifles through me. I can’t be taken farther away than I already am. I look over at the house and think of earlier today: my welcome kiss with Rylee, my chat with Shane. How could a perfect morning turn into this? How could I leave her to face this alone?

  I squeeze my eyes shut and drop my head for a beat before looking back at the man in front of me. “Officer…” I glance at his name tag, try to make a connection with him so that he understands how important my next words are. “Officer Destin – Please. You have to let her know we’re out here. Zander’s one of her boys. She’ll do anything—anything—to keep him safe.” The thought terrifies me. Fuck being calm. I grab the front of the his shirt. “Do you understand what I’m saying? She’ll sacrifice herself for one of her boys…so fucking do something now!”

  Hands yank me backwards. Voices threaten me. I shrug them off and hold my hands up in an apology. “We’re doing everything we can to—”

  “Don’t give me the bullshit line. Don’t stand here. Do something!”

  They nod their heads like they get it but they don’t. Not even fucking close. They don’t have a freight train of fear derailing inside of them because the people they care about are in a backyard with a murderer.

  Time fucking stretches.

  Seconds.

  Minutes.

  Forever.

  It feels like years are being scraped off of my life by a dull knife with each and every passing second. Eventually I’m moved into a tactical van near the front of the house. They say it’s to keep me better apprised of the situation. I
know it’s because they can see me about to explode from the unknown and that when I do, I’ll take matters into my own hands and compromise their operation.

  My mind races but I can’t focus on a goddamn thing but Rylee and Zander and being stuck inside this tiny truck where I can’t pace and can’t talk. All I can do is sit here with guys in headsets and monitors with white snow, a constant on their screens.

  “I’m not letting you take him.”

  And then I hear her voice.

  My body jolts to attention. Adrenaline pumps through my veins from the goddamn defiance in her voice. She’s all right.

  I lean forward and focus on the grainy image that springs to life on the bank of monitors in from of me. I have to fight the sob of relief when I see her, hear her voice, when all I’ve felt for the past however fucking long it’s been is fear.

  And the wave of reprieve is short lived because when I’m finally able to tear my eyes from her, there’s only one other thing I can focus on: the gun that is aimed directly at her.

  “SPIDERMAN. BATMAN. SUPERMAN. IRONMAN. Spiderman. Batman …” Zander repeats it over and over as he sits balled up in a corner behind me in the backyard. It’s the only thing I can hear over the buzzing in my head right now from the force of the punch. Zander’s hands are over his ears and he rocks back and forth as he chants, withdrawing into himself. Into the world he wants to exist, where there are no bad men wielding guns or fathers holding knives cutting their wives apart.

  The problem is that in Zander’s world, they are one in the same.

  I notice all of this in the split second after I’m punched in the face, my body flinging and twisting from the impact to see my sweet boy shrinking into himself. Time stands still then begins to move in slow motion. The pain in my cheek and eye does nothing to abate the fear in my heart as I look up to meet the eyes of the man that’s been a constant presence in my life over the past few weeks. His hat and dark glasses have been knocked off and it hits me.

  I know this man.

  I’ve seen him before.

  He’s the man who gave me the creeps in the Target parking lot. He’s the man from the dark blue sedan parked outside of The House and my house, following me. Without his hat and sunglasses I can see Zander in him. I know why he seemed so familiar in the parking lot that day. He has the same color eyes, the same features; his hair is longer and a bit darker, but the resemblance is unmistakable.