else I can get my hands on. Plus, I have yet to pick up the money Kramer has to give back. I'd called him earlier on my break, and he's expecting me around six-thirty. I figure I'll meet with him and then do some shopping.
The meeting with Kramer goes smoothly. Afterwards, I pick up a couple small cans of pepper spray and a loud whistle that attaches to my key chain. I can't get any of the fun stuff like a taser until I'm eighteen. It's frustrating, because I am so limited in what I can do. At least my birthday is only a couple months away rather than several. I should be thankful rather than resentful.
As I drive back to Cherry Creek, I'm aware that the same car has been following me for a while now. I'm assuming it's Trace, and I'm comforted knowing I'm being watched. Now that I know what school will be like and that Khristos evidently has some enemies from what Tatum hinted, I like knowing I have some sort of security. All this is new to me, and I'm grateful that Khristos cares about my well-being even if we don't get along.
The lights behind me grow brighter, causing me to glance in the rearview mirror. I wince as I realize Trace has turned on his brights. Why would he do that? I blink a few times and focus on the dark road before me. That's when I see headlights flick on only thirty feet in front of me. My eyes widen with horror as I catch sight of the two cars sitting in the middle of the road with their noses facing me.
With a cry, I jerk the wheel, swerving to avoid the cars.
The sound of squealing tires fills the night, and I just barely avoid the cars blocking the road. Unfortunately, I can no longer control the sports car. There's a steep ditch that I can't stop from sliding over, and the car immediately begins to roll. There's no time to prepare or to even comprehend what's happening. I have the sickening sensation of being airborne, and then there's temporary blackness.
When I come back to consciousness, I hear a hissing sound and smell gasoline. Everything hurts, and I can feel that I'm hanging upside down. Being trapped as I am causes my head to throb painfully, and I can taste blood in my mouth. It doesn’t help matters that the seatbelt holding me in place digs into my belly and shoulders as it prevents me from falling on my head. The pain in my abdomen has me fighting back a moan as blood trickles down the side of my face from a cut on my jaw. I can feel the warmth of it pooling in my hair.
It's a struggle to open my eyes, and when I do, I see twisted metal and glass thanks to a dim light that seems to be coming from an unknown source outside. For a brief moment, I feel the beginnings of panic fill me as I realize I’m trapped among the wreckage. Claustrophobia automatically creeps up on me since there’s hardly any room to move. The roof of the Aston Martin is now the ground, and I can feel my head brushing against it slightly when I cautiously turn my head. I suddenly feel scared and alone. What if the car catches fire? A whimper of panic escapes my lips, and I lower my palms to the ground below my head, trying to brace myself slightly as I try to shift my legs. Agony streaks up my right leg, and I cry out.
An odd scraping sound reaches my ears, and something thuds near me. “Trace?” I ask hoarsely. I turn my aching head and peer towards my shattered window. There's a shadow outside the wreckage, and hands are gripping at the metal door and pulling.
Relief sweeps through me as I realize Trace is here. Everything will be okay. Now that I know help is on the other side of the door, I find myself concentrating on my injuries. Everything hurts. Mostly my abdominal area, and it hurts just to breathe. I close my eyes and try to stay calm, because I know panicking will only make it all seem ten times worse.
My door is wrenched off its hinges, and I turn my throbbing head to peer at Trace. The face that greets me is one I’ve never seen before as I take in the man’s reptilian features