Daisy pressed her back flat against the cold, wet brick wall of the alley.
Her calf throbbed with a sickening, rhythmic pain. She looked down. Blood was pooling in her shoe. She was getting dizzy. She knew she couldn't outrun Emmett's security team on foot.
She peeked around the corner of the brick wall.
A beat-up Ford pickup truck was idling at the red light just outside the alley. The passenger side window was rolled halfway down.
Daisy bit down on her tongue to keep herself conscious. She waited until the two bodyguards at the end of the street turned their backs.
She pushed off the wall and lunged out of the shadows.
She grabbed the door handle of the truck, yanked it open, and threw herself into the passenger seat.
The driver, a young guy in a faded flannel shirt with a scruffy beard, jumped in his seat. "Hey! What the hell do you think you're doing?" he yelled.
He reached over to shove her out, but he stopped. He saw her pale, terrified face. Then he saw the blood soaking her leg and dripping onto his floor mats.
Daisy forced tears into her eyes. Her whole body trembled.
"Please," she sobbed, her voice cracking perfectly. She pointed a shaking finger toward the men in black suits down the street. "My controlling ex-husband. He's trying to drag me back. Please, just drive."
The guy looked out the window. He saw the massive, intimidating men scanning the street with radios in their hands.
His jaw set. "Bastards. Always the rich pricks thinking they own everyone," he muttered under his breath, his grip tightening on the wheel. He slammed his foot on the gas pedal.
The truck lurched forward just as the light turned green. The tires squealed against the wet asphalt.
One of the bodyguards whipped his head around at the sound. He pointed directly at the fleeing truck and started yelling into his radio.
Daisy watched them shrink in the side mirror. Her heart hammered against her ribs.
"Thank you," she whispered, leaning her head back against the seat.
The guy handed her a wad of napkins from the glove compartment. "You need a hospital, lady."
"No hospitals," Daisy said quickly. "He has people everywhere. Just take me to Brooklyn. A local clinic."
Outside the cathedral, Emmett stood on the sidewalk. The rain washed the blood off his hands, but his face was a mask of pure terror and rage.
The head of his security detail ran up to him, out of breath. "Sir. She got into a blue Ford pickup. We have the license plate."
Emmett's chest heaved. The thought of her bleeding, sitting in a stranger's car, made his vision go red with jealousy and fear.
"Track it," Emmett ordered, his voice deadly quiet. "Use the NYPD grid. Find out exactly where that truck is going."
"Do we intercept, sir?"
Emmett closed his eyes. If they chased her, the driver might panic and crash. She was already hurt.
"No," Emmett said, opening his eyes. "Just follow her. She's bleeding. She has to go to a hospital eventually. And I own the board of every major hospital in this city."
He was arrogant enough to believe she couldn't escape his system.
Up on the second floor of the cathedral, standing behind a stained-glass window, Eryn watched the chaos below.
She saw Emmett yelling at his men. She saw the panic in his posture.
A cold, victorious smile spread across her face.
She pulled out her phone and typed a message to her manager, Corinne.
The idiot ran away. The plan is working perfectly. Get ready to close the net.
The Ford pickup pulled to a stop outside a dingy, unmarked community clinic deep in Brooklyn.
Daisy reached into her pocket and pulled out the last of her crumpled cash, trying to hand it to the driver.
He pushed her hand away. "Keep it. Good luck with the psycho." He drove off.
Daisy limped into the clinic. She paid in cash, used a fake name, and sat on a plastic chair while a tired nurse stitched up her leg.
She stared at the white bandage wrapping her calf. She had survived the night, but she knew the real war hadn't even started.
