Without a word, Jared slipped into the driver's seat, his movements slow and deliberate. Jerica's breath came in shallow gasps as she stared straight ahead, her hands gripping the seat so tightly her knuckles turned white. The tension in the car was suffocating, every second stretched taut with unspoken threats.
"Drive," the man in the back seat commanded, his voice sharp and unyielding.
Jared's fingers tightened around the steering wheel as he started the car. "Where?" he asked, his tone calm, though Jerica could feel the controlled fury radiating from him.
"You'll know when we tell you," the masked man said, his gun now resting against the back of Jared's seat. His tone was casual, calm, as though he was not impressed by the fear that thickened the air.
