The SUV sped through the rain-slicked streets, tires splashing through puddles as Alex gripped the steering wheel with white-knuckled intensity. The city lights blurred outside the windows, streaks of gold and red smearing against the dark. Inside, the air was thick, charged with everything unsaid between us.
My hands trembled in my lap, my knuckles raw from gripping my mother's hospital sheet earlier. I couldn't shake the image of the man with the gun, his cold voice still ringing in my ears: The next one won't miss.
"Alex," I said, my voice breaking the suffocating silence. "You need to tell me what's going on. What just happened back there?" I turned to him, my eyes burning with unshed tears. "Why is your father doing this?"
He didn't answer at first. His jaw clenched, the muscle there twitching as his gaze remained fixed on the road ahead. The windshield wipers beat furiously against the rain, a relentless rhythm that matched the pounding of my heart.
