SWNOVELS Devil’s Lily: Chapter 36
As soon as Emily disappears from view, I scramble into the driver’s seat and lean towards the glove compartment. I hold my breath as I tug it open, but thankfully it opens easily. She didn’t lock it.
My trembling fingers sift through the mess of crumpled receipts, black face masks, and other useless junk, heart sinking into my stomach like lead as I realize why she didn’t lock it. There’s nothing here. Nothing I can use.
A sob escapes my lips, eyes stinging with tears as I teeter on the edge of giving up before I’ve even begun my escape attempt. But then—something sharp pricks my fingertips. I gasp and quickly close my hand around it. My chest tightens as I pull it out and hold it up like a lifeline.
An old, rusted screwdriver.
It will do.
Wiping my tears from my face, I glance out the windshield. Emily is standing next to the small plane, deep in conversation with two men. One of them is holding a thick hose attached to a nearby truck and seems to be attempting to connect it to the plane. They’re fueling up.
That should keep them busy for a while. I hope.
I turn my attention to the dashboard, then the keyhole. My stomach twists into knots as doubt rears its ugly head. I don’t know much about cars, and this one looks nothing like the old sedan Roan used to teach me how to hotwire. This setup looks more modern, more complex. The overwhelming helplessness creeps back in, whispering that I’ll fail, that there’s no way out. But I shove it down ruthlessly. No.
Come on, Elira. You can figure it out. So what if they’re different cars? The same principle has to apply. Right? And I have to at least try. No time to second-guess myself.
With one last glance out the window to ensure they’re still distracted, I grip the screwdriver tightly and get to work.
I squint, running my hand over the steering wheel, searching for the tiny screws holding the column in place. There. My heart skips with nervous excitement as I lean forward and try to undo the screws as quickly as possible.
Sweat dribbles down my back, and I keep darting glances out the windshield at close intervals. My fingers shake, slipping once, but adrenaline keeps me moving. First one screw. Then another. A third. Until all the screws are littered across the passenger seat. The panel comes off with a hard tug, and I toss it aside.
Exposed wires spill out like a tangled mess of colored snakes. For a moment, I just stare, the panic threatening to crawl back.
Be calm and try to figure out which wires are connected to the battery and which ones are connected to the ignition system. Roan’s voice is cool and collected in my head and helps me compartmentalize.
The battery wires are usually red. The ignition wires, brown. Starter wires, yellow.
Roan’s warning surfaces next. Be careful. Messing with the wrong wires might get you electrocuted.
A shaky, almost hysterical laugh escapes me at his wry warning, and a little tear rolls down my cheek. I have two choices: sit here, meekly waiting for Emily to smuggle me to Budapest, never to see Maximo or any of my family again… or risk being electrocuted and possibly escaping.
Decision made, I grab the red battery wires and dig my nails into the insulation plastic until I peel off about an inch. At least I hope it’s an inch. Then I twist the exposed wires together. The dash lights flicker on, and I gulp, glancing up through the windshield, but thankfully Emily and her goons have their backs turned to the car as they fuel the plane, so none of them notices the faint glow of the dashboard.
I turn back to the car. Now for the most dangerous part. My heart thuds in my throat, and my hands shake as I wipe the sweat down my pants. I need dry hands for this. Stripping an inch off the brown starter wire, I hold it carefully in my right hand.
With my left hand, I pick up the twisted battery wires and pray to every god in the universe as I touch the exposed ends of the different wires together.
A spark bursts like tiny fireworks. My teeth clench, but I don’t pull back. The wires meet again. Another spark. And again. Then, on the fourth try, the engine coughs to life with a low rumble.
Yes!
I carefully shift in my seat, pressing myself against the driver’s door, as far away from the wires as possible. Dying from electrocution isn’t on the agenda—not now that I’ve tasted victory.
The gearshift groans under my death grip as I yank it into reverse just as Emily’s head snaps around. And then she’s running, her eyes wide with realization, but it’s too late. I floor the gas pedal, and tires scream in protest as I roll the steering wheel, sending the car into a sharp, reckless spin.
Her hand slaps against the car’s trunk—too slow. I don’t even flinch. I gift her my middle finger through the rear window, a final act of defiance as I slam the accelerator down with everything I’ve got and drive away from her, leaving her in a cloud of dust.
The car barrels towards one of the gates on my way out of the abandoned old airport and—crack—there goes the side mirror, snapping off like a cheap plastic toy and ricocheting across the ground. A maniac laugh bursts out of my throat, part adrenaline, part holy-crap-I’m-actually-doing-this hysteria. “Perfect!” I whoop.
But sweet victory doesn’t last long. As I drive down the pothole-ridden road, uncertainty starts to creep in. I pass several turns, unsure which to take. I have no idea where I am. I could be anywhere. My heart pounds as I keep going straight, praying to break out of this forgotten neighborhood and into the city.
A curve comes up ahead, and I bite my lip as I lean into the left turn. The road stretches on until I reach a crossroad. My legs bounce nervously, my head swiveling between the options—right, left, right again—what the hell do I do?
Which turn? Which turn?
I tighten my hand on the steering wheel and decide on a right turn, figuring another left might just lead me back to where I’m coming from, and that’s not a risk I’m taking.
The universe must be throwing me a bone for once, because suddenly my windshield fills with a constellation of harsh headlights from a convoy of expensive SUVs, and as I drive past the lead vehicle, my heart performs an Olympic vault straight to my throat. I know that car. Never been inside, sure, but I’ve seen it enough times in Maximo’s garage to recognize it instantly.
Heart in my throat, I wrench the wheel hard, veering into the other lane, and slam on the brakes to block the next car in the procession. Tires screech as the convoy grinds to a halt. Several doors swing open, and heavily armed men spill out, pointing their weapons at the car. But I’m not scared. Not of them, at least.
With shaky hands, I unlock the car, able to override the lock mechanism because the engine is running. Then I shove the door open and stumble out.
Arms raised like a surrender flag, I backpedal away from both my car and the SUVs, putting as much distance as I can until I’m on the edge of the road. My eyes frantically scan the men for the one face I need to see. My husband’s. And thank whatever deity is watching this madness…
“Elira?”
As I turn my head towards the sound of Perro’s voice, relief floods my system for half a second before the world goes supernova. The car I just escaped explodes, a fiery blast of heat scorching my back as the force propels me forward. The ground rushes up to meet me and darkness follows close behind.