Deeper

8. A bullet for you.

•••••••• Brooklyn ••••••••

I finally made it home after a brutal day at work. But my mind wouldn’t stop circling around Josh — his words, his stubborn insistence to buy me a car tomorrow. I’d told him how much I valued my independence. How I hated relying on others for rides I couldn’t afford. Yet, he was determined to do this his way.

Something about it felt off. Like I was losing a piece of myself. But I knew better than to argue. Josh always had his way.

I sank into a warm bath, trying to wash away the tension, then slipped into bed, craving rest. But just as I was about to drift off, my phone buzzed sharply against the silence.

*Who could be calling this late?*

I fumbled for it, heart picking up speed. The screen showed an unknown number. I answered, voice barely above a whisper.

“Brooklyn, it’s Josh. Sorry to bother you this late, but I need you at the office. Now.”

His voice was tense—urgent. My brow furrowed.

“Josh, if it’s that important to drag me out of bed, I’ll be there soon. But... I don’t have a car,” I said, my sarcasm barely masking the frustration.

There was a pause, then he said, “Right. I forgot. I’m sending my driver—Frederik. He has a snake tattoo on his neck. Don’t get in any other car. You could be in danger.”

My breath hitched. “Danger? What do you mean?”

“I’ll explain when you’re safe, in my office. I’ll meet you there.” Then he cut the call.

I threw off the covers and pulled on warm but professional clothes, tying my hair into a messy bun. A quick swipe of makeup to mask the fatigue, and I grabbed my purse and phone.

Outside, a strange car rolled up the driveway. Peeking through the window, I spotted the man from the message—a tall figure with a snake tattoo snaking up his neck.

It wasn’t Josh’s usual car. He drives a Hennessey Venom F5, but this ride had a quieter menace about it.

I reached the front door, hesitating before unlocking the extra steel security door. “Who are you?” I called.

“Frederik. Mr. Miller sent me to take you to his main building,” he answered, voice low and serious.

I nodded and opened the door, locking it behind me. Frederik held the door and I slipped inside the car.

He climbed into the driver’s seat and buckled up. Suddenly, two black vans screeched to a halt behind us.

Six men jumped out, guns raised and aimed.

Frederik slammed the locks, then pressed a mysterious button on the dashboard.

The windows instantly darkened, turning into impenetrable mirrors. Outside, shadows moved restlessly; inside, I could see everything clearly.

The car roared to life, accelerating as a man slammed against the window.

I gasped as Frederik drove over my rose bushes without hesitation. “Hey! My roses!” I scolded, but he ignored me.

Gunfire cracked through the night, bullets ricocheting harmlessly off the car’s armored glass.

My heart pounded in my chest as the chase intensified.

Frederik reversed sharply, crashing through the neighbor’s yard and back onto the road.

Two vans kept pace behind us, relentless.

Bullets whizzed past the rear window, embedding in the back seat.

Frederik’s eyes were steely. He floored the accelerator, weaving expertly through traffic without causing accidents.

“We’re taking a detour,” Frederik said calmly. “It’s safer. Less traffic. I don’t want innocent people caught in this.”

My chest tightened. “This road… it’s abandoned, right?”

“Yes. It’s longer, but maintained. Safe enough.”

Behind us, the vans disappeared.

I exhaled, relief flooding me for the first time in minutes.

“Who were those men?” I asked, voice trembling.

“The hunters.”

“Hunters?” My confusion was palpable.

Josh will explain everything later, Frederik said.

We pulled into Josh’s personal parking. As I stepped out, two men appeared—shadows of the attackers.

“Run, Brooklyn! To the elevator!” Frederik pushed me hard.

Frozen for a moment, I snapped into motion, sprinting.

“NOW!” Frederik shouted, gun drawn as bullets flew back and forth.

I darted to the elevator, pressing the button for the top floor.

One man chased me, but I ducked behind a car, heart racing.

The elevator doors slid open, and I rushed inside, slamming the button.

“Frederik!” I called.

He came running, breath ragged, slipping inside just before the doors shut.

My relief was short-lived when I saw the blood soaking his shirt—he’d been shot in the shoulder.

“Take your shirt off,” I ordered, panic tightening my throat.

I grabbed the emergency medical kit left in the elevator for moments like this, quickly removing the bullet.

Frederik hissed, biting back a curse as I cleaned and bandaged the wound.

The elevator doors opened to reveal Josh—angry, pacing, eyes blazing as they locked on me.

He didn’t hesitate. He crossed the room and pulled me into a fierce hug.

Frederik collapsed onto the couch behind us, exhaustion overtaking him.

Josh had a lot to explain. And I was ready to hear it.