My shoulder throbbed like hell. Blood soaked through my shirt, sticking the fabric to my skin as Alice’s car tore down the highway. My head felt heavy, but the anger throbbing in my chest kept me awake.

I wasn’t dying here. Not by her hand.

The city lights faded behind us, replaced by dark, empty roads. Alice didn’t speak, she just gripped the steering wheel tight, her knuckles white, her face locked in that cold, unreadable mask.

“Where are we going?” I demanded, my voice rough.

She ...