Chapter 7 - The Race To The Tarmac
I stared at Tom's name flashing on the digital dashboard screen while my heart pounded violently against my ribs.
Sarah kept her eyes glued to the dark highway and told me to answer the call on speakerphone.
I pressed the glowing green button and forced myself to remain completely silent.
Tom's arrogant, perfectly calm voice filled the small cabin of the speeding car.
He told Sarah that he knew she had helped me escape the security guard at her apartment.
He casually mentioned that he was sitting in the luxurious cabin of his private jet with a wonderful view of the runway.
He warned us that if we tried to contact the real police, he would leave the country immediately and ensure I never found my daughters.
I could hear Emma crying softly in the background of the call, calling out for her mommy.
The sound of my terrified child shattered my forced composure entirely.
I screamed into the microphone, promising Tom that I would tear him apart with my bare hands if he hurt them.
Tom simply laughed, a cold and hollow sound that made my skin crawl.
He told me that I was far too late to stop the inevitable and promptly disconnected the call.
The line went dead, leaving nothing but the sound of the car engine roaring down the empty highway.
Sarah pressed the gas pedal even harder, pushing her small car well past the legal speed limit.
We saw the glowing blue runway lights of the private airfield appearing over the horizon.
Sarah veered off the main road and drove her car straight through a chain-link maintenance gate.
The metal fence tore away with a loud screech, and we bounded aggressively onto the smooth black tarmac.
A sleek white private jet was idling near the end of the runway with its massive engines already whining loudly.
The boarding stairs were still lowered, and a single pilot was unhooking the final fuel line from the wing.
Sarah slammed on the brakes, skidding the car to a violent halt just a few yards from the plane.
I threw my door open and sprinted toward the metal boarding stairs without waiting for her.
The pilot shouted something at me, but I completely ignored him and charged up the steps.
I burst into the luxurious leather-lined cabin, fully prepared to fight my husband to the death.
I stopped dead in my tracks and stared at the completely unexpected scene unfolding before me.
May you like
Tom was lying flat on his back on the expensive carpet, bleeding heavily from a massive wound on his forehead.
Standing directly over his unconscious body was my mother, breathing heavily and gripping a heavy glass champagne bottle.
