The Liberator (A Dante Walker Novel) (Entangled Teen) by Victoria Scott

I’d like nothing more than to let off a little steam.
    Pulling off onto the thinnest road I can find, I start to slow down, ready to give this guy a piece of my mind. But before I can, my bright green car lurches forward.
    “Son of a bitch,” I yell. “He just hit me.”
    I’m thinking it’s an accident on his part. That this guy is pissed that I cut him off and only wanted to hassle me, not hit my car . But when I look back, I see that he’s accelerating. And then the dots connect. This guy doesn’t just want to startle me, he wants to hurt my ass.
    My arms tighten on the wheel as I gun my Kia Rondo. The Kia makes this awful high-pitched whizzing sound that has absolutely no growl. If my heart weren’t racing, I’d find it hilarious. But right now, I’m afraid this lunatic may have a death wish…or a carving knife. So it’s not funny. Not at all.
    Jerking the wheel to the right, I speed up, slamming my foot on the accelerator. My stomach clenches as I peek in the rearview and realize I’m not going to outrun this guy. All I can think as this is happening is, where are the damn cops when you need them?
    My head flies forward as my car is slammed again from the back.
    I drive faster.
    Tiny houses and empty fields fly by, and I begin to panic over when this road will end. And what will happen when it does. Never have I felt so out of control. Even that night in the forest with Charlie and Rector, I had my body to rely on—my legs to run, my fists to fight with. But now, now I’m just some cornered chump in a busted-up car.
    Thinking this, my panic turns to anger. Who does this guy think he is? I’m Dante Walker. I’ve died twice and am still walking around earth like a champ. And this dirt bag with a rage issue is ramming into me because he’s had a bad day?
    I don’t think so.
    Hitting my brakes, the black sedan pummels into me. The driver’s horn blares and doesn’t stop. The sound rings in my head. But I don’t care about that or the fact that my muscles seem permanently locked. All I care about is showing this chode exactly who he’s messing with. Throwing my door open, I step out. If he has a gun, so be it. I’ll take it in the chest like the animal I am.
    I jab my finger at his tinted windows. “Get out of the car.”
    Though I can’t see what the guy looks like, I do see him look over his shoulder at something. Following his gaze, I see that there’s another car headed toward us. He may think that’s going to help him, but he’s wrong. This guy’s had his fun; now it’s my turn.
    Prepared to tear him out of the vehicle, I yank on the passenger door. The door is locked. No matter. Tilting my head, I give the guy a cold smile. Then I jerk my fist back and throw it through the window. Glass explodes.
    Right as I’m leaning down to get a look at who’s inside, dirt kicks up from his back tires, and he peels away. The only thing I catch sight of before he’s gone is a branded tattoo on his right bicep. “Coward,” I scream, even though it was me fleeing only a few minutes ago.
    Moments later, a silver SUV pulls over. A woman in her mid-forties rolls down the window, her face worried like she isn’t certain she should be stopping. “Everything all right?”
    Still fired up, I nod and stare after the sedan’s taillights. “I’m fine,” I manage. “Thanks for stopping.” Looking back at the woman, I furrow my brow. “It was nice of you to check on me.” Most people would’ve driven right past, especially a woman alone in her car.
    She smiles, though I can tell she’s still a little nervous. “It’s no problem.” Looking at my car, she adds, “Do you need a ride?”
    I wrap my bloodied knuckles in my shirt and return her smile. Sometimes good people are pretty cool. “Nah, the car’s still running.” I nod toward the Kia and its barely audible motor.
    The woman exhales like she’s relieved. “Okay, then. Take care.”
    “Wait.” I grab onto her open window before she