The tires screamed as the car skidded sideways, narrowly missing the rusted iron supports. Frank swung the wheel back, the momentum nearly flipping them over. Behind them, the pursuit intensified, the gap between the bumper and the abyss narrowing with every heartbeat. The horizon was gone now, replaced by an absolute, suffocating blackness that seemed to swallow the road ahead.
Frank floored it. The engine roared, a mechanical scream against the oppressive silence of the plains. He remembered the look on the girl’s face before the knife fell, and the way the cultists had looked up, their eyes reflecting the firelight, realizing they had witnesses. Race with the Devil YIFY
Frank saw the bridge ahead—a narrow, rusted span over a dry creek bed. He saw the silhouettes of more figures standing on the girders, waiting. This wasn't a chase anymore; it was a ritual extraction. The tires screamed as the car skidded sideways,
"They're still there," Roger rasped, glancing at the side mirror. The horizon was gone now, replaced by an
A heavy thud rocked the rear bumper. One of the sedans had pulled alongside, its grill gritting against their quarter panel. A man leaned out of the passenger window, his face a mask of calm, calculated fury. He wasn’t holding a gun; he was holding a heavy, hooked chain. "Take the shot!" Frank yelled.