Samantha stared ahead as the man she had cut off pulled up beside her and flipped her off again. He rolled down his window and shouted something unintelligible at her.
She moved into the right lane as she neared her exit. Hands sweaty and knees shaking, she got off the interstate and merged into the traffic on the highway leading to her new job. She hoped her commute wouldn’t be this bad every day. Samantha was new to city life.
She stopped at a traffic light and took a sip from her overpriced Starbucks coffee. Just as she brought the cup to her lips, a loud honk startled her into dropping it. It was him again–the man she had cut off. He was directly behind her now.
“For Pete’s sake!” Samantha groused.
She frowned down at her ruined outfit. The light changed, and she stepped on the gas. The man behind her followed suit, tailgating her as she drove.
Would he follow her all the way to work?
She didn’t want to risk her job finding out so she pulled into a parking lot. He pulled in behind her, causing her heart to gallop.
Maybe she should try reasoning with him.
She stepped out of her car and said, “Look, I didn’t mean to cut you off.”
“Fuck you, bitch! Fucking bitches always think they can drive like shit. What were you doing? Putting on your fucking makeup?”
Samantha didn’t know how to respond, so she shrugged.
Suddenly, he reached into his waistband and pulled out a gun.
“You fucking scraped my new car, bitch!” he screamed as he pointed it at her.
“Yeah. I bet you are.”
He took a step toward her, and the next thing she knew she was flat on her back, encased in a muscular set of arms as several shots sounded.
“Stop shooting!” she screamed several times before she realized that the shooting had stopped.
The arms around her tightened, and she buried her face in a muscular chest.
“It’s okay,” a deep male voice said.
Samantha pried her eyes open to see a man with long, dark hair and piercing green eyes looking at her. He stood up and pulled her to her feet.
“Stay here,” he commanded as he walked to the man on the ground. He kicked his gun out of reach and checked his vitals.
“Is he dead?” Samantha asked.
“Nah,” he replied with a shrug. “He’ll make it, but he might not be able to use that hand again. That’s the least he deserves for harassing you on the interstate.”
“How do you know–”
“I saw the whole thing. I was following you on my bike.”
“You’ll go to jail for shooting him.”
“Not today, sweetheart. I’m a cop. I was off duty until this asshole ruined your morning. What’d you do to piss him off?”
“I cut him off,” Samantha admitted as he body trembled.
“I’m Jake, by the way,” he said as his eyes skimmed down the front of her soaked shirt.
Show some love to my fellow IR authors! Click the links below to find their flash fiction stories based on the same picture.