Keatyn Unscripted (The Keatyn Chronicles Book 8)

by Jillian Dodd

  “Doesn’t matter who or why, son. We need to get them. Where are you?”

  I give him the mile marker of the highway we’re traveling on. “If it is Vincent, we think he will be headed to an airport, but we don’t know which one.”

  “Help is on the way, boys. Don’t lose the van. What are you driving?”

  “White Maserati,” I say. “California plates: Golf, Oscar, Alpha, Lima, India, Echo, One.”

  “We can’t keep up this speed,” Aiden says frantically. “I’m burning through fuel. We’re going to have to do something else.”

  “Like what?”

  “Hit them,” he says.

  “Hit them? This car against a full-sized van? It will crumple.”

  “I sat in on a stunt planning meeting while Keatyn was filming. They talked about what would happen in real life as opposed to what would happen in the movie. I’m going to do the stunt. I’ll speed past him. Double back. T-bone the driver’s door.”

  “You’ll kill us. Them too, probably.”

  “Not if I do it right. And we don’t have another option. The cops aren’t here. The feds aren’t here. It’s just him and us. Besides, we have airbags, right?”

  “I’m more worried about my head.”

  “Helmets!” he yells. “Keatyn bought them for my birthday. They're behind the seat.”

  I strap on a helmet, then hold the wheel while Aiden does the same.

  “You look ridiculous,” I tell him. “I totally have to record this.”

  I grab my video camera out of my pocket and mount it to the dash. “One DashCam coming up.”

  After getting it in place and hitting record, I’m feeling claustrophobic. “This must be her helmet. It’s too tight.”

  “It will protect your head. That’s all that matters. Okay, so I’m going to speed way up. Pass them. Come back. We’ll time it so we hit the driver’s door.”

  “Where the hell is the Secret Service? In Miami, they were there in minutes.”

  “It's just us, Riley,” Aiden says solemnly. “And I’m on fumes. Just before we hit, I want you to pull the emergency brake. It’ll spin us around and we’ll hit him with the back of the car. It will protect us.”

  “Do you think you can do that? Drive right into the side of it?”

  “I don’t have a choice. Here we go.”

  Aiden pushes the pedal down, slamming through the gears.

  The Maserati flies past the van. Vincent lets out a sigh of relief. They weren’t following him, just a couple of dumb rich kids driving way too fast. He looks down at his speedometer and slows down to the posted speed limit of seventy. Not that he needs to worry, if there are any cops around, they’ll go after the speed racers first.

  We pass the van.

  Trees and power poles fly by us.

  “How far do we have to go before we turn back?”

  Aiden’s screeching brakes are the answer to my question. He flips the car around and drops the clutch.

  Then it’s rev the motor, shift, rev, shift, rev, shift.

  “140!” Aiden yells.

  “160!” I yell back. “What’s her top speed?”

  “Stock is 185, but I have a chip. I’ve never tested it, but they say it’ll go 200. Just pray we don’t blow a tire.”

  “Oh, great. Like we need something else to worry about. This is like one of those math problems. A car is traveling toward you at 70 mph. You're going the opposite direction at 190 mph. If you want to hit the van, when should you cross the median?”

  “You know the answer?”

  “No. I suck at math. The van is getting closer. Now!” I scream.

  Aiden cranks the wheel.

  Vincent sees that the stupid kids have turned around and are heading back down the highway in his direction, traveling at a very high rate of speed. But then they lose control of the car and cross the median, headed straight toward him. Idiot kids are going to ruin everything if they hit him. They’ll be dead, not that it matters, but he’s only a few miles from the airport, and he can’t let anything stop him. He tries to judge what will happen next, but it’s all happening so fast, all he can do is hit the gas and pray it’s enough.

  But it’s not. It hits the van dead on.

  “Ahhh!!!” I scream again as we bear down on the van.

  Just when I recognize the driver as the guy from the club in Miami, Aiden yells, “Pull it, Riley! Pull it!”

  I wait a heartbeat longer and then pull the emergency brake.

  Tires scream.

  Metal crunches.

  The car does a flat spin and we hit again.

  Keatyn is disoriented and feels like she’s being tossed from one metal hand to another.

  I rub a bump on my head as I crash into something softer.

  Dallas.

  I quickly remember the events. Dallas falling to the ground. Cooper yelling my name. Vincent firing shots to his chest. Him going down. Vincent's voice behind me. Dallas being thrown into the van.

  Which, I’m pretty sure, is rolling.

  I hit my shoulder hard and hold on tight to Dallas, trying to cover his head with my arms. I feel his breath on my face, but he doesn’t respond when I say, “Dallas, wake up.”

  After what seems like an eternity, the van teeters to a stop.

  I hear Vincent moan.

  Somehow, I’ve got to get Dallas away from him. So he doesn’t shoot him like he did Cooper.

  Poor Cooper.

  I relive the moment. The noise. Cooper’s body thrown back when the bullets hit him.

  I want to cover my head and bawl. I can’t believe he’s dead because of me.

  He was more than a bodyguard.

  He was my friend.

  I shake my head to clear it and everything he taught me rushes into my brain.

  I need an advantage. A weapon.

  Anything.

  The van is completely empty in the back. Just me and Dallas surrounded by white metal and gray carpet.

  Vincent has switched from moaning to cursing.

  And I can tell he’s pissed even though I can’t understand what he’s saying.

  He must’ve been driving too fast and crashed.

  I hear a slicing sound and the pop of what I assume is the airbag.

  Meaning he's got a knife.

  Wrists. Face. Crotch.

  Disable him.

  Get the gun.

  Grab Dallas.

  Get away.

  But then how will I find B?

  My head is throbbing. My shoulder is sore.

  Think, Keatyn.

  New plan.

  Get the gun. Use it to make Vincent tell me where B is.

  My eyes are darting across the van, looking for something to use as a weapon, when I spy my backpack. Dallas and I were headed to Stockton’s so I could drop it off. So it would be ready when I left tonight.

  And there’s something heavy in it, I remember.

  The rock Avery gave me!

  I slowly inch toward it, hoping Vincent can’t hear me moving.

  Cooper always said to use the element of surprise whenever possible. He said the fact that I’m a girl adds an element of surprise in and of itself. That a man wouldn’t expect me to be a threat.

  Maybe if I pretend to still be knocked out.

  I look toward the windshield. It's smashed and, based on the fact that the trees are pointing the wrong direction, I determine that the van is lying on its side.

  When the van comes to a stop, Vincent curses. The scene has become part of his movie, the driver of the Maserati becoming Matt who is trying to keep him and Lacy apart. He can’t let Matt win. Not this time. Not again.

  He pops the airbag with a pocketknife and then crawls into the back. “Keatyn! Are you okay?”

  He rushes toward her in a panic when he notices the blood seeping from her temple. “You’re bleeding!”

  Her eyes don’t open as he pulls her into his lap and caresses her face. He can see that’s she’s breathing, so he slaps
her across the face gently, hoping it will wake her up.

  I assess his condition.

  His pupils are huge. His face is banged up. A gash above his eye is bleeding. And, most importantly, there’s neither a knife nor a gun in his hands.

  I punch him right in the face.

  He backs up, surprised, but quickly recovers.

  He pounces on top of me, grabbing my wrist and ripping off my wish bracelet in the process.

  I look at the little seashells—my hopes and dreams of getting my life back—scattered across the floor.

  A moment of panic takes hold as the reality of what Vincent has already accomplished sets in.

  He has Brooklyn and no one can find him.

  I reach for my locket, grasping it and praying the cavalry is on the way.

  But with the gunshots, the school would have immediately gone on lockdown.

  How long would it take for them to realize we’re missing?

  “What’s that?” Vincent says, taking the necklace out of my hand, ripping it off me, and tossing it aside. “That’s not from wardrobe. You can’t wear it.”

  “But . . .”

  He gives me a smug grin as he grabs my free hand, then pins my arms above my head.

  “It’s just you and me now, Lacy,” he says, reciting a line from A Day at the Lake. “You want this as badly as I do, don’t you?”

  He’s lost it. He doesn’t even know who I am.

  I definitely pushed him completely over the edge.

  I close my eyes, relaxing like Cooper taught me to do in a situation like this.

  But then I decide to take a different approach first.

  Because if it’s a scene from the movie he wants then that’s what he’s gonna get.

  “I changed my mind, Vincey,” I say the lines I read last night in his new script.

  “No! Don’t give me that bullshit,” he says, reciting the next line. “Matt changed your mind! You came crying to me about it! I told you to figure it out.”

  Even though he’s acting pissed, his hold on me has completely relaxed.

  It’s time.

  I knee him in the crotch with as much force as I can muster then grab my backpack and swing it into the side of his head.

  The force of the blow knocks him off me.

  I move quickly, knowing I need to get Dallas out of here. I don’t want him to become Matt or dead partier number whatever in this crazy charade.

  I kick the van’s back door open.

  Vincent sits up.

  Just like in the original movie.

  He’s beaten, bruised, broken, and he still keeps getting up.

  But that’s good, because I have to get him to tell me where the hell he’s keeping B.

  Vincent grabs my hair, pulling me back into the van and causing the doors to swing shut.

  “No! Don’t give me that bullshit,” he says, repeating the line. “Matt changed your mind! You came crying to me about it! I told you to figure it out.”

  I manage to flip my body around, kicking Vincent’s arm in the process.

  “Ow! Fuck!” he yells. “Abby, stop it. Stop screwing around! You aren’t being very professional.”

  “This isn’t part of the movie, Vincent,” I say softly. “Tell me where Brooklyn is.”

  Vincent’s face softens and he smiles at me. When he leans in to touch my face, I smash him in the head with the rock I managed to pull out of my bag.

  He crumples to the ground.

  I don’t waste any time. I grab Dallas under his arms, pull him out of the van, across the grass, and to what I hope is a safe distance away.

  “Lacy!” Vincent wails from inside the van. His voice sounds horrific. Like a wounded animal’s.

  I leave Dallas in the grass and run back to the van.

  Throwing the door open, I find Vincent waving a gun at me.

  “You didn’t fucking listen to me. You listened to him.”

  “Tell me where he is!” I yell back.

  “You’ll find out our location when we get there. Filming will commence immediately.”

  “You’re hurt. The van is wrecked. How are we going to get there?”

  He moves toward the door. “We’ll find alternate transportation. And if you don’t do what I say, I’ll kill him.”

  I realize I have no option. I knew it would come to this.

  And I knew, when the time came, that I’d go willingly.

  “I’ll come to Egypt with you, Vincey. You’re right. I want you. All to myself.”

  Vincent squints, knowing I recited the script but that they were his lines. It seems to perplex him for a moment.

  He gets out of the van, waving the gun at me. “Get back in the van. We’re leaving.”

  I have no idea how in the world he thinks we could leave. Is he going to flip the van upright with his brute strength?

  That only happens in the movies.

  That’s it!

  I look him straight in the eye and imitate my mother when she’s mad. “Vincent Sharpe! How am I supposed to look good on set if you won’t tell me where to send my hair and makeup people?”

  What Abby says causes him to pause. She’s right. Where are the hair and makeup people? His head hurts, both from the stunt accident as well as her fighting him. They really should have stunt doubles for this kind of thing.

  Vincent hears a screech and sees three black SUVs stop and a swarm of agents jump out, their guns pointing at them. Things are getting out of control, going way off script.

  “Drop the gun and put your hands up,” one of them shouts.

  Vincent turns and shoots, causing the agents to duck behind their cars and return fire, the bullets hitting him. Each one feeling quite real.

  “Stop!” Lacy screams, rushing in front of him, trying to save him. He smiles. Lacy is trying to protect him. She’s willing to make the ultimate sacrifice to save him—she’s willing to die for him.

  It’s valiant but won’t matter.

  He drops to the ground and can see the blood pumping out of his own chest. It’s surreal.

  Breathing is getting harder.

  And he feels cold.

  One of the men tries to pick Lacy up and move her away from him, but she reacts by throwing her arm backward and connecting with his face.

  Then she looks down at him, her sweet smelling hair falling onto his face.

  “I love you, Lacy,” he whispers.

  She falls down on her knees in front of him, crying, and gently picks his head up off the concrete and cradles it in her lap. It’s a sweet gesture. One he appreciates.

  He looks up at Lacy, at the love of his life, and even though the script isn’t ending the way he planned it, he couldn’t have asked for a better ending to their story.

  “It'll be okay, Vincent,” she says, her voice sounding like a angel. “You’ll get to see your grandmother now.”

  “I miss her,” he says, his own voice sounding raspy and far away. Lacy tries desperately to save him. She takes off her scarf and shoves it against his chest, trying to make the bleeding stop. Tears are streaming down her face. He used to think that it was her smile that lit up the screen, but he just changed his mind. It’s the emotions she wears proudly on her face. She’s beautiful when she cries.

  “Please tell me where Brooklyn is. Where Matt is. So we can finish our movie.”

  “Don’t cry,” he says. “I love you.”

  He feels himself getting weaker.

  “I love you too, Vincey,” she says, as tears stream down her gorgeous face.

  He tries to lift his hand to wipe away her tears, but his arm won’t cooperate. He knows he doesn’t have much time now, and he worries about her being alone in the world. He’s destroyed her life, killed everyone she loves. But there might be time for her to get to the man who loves her unconditionally. Who took his beatings and never once wavered. He can see the scene playing out in front of him. They have their grand reunion on the beach, the dog at their side.

  On th
e beach, just like in the end of his grandmother’s movie. Just like the end of his and Lacy’s movie.

  In fact, he’s there now. They both are.

  He looks into her eyes and says, “Grandmother.”

  And then, they kiss.

  He stops breathing. His eyes becoming fixed.

  And I know he's dead.

  I wanted him out of my life, but I didn’t want this.

  I bury my face in his hair and cry.

  BOOKS BY JILLIAN DODD

  The USA TODAY bestselling series,

  The Keatyn Chronicles®

  Stalk Me

  Kiss Me

  Date Me

  Love Me

  Adore Me

  Hate Me

  Get Me

  Hollywood Love Series

  (A Keatyn Chronicles Spin off)

  Fame

  Power

  Money

  Sex

  Love

  That Boy Series

  That Boy

  That Wedding

  That Baby

  The Love Series

  Vegas Love

  Broken Love

  Spy Girl Series

  The Prince

  The Eagle

  The Society

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  Jillian is a USA TODAY bestselling author who writes fun romances with characters her readers fall in love with, from the boy next door in the That Boy trilogy to the daughter of a famous actress in The Keatyn Chronicles to a kick-ass young assassin in the Spy Girl series.

  Jillian lives in a small Florida beach town, is married to her college sweetheart, has two grown children, and two Labrador Retrievers named Cali and Camber. When she's not working, she likes to travel, paint, shop for shoes, watch football, and go to the beach.

  FOLLOW JILLIAN ON HER WEBSITE.

  SIGN UP HERE FOR HER NEWSLETTER.