A massive pickup truck swerved directly into his lane.
"Watch out!" Mark screamed, slamming on the brakes.
The tires shrieked. The smell of burning rubber filled the cabin as the car fishtailed, missing the truck's bumper by an inch.
The pickup honked a long, deafening blast and roared past, leaving Mark shaking in the middle of the dark road.
He sat there, chest heaving, staring at his trembling hands. He was losing it. He was losing Lyvana, he was losing the Montclairs' respect, and now he was losing his mind.
He grabbed his phone to call Lyvana, to apologize, but he stopped.
If he called now, she wouldn't even talk to him.
Mark threw the phone onto the passenger seat and shifted back into drive. He didn't need to apologize. He needed to win. He needed to find out who Julian Blackwood really was.
He pulled up twenty minutes later to Clarisse's building. He didn't knock; he pounded on the door until she opened it.
