This is another excerpt from Mitch's story (the novel I'm currently revising). Sorry it's late. I had a hard time getting started today.
She cranked the key again, listening to the click-click of the starter not engaging. “Piece of crap,” she muttered.
Suddenly, the windshield spider-webbed inches from her face. She jerked back, cracking her head against the rear window. Her heart pounded, and she fought back a scream as the end of a tire iron came through the windshield.
Her father’s face contorted. She couldn’t tell if it was a snarl or a smile, but she could tell he wasn’t about to let her sit safely in her truck until it started.
“Fuck,” she muttered. The iron hit the window again, and she clambered over the gear shift to the passenger door.
As he reared back to cave the rest of the windshield in, Mitch shoved the passenger door open and leapt out.
She ran. She’d never admitted it to anyone, but her father was why she ran every day. Just in case she ever needed to get away.
She ran harder than she ever had before, hoping to make it down the driveway, out to the road where hopefully someone would stop.
Instead, she made it three steps from her truck before something crashed into her back, knocking her down.