I don’t have a fucking clue how I ended up sitting in the car waiting outside The Broken Bottle Inn for twenty-eight goddamn minutes.
Actually, that’s not entirely true. I know exactly how I ended up here; I’m just not too sure as to why I agreed to wait here or why I’m still sitting in the car.
Somewhere in between getting Elena coffee and food and pulling up to the curb outside the rundown building, Wes got me to agree to wait in the car. At first, I thought it was probably smart. She’s already run from me twice in the last seven or so hours, once in the bar, once in the parking lot. There’s really nothing to gain from scaring her into running again, especially if that means she’d be running back to my old man.
Fucking disaster. That’s exactly what that would be.
Then I’d have to follow her, because there’s no way I could let my father ruin someone like her. She’s too sweet, too naïve, to get messed up with his bullshit. And after hunting her down, I’d run the risk of seeing the man himself.
But it dawns on me … If she were really trying to run from me, she probably wouldn’t have stayed in Sacramento. She would have hit the road, driven as fast and as far as she could.
And that brings me back to the desperation I sensed in her. It was there, living, breathing; pushing her to walk up to me, a stranger, after running for a year. Even if my old man is using it against her to get to me, it’s still there, glaringly clear. The girl needs help.
Which leads me to believe that she wasn’t running from me exactly, just the situation.
I drum my fingers on the dashboard.
Thirty minutes.
The sun is just starting to rise, lightening the sky, and I’m tired, exhausted, and downright miserable. I haven’t had a wink of sleep in twenty-four hours. I can’t even begin to guess what’s taking Wes so long to collect Elena. She can’t possibly want to stay in this shithole, can she?
I sigh, exasperated, as I run my hands down my face and close my eyes. Who knows what kind of places she’s been staying in for the last year. The cottage isn’t bad, but it’s far from luxurious. And there were months before she found her way there. Months of God knows what. For all I know, The Broken Bottle Inn is a step up from the other places she’s hidden away in.
I swallow back the sickening twist in my gut. My skin prickles, and the coiling in my stomach wraps up tighter. The only reason she’s in there now is me.
I won’t let her stay in a place like this.
I can’t let her stay here.
Goddamnit! Why am I still sitting in the car?
I pop the door open, and fold out of the car. Jamming my hands in my pockets, I cross the weed-ridden lawn, scanning the inn. It’s L-shaped, with the office in the center and a line of rooms on either side. Most of the windows on the left side are boarded up, the glass broken and never replaced. The trim around them, rotting or gone all together. A fresh coat of paint wouldn’t be enough to revive the exterior. The place should have been torn down years ago. The only thing in good repair is the lit up sign.
The door to room sixteen is hanging open about a foot. Wes trying to make her feel comfortable, I guess.
I pause outside the door, listening to Wes chuckle, and then Elena asks, “Where is Jason anyway?”
Her voice is annoyed, bordering on angry.
I don’t wait for Wes to respond. I reach out and grasp the door handle, pulling it open.
As soon as the door is fully open, I realize my mistake. I should have knocked. I should have called out.
Elena screeches and her hand leaps up. I barely process the fact that she has a Taser before she pulls the trigger.
Pain, hot white pain, hits my chest and my body seizes. I go down, landing hard in the doorway. My muscles twitching, contracting, screaming.
Thirty seconds—it only lasts thirty seconds—but it feels like a goddamn lifetime.
Chapter Five
Elena
Oh my God.
Oh my God.
I didn’t. I couldn’t have. No. No, no, no.
Holy crap, I did. I just shot Jason Pierce in the chest with a Taser.
My eyes bug wide open as I watch Jason fall. “Oh my God,” I say out loud, dropping the incriminating device. It tumbles to the carpet, the thump sounding louder in my ears than possible.
Wes is laughing. Not the small, amused chuckle from before, but a loud howl of a laugh. He laughs as though it’s the funniest thing he’s ever seen.
My cheeks flame, my heart races. Clicking fills the air, each one sending another shock into Jason. A small grunt of pain escapes from his lips, but he doesn’t move, frozen in place as the shocks keep coming.
I can’t look away. I want to. I want to get up and go to him, but I can’t. All I can do is watch.
Thirty seconds. Thirty excruciatingly long seconds tick by before the awful clicking stops.
Jason lets out a loud breath, and slowly pushes himself back to his feet. He glowers, first at me, and then at Wes.
Wes doesn’t seem bothered by the furious glint in Jason’s eyes. He only laughs some more and says, “Told you to wait in the car.”
“You didn’t tell me you were giving her a fuckin’ Taser,” Jason grumbles.
Glancing down at his chest, his jaw clenches as he looks at the barbs and wires. He takes hold of one of the barbs, wincing as he yanks it out, and then does the same with the other.
I want to say something, anything, but I’m mute. Stunned silent. Good God, I can’t believe I did that. Why the hell did Wes give me a Taser?
Minutes pass. Long drawn out minutes of Wes chuckling and Jason scowling down at the barbs and wires clutched in his hand.
Finally letting the wires fall to the floor, Jason asks, “You two about done in here?”
He doesn’t look up as he speaks. I think I should probably be thankful for that. His tone carries an undercurrent of hostility and the sound is more than enough to freak me out, without seeing it mirrored in his eyes, but still, I wish he would look at me.
“I’m sorry,” I blurt, ignoring his question. “I’m really, really so sorry. You startled me and I …”
Jason’s gaze snaps to mine, freezing me mid-sentence. He lowers his chin, glaring at me. His hands open and close by his thighs. “It’s fine. Forget it ever happened.”
It’s not fine, though. I can see the annoyance lurking in his eyes. I can feel his tension radiating through the room.
“Don’t think I’ll forget that,” Wes says, grinning wide. “Shit, I wish I took a picture. Fuckin’ priceless.”
Jason cuts a dirty look at Wes, before returning his heated gaze to me. It’s uncomfortable, invasive. It sears through me, seeing too much, and at the same time, not enough. There’s a question there. I can see it burning in his eyes, but I have no idea what he’s looking for. It pins me in place. Has me dreading to hear the question and dying to answer it.
He sighs, shaking his head, as though banishing whatever thoughts were invading him only moments before.
“Let’s go,” he says, waving a hand toward the door. “You’re not staying here.”
My spine snaps straight but other than that, I don’t move. I don’t even breathe. Has he lost his ever-loving mind? I just shot him with a Taser and he’s obviously pissed about it. Why in the world would he think I’d go anywhere with him right now?
Leaning back ever so slightly and sucking in a deep breath, I shake my head.
Jason closes the distance between us in a few short steps, still glowering, his dark eyes burning right through me. He looks as though he wants to throttle me.
He stops right in front of me, and with gentle fingertips that I do not expect given the fiery look in his gaze, he reaches out and tucks a loose piece of hair behind my ear.
It’s just like the parking lot. Anger and gentleness. A confusing mixture that twists up my stomach with a mix of hot and cold. The man is a walking contradiction.
I flinch, or jolt. I’m not quite sure which one. Whatever it is, it hap
pens before I can stop it.
Jason’s face falls along with his hand. He stands there for a moment, jaw clenching and unclenching, before he huffs, and bends down to retrieve the Taser.
“I must be out of my goddamn mind,” he mutters under his breath, before turning to Wes. “You got another cartridge?”
Wes nods and digs a hand into his pocket, retrieving a new cartridge and placing it in Jason’s outstretched hand. He’s still grinning, although he’s pressing his lips together in an effort to hide it.
Jason huffs and rolls his eyes. “Give us a minute, yeah?”
Wes’s smile dies a little. He stares at Jason, and I get the funny feeling that there’s some silent conversation, or battle of wills going on between them.
Jason must have won because suddenly Wes’s smile comes back. He glances at me, winks, and then, darn him, he walks out the door.
My stomach flips over. What? No! No, no, no. Pleas for Wes not to go tingle my tongue, but I don’t let them out, because Jason is staring right at me as though he knows exactly what I’m thinking.
As soon as Wes is gone, he smirks and starts fiddling with the Taser.
My heart revolts in my chest as I watch, stunned and unblinking, as Jason ejects the used cartridge and replaces it with a fresh one. For a second, I have this ludicrous idea that he’s going to shoot me with it. An eye for an eye and all that jazz.
It is ludicrous, right?
Then, he shocks the hell out of me by placing the Taser in my hand and closes my fingers around the handle.
“What are you doing?” I ask. “I just shot you with this.”
“I know,” he says, his smirk growing, “and I’m really hoping you won’t do it again.”
I’m flabbergasted. I almost wish he’d shoot me with it. Almost. I think that would be easier to deal with than the trust he’s giving me.
I want to drop the device, throw it far away so there’s no possibility that I could shoot him, or anyone with it again, but he doesn’t let me. He keeps the pressure on my fingers, forcing me to accept his trust. Trust that I’ve done nothing to earn.
“I’m gonna help you, darlin’,” he says quietly. “Whatever you’re fighting so hard to hide from, I’m gonna do everything I can to fix it.”
My heart races with his declaration. “Why?” I ask, my voice coming out breathless. “Why now?”
My skin tingles with awareness as his eyes rake over me. His face holds the most open expression I’ve ever seen. It’s confusion and anger. Heat and frustration. Coolness and attraction. It’s contradicting. It’s confusing. Every speck of emotion he’s feeling shines through. It’s too much. It makes me blush, makes me glance away.
He reaches out, sliding his hand to the back of my neck and pressing his thumb on the underside of my jaw, and lifts my chin back up to meet his eyes again. “It’s what I should have said when you first walked up to me.”
I don’t know if it’s the tone of his voice, or the sheer determination glinting in his eyes, but I believe him. Call me stupid or crazy or whatever, but I believe every word.
And he sees it, that moment of belief and trust. He sees it and smiles, a tired twitch at the corners of his mouth.
“Let’s go, yeah?” he says. “I’m fuckin’ exhausted and you look like you could use some sleep, too.”
His fingers linger on my neck. The soft touch is a direct contrast to the rough, calloused tips. I stare at him, taking in his sleep deprived, red-veined eyes, the tired lines around his mouth, and the slight droop to his shoulders.
Slipping off the desk and out of his grasp, I say, “Okay. Let’s go.”
And so I go. I follow Jason to the office as he returns my room key. I trail along as he stalks out, and I don’t utter a single protest as Wes takes my keys and tells me he’ll follow us in my car, or when Jason throws open the passenger side door of his car and waves a hand for me to get in.
I just go along.
Not because I have to. Not because I’m tired or because I feel threatened, or even because he gave me the Taser.
I do it because I want to. Because at one time, I might have been okay with running. I might have thought it was a good way to protect myself, my family, and my friends from Officer Lawrence Peck.
But the last year has strengthened me. I’m no longer ready or willing to go down without a fight.
Chapter Six
Jason
I’m not an impulsive person. I never have been. I think things out, scrutinizing every possible consequence, positive or negative, that could come from any given action.
But this … I didn’t think this out.
I let my goddamn emotions drive me.
First, it was anger. As soon as I heard my old man’s name, I didn’t think. I reacted. Can’t say that it was one of my finer moments, but it happened. I lost my temper, acted rashly and harshly.
Then I found out Elena was on the run, and that was it. Everything shifted. I let … Sympathy? Concern? Protectiveness? I don’t even know. Maybe it was a bit of all of it. Maybe it was something else entirely. But whatever it was, I let the emotions drive me forward. I didn’t think any further than collecting her. And I most definitely didn’t think about what I would do with her once I had her with me.
But here we are now, sitting at the curb, waiting for Wes to bring her car around. I’m curious as to why Elena gave up her keys so easily and got into my car. She may have started the night by seeking me out, but then ran from me twice and shot me with a fucking Taser. Honestly, I figured she’d fight me, at least a little, when I came to get her.
I do have a few thoughts on why she didn’t fight me, though. It could be because she has nowhere else to go, or maybe she thinks I’ll just keep hunting her down if she runs from me again.
But I worry that her reasoning isn’t so simple. What if she’s gotten herself snagged up too thickly with my old man and if she doesn’t help him with whatever plan he’s working on now, then she thinks she’ll find herself running from two men instead of one.
I should probably be concerned about her ties with my old man. It complicates things. Makes helping her harder, messier.
Except, I’m not worried.
Instead, I find the whole situation really fucking amusing. Especially the part about her shooting me with a Taser. And what do I do after that? Reload the damn thing and give it back to her.
Maybe it’s exhaustion.
Or maybe I’m out of my goddamn mind.
Elena is quiet in the seat beside me. I’m not sure what to make of that. She hasn’t asked where we’re going, or given any indication that she cares for that matter. She seems relaxed enough. She seems comfortable.
I glance over at her. Her head is tilted down and her blonde hair, now hanging in loose waves, hides her face. I think she’s staring at the Taser, which sits on her lap. She’s not touching it, her hands are pressed palms down on the top of her thighs, framing the damn thing.
She must feel my gaze, because after a moment she slowly looks up. She smiles, that timid smile of hers, and reaches for the center console, opens it, and carefully places the Taser inside, before closing it again. She doesn’t say anything about it, just shrugs, and turns from me, staring out the side window.
I almost tell her to keep it. Almost. If it’ll make her give me a real smile instead of that timid, unsure one, I think I’d be fine with her shooting me with it again.
My insides instinctively tense at the thought of her doing it, and just like that, all of the amusement I was feeling seconds ago is gone.
Jesus fucking Christ, I need to get my head checked. And a drink. I really need a drink.
Not having a clue what to say to her, I rub my face roughly, and turn my gaze back to the rearview mirror.
Strained silence chokes the car.
And it stretches.
And stretches.
And stretches.
A few minutes pass—five, maybe less—before I spot Wes pulling up behind us. I blow o
ut a frustrated breath, shift my car into gear, and ease out onto the street.
“You made a pretty big commitment back there,” she says as we start moving, her voice low and cautious, as though maybe she’s just waiting for me to take it back.
I don’t respond right away. What can I say? She’s right. It’s a big commitment, especially when I only have a small glimpse of her problems.
I let out a heavy sigh. “Yeah. I guess I did.”
From the corner of my eye, I see her turn to look at me. Her lips are pursed and her brow dipped. “Don’t you think you should know what I’m running from before you make promises like that?”
I shake my head. Yeah, it probably would have been smart to confirm my hunch first. I can’t believe that I didn’t. But, Jesus, the way she looked at me when I gave her the Taser back. Eyes so wide, filled with shock and awe. It’s the kind of look that could make a man do incredibly stupid things.
I pull in a deep breath and let it out slowly. “You’re running from your fiancée, the cop.”
She laughs to herself, turning back to the window. “You found the engagement announcement.”
It’s not a question, but I respond anyway. “I did. Found a few other things, too. You were a history major at NYC. Your parents own a small bakery in Brooklyn. You’ve got a brother …”
Letting my voice trail off, I glance at her quickly, gauging her reaction. Her expression is blank, but she nods. The action seems to be more to herself, as though she’s accepting what I’ve found, understanding that I’ve been looking into her over the last few hours, and not necessarily confirming my statements.
Eyeing me warily, she asks, “How did you figure out it’s him I’m running from?”
“I didn’t,” I say, shaking my head. “It was a guess.”
“Good guess.”
I can hear the anger in her voice, and it makes me pause. I gaze at her curiously for a second, wondering if the emotion is directed at me or if it stems from the topic.
I consider dropping it, but what the hell? I need to know more about her, and I figure she’s got to know that, so I push on.