When I slam my eyes closed, I’m pretty sure she’s noticed my little peeking routine. I hold my breath, trying not to show any evidence that I’ve got a mental recording of her nude body pinned up in front of my mind’s eye. A place of honor where it will reside for a long, long time.
Her only imperfections are the bruises. There’s a collection around her neck. More circling around her forearms. The splotches on her left thigh are purple and yellow.
I hear her pull my clothes out of the shopping bag. Imagine as her legs stretch out and the jeans slide up her thighs, hiding that almost nonexistent lingerie. Then comes the hoodie. When she finishes, she announces, “All done.” After I turn around, she asks, “How do I look?”
Thinking only of her lovely curves hidden under my tatty clothes, I reply, “Great!”
This causes her to do a cute little bounce on the balls of her feet, which following Newton’s third law of motion—for every action, there is an equal and opposite reaction—her unbound breasts follow the motion a fraction of a second behind the rest of her body.
I was hard from the earlier sneak peek, but now my cock actually quivers with unbridled excitement. After a deep breath, I manage to pull my hormone-soaked brain back in line as she slicks back her hair at the sink. After pulling the hoodie up, her final touch is slipping into my stained New Balances.
“They’re way too big,” she says, grimacing as she wriggles her toes around in all the extra space.
I bend down and pull the laces as tight as they’ll go. “I think you’ll have to manage until we can get out of here. It’s going to turn some heads if you’re wearing those heels with my old clothes. Plus you won’t be able to run. We might have to run, right?”
Looking down at me as I tighten the laces on her other shoe, she gives a nervous little nod. Then she takes a few tentative steps around. On the last one she trips and reaches out for me to catch her. There’s a sly smile and then she’s biting her lips. “I think I'm ready.”
I nod. “Let’s do this.”
Chapter 5
Kate
The walk from the bathroom to the parking lot takes no more than ten minutes. I might even guess closer to five. But time doesn’t follow its usual pace when its observers are walking with their faces down, lips sealed, constantly looking over their shoulders to confirm whether the footsteps matching their own are fellow shoppers or an ex-boyfriend-slash-police-officer with no concern for the law.
The original plan to take to the emergency stairwells tucked in the corners of the building is scrapped when the first heavy door Brad opens reveals a CCTV staring down the length of the stairway. With this option gone, and not wanting to be trapped in an elevator where our only escape could be cut off as easily as the power, we go with the plan of keeping hidden in plain sight. And despite my disbelief, the disguise actually works, because we make it to the parking garage and to Brad’s car without a single hiccup. Once we’re both inside, Brad lets out a breath. He looks over at me. Raises his eyebrows. And I can see the question written on his face: ‘We made it, right?’
Then I look away from him, back the way we came.
And my heart stops.
“Get us out of here,” I shout, my crazed voice reverberating through my bones in the confines of the economy car. My hands slam against the dash and I’m pressing my right foot onto the floorboard, the imaginary gas pedal pinned to the crusty maroon carpet.
Brad’s eyes go wide as they too notice the burly figure at the entrance to the stairwell. Trevor’s there, scanning the cars to find us. Brad fires up the car and shifts into drive almost in one fluid motion. But what isn’t so smooth is the engine in this twenty-year-old hunk. Something horrible squeals for three seconds that feel like as many lifetimes. By the time his engine has corrected itself, we’ve pulled out of the parking space.
And Trevor has crossed half the distance between us.
Trevor’s not a small man, but very little of what bulges against his uniform is fat. I know from experience that he has more than enough muscle to lift me by the neck with one hand. That he never tires when thrashing me around. On the contrary, it only seems to pump him up more. And as that capable frame appears to leap across the cement parking garage, his police-issued pistol bouncing against his hip, something akin to rage burning in his eye sockets, we rip down and around the spiraling exit ramp. Away from Trevor’s shouts. Out into the sunshine that feels artificial in its sudden brightness.
It’s only when we pull onto the highway that I remember to breathe. Even then, I can’t help but look behind us one more time, fearing that somehow Trevor has managed to get in his cruiser and is already on our tail. But the only thing behind us is a pick-up truck older than the car we’re in now.
“I think we’re good,” Brad breathes out.
I nod, no words forming in my mind. It’s too full of all the what-ifs. Of what could have happened had we been even the tiniest bit slower. Of what might yet come. Slowly I come to my senses and notice that we’re heading towards the coast.
“Where are we going?”
Brad shakes his head. “No idea. I just got out of there as fast as I could. But now that we’re safely away, we can start thinking of where to get you. Do you have any relatives you could stay with?”
“No.”
“No family at all? How about friends? Maybe you can—”
“That’s not what I meant,” I come back with. I meant, ‘No, we’re not safely away’. He saw your plates. I’m sure he’s already run them through the system.”
“He can do that?” Brad asks. The heroic shell he’s been wearing has cracked, allowing fear to ooze out. “But I haven’t broken any laws.”
“Neither did I.”
Brad nods to himself. It’s a self-reassuring gesture. One I know I’ve done many times when alone in the bathroom after finally managing to escape Trevor’s grasp. What I also see is strength. Because despite all the reasons he shouldn’t be, Brad’s still here. He’s not begging to be let out of this situation. And even though he just suggested dropping me off with someone else, his next words are not said out of self-preservation.
Brad’s gaze locks onto the highway exit signs. He lifts a finger from the steering wheel, directing me to look too. “If we keep on straight like this for another hour, we’ll hit the coast. It’s the off-season, and the weather’s been pretty miserable the past week, so I’m betting we can find a little tourist town where there won’t be many people (or cops for that matter) to call in my license plate if it’s true your ex-boyfriend has put out a BOLO on me.”
“BOLO?”
“I heard it on one of those detective shows,” he answers with an embarrassed smile. “It means ‘be on the lookout’. Cops use it when they’re looking for someone. Which you think he might be, right?”
“Definitely.”
“So we find one of these deserted tourist towns, grab some food, and figure out our next step.”
I go to ask him what he thinks that might be when his phone rings. The moment he looks at the caller ID, his face drops. “Shit.” He looks over at me apologetically. “I gotta take this.”
He answers it on speakerphone. The voice on the other side blares through the tinny speaker. “Where the hell are you, Brad? You were supposed to be back half an hour ago.”
“I’m really sorry, but—”
“No apology needed.” I’m imagining the person on the other side is older, maybe in his forties or fifties, his double chins bouncing with each shouted syllable. “Don’t worry about coming in today. Or any other day for that matter.”
“But I—” Brad chokes out.
“HR will send your termination papers out tomorrow.” And before Brad can even attempt to get a word in, the phone beeps and the screen goes dark.
A long, deep inhale precedes a sigh that rattles through Brad’s chest. He’s not looking at me, even though I know he can feel my eyes boring into him. The fact is that if not for me, he’d be at his job. A jo
b that it appears he desperately needs. Instead we’re driving away from my problem, which due to my helplessness has become his problem too.
The poor guy is still staring straight ahead, barely blinking, his knuckles white on the steering wheel. I can’t imagine what this day has cost him, and how its echoes will affect his life in the coming weeks and months. Is he late on his rent, maybe? Did he need the company insurance to get a painful cavity filled? Was this job his final lifeline he’d been holding out months, maybe even years, for?
Knowing full well there isn’t anything I can say to make things better, there’s at least something I can do to distract him from this newfound stress. So without thinking whether the action will mean anything or not, I lean over to give him a kiss on the cheek. It’s just meant to be a gesture of gratitude. But Brad must have been spending this time thinking of what to say next, because a fraction of a second before my lips find his cheek, he turns to say something, and our lips meet in a tentative brush.
I always thought it was stupid or just wishful thinking when people said that sparks flew the first time they kissed. And even if a small part of me wanted to believe it was possible, before this precise moment, I never would have even entertained the thought that such a magical moment could happen in a car that smells faintly of rotten milk, driving away from my lunatic of an ex.
But the truth of the matter won’t be denied. Because when our lips brush against each other, there’s something undeniable in that connection. So strong as to make us both pull back and stare into each other’s eyes. The only thing that breaks our connection is when Brad jerks at the steering wheel to pull it back into the right lane.
We don’t speak after that, but out of the corner of my eyes, I see Brad lick at his lips. And when I swallow, it's a loud sound that I’m sure reverberates through the car, carrying with it my trepidation, my wonder, my hope.
I don’t know what this means, or if we can just ignore what happened. But deep inside me, I know that this little road trip isn’t the same anymore. Today might have started out in the most horrible fashion, but now there’s a shred of light at the end of the tunnel. I even entertain a brief thought of the night this day may lead to.
And who I’ll spend it with.
Chapter 6
Brad
We park at the back of a gas station, my car hidden behind a defunct car wash. To our left, just across the street, is the beach. Well, there’s actually an ugly parking lot between here and the sand, but I can almost imagine that I hear the surf breaking all the same.
The town is Newbridge, and it’s as tiny as it is empty. The gas station seems to be functioning, but we’ve been parked here for five minutes and I haven’t seen a soul stirring about. There’s a diner just down the road though, and with the way Kate’s stomach is growling beside me, I know we’re going to have to leave the safety of the car and venture outside soon enough, but right now we’re just waiting. I don’t think either of us knows exactly what for, but we’re both sitting here silently, hoping for the other to make the first move.
It’s at this time that a question bubbles up in my skull.
“This might sound insensitive, but what exactly is your ex’s problem?”
Kate’s lip is quivering, and she’s wringing her hands in her lap. After long seconds, I think that she’s just going to choose to ignore my question, but then she finally says, “He was such a sweetheart in the beginning. We met when he pulled me over for a speeding ticket. He let me off because he said that he didn’t make a habit of giving pretty girls tickets. Instead he gave me a warning, and asked for my phone number below my signature on the form. When we started dating, he’d pick me up in his squad car. It was fun. At first.
“Some nights he showed up already drunk. When I asked him about it, he’d get all gruff and say that cops’ jobs are too hard for civilians to understand. That there were things he’d done and wasn’t proud of. That drinking helped him do his job because it made him less uptight. Then one night when he came to pick me up, he was absolutely plastered. I tried inviting him in for coffee or something, but he was determined to get to this party across town. He wouldn’t even think about letting me drive, and I remember how my fingernails dug into the dashboard while he swerved all over the road. That’s when the kid on the bicycle appeared.”
I actually feel myself stop breathing. I don’t want her to continue. If we stop here, I can always imagine how they barely got to the party unscathed and that the little kid is still safe at home to this day.
But none of that is true.
Kate’s focus is firmly on her own lap. “I remember how his bicycle felt when we ran over it. It was all over the news that week, but Trevor would always shut off the TV when it came on. He didn’t want me or him to mention it ever again.
“Trevor’s station bought the story that we hit a deer and that’s what caused the damage to his cruiser. He once told me while drunk that there was no real investigation into the boy’s murder, because there were no cameras aimed at the road in this particular residential area. And that there were definitely no eyewitnesses. He highlighted this last point with a punch that left me no choice but to wear huge sunglasses for a week.”
She’s quiet for some time after this revelation. As am I. While I want to comfort her, there’s a different part of me that sees her as part of the problem. Why did she never come forward?
My silence must say more than I think, because she replies to my unspoken thoughts.
“I know what you’re thinking. There was a witness. Me. So why didn’t I go to some other police station and tell them my story? That’s what everybody thinks, right? Like when you’re watching a horror movie and yelling at the main character not to open a door. Only this time you’re asking why I never did. The reason is that while there are definitely good cops out there, it’s not like they’re wearing signs. I knew that if I talked to the wrong guy, he might somehow know Trevor. And I wouldn’t get beaten for betraying him; no, he’d kill me. He said so.” She grabs at my right hand with both of hers, ringing my palm, tears rolling down her cheeks. “I wanted to get that poor kid justice, but I couldn’t do anything. You have to believe me.”
While I might not be able to put myself in her shoes—and no one who hasn’t lived through a similar situation should judge—I can at least acknowledge that she’s no murderer. She’s not even an accomplice. Kate is a victim who, while not chained up in a basement somewhere, has been wearing mental shackles for far too long.
I might not be able to do much, but I can at least let her know that I’m on her side.
“You’re wrong,” I say and she recoils, but I immediately reach for her hands again. My touch is gentle, but her eyes shake nonetheless. “There’s something you could have done. And you did it. You escaped. And now we can actually begin to fix this.”
Her nod is short and followed by a sniffle. “You’re not going to leave me here, are you?”
“I don’t know what we’re going to do next, but we’ll figure it out together. So that’s at least one less thing for you to worry about.” My stomach growls then, and I rub at it like I’m taming a cat. “I lied. I know what we’re going to do next. I hope you like greasy-ass diner food, because that looks to be about our only choice.”
This stupid remark earns me a weary smile. And a kiss on the cheek this time. I don’t know if that means she regrets the earlier one, but I’ll take it. And see where it takes me.
Chapter 7
Kate
We pick up two Reuben sandwiches coupled with iced tea and fries and then drive down the road to a little beach that’s out of the way. Here we spread out a flannel blanket Brad says that he forgot he even had in the trunk and have a meal on the beach. The sun is hidden behind a thick layer of smudgy clouds, so it’s far from romantic or even hopeful. But no one is going to find us here. Not even my psycho ex.
Halfway through my sandwich, I swipe at an errant bit of sour kraut on my chin. I don’t mean to be suc
h a messy eater, but the moment the rye bread hits my lips, I remember that I skipped breakfast in my hurry this morning. I look over at Brad, blink once after he matches my gaze, and say, “I think an apology is overdue. I’ve been so caught up in my own thing that I never thought to ask more about you. So what’s your story?”
“What do you mean?”
“You know my deal. Abusive ex-boyfriend who won’t stop stalking me. So what’s yours?”
He only shakes his head. “I don’t have a deal.”
“Everyone has a deal,” I say as I pop a thick, greasy fry in my mouth. “I showed you mine, so it's time for you to show me yours.”
Brad shrugs his shoulders. “Nothing quite as dramatic as your story. Just the normal life. Went to college but didn’t take it seriously enough. Moved back in with my parents and mooched off them for two years before they gave me an ultimatum: get a job or get out. It took me three months of sending my resume around, but I finally got this entry-level position at a tech start-up. That’s my major. Computer science. It wasn’t a lot of money, but it was going to be enough to finally get a place of my own.
“Today was my first day, but my boss is apparently pretty anal and didn’t like the fact that I wore jeans into the office. But I figured that since I was just going to be stuck in a cubicle, it wouldn’t matter. Well, apparently it does. That’s why I was at the department store today. I was supposed to head right back to the office, but instead I’m eating lunch here with you. Can’t say that I mind, though my parents are going to go ballistic when they find out I got fired on my first day.
Running Away With Him: A Suspense-Filled, Instalove Romance (Sweet, Sexy Shorts Book 12) Page 2