by Wylder Stone
A long quiet drive in the middle of the night gives one time to reflect. Owen did just that as they flew down the freeway, trying to get as far away from Bull Trail as they could, and fast. He, too, felt guilty.
He had been angry with Trista and rightfully so. They could’ve been killed. However, Owen was more angry that he let his guard down so far that he nearly missed it and walked them right into their end. The anger he expressed toward her went far deeper, though. For the first time, the very first time, he had been scared. Not for himself but for her.
Fear was an emotion he hadn’t really experienced. He was trained to be emotionless and work on autopilot. This shit was like second nature to him. But today, he stalled, almost panicked, afraid he wouldn’t get her out of there in time. It had nothing to do with his own life. In fact, he was even trained not to fear death, but no amount of training could have prepared him for being faced with possibly losing her life.
What were these feelings, and how the hell was he supposed to just turn them off? Why couldn’t he avoid them? Reverting back to all business like he had, removing all things personal between them and acting like the professional he was didn’t even numb those feelings. It just made him an asshole, and Owen didn’t like that either because he cared what Trista thought about him. That was new, too.
All he was able to surmise was that Trista was no longer just a job to him. He would explore what all of that meant another day. For now, he was focusing on getting her to safety and reclaiming the role as bodyguard.
Before the sun was even up, he pulled into a shabby, pay by the hour, cheap motel. He left her in the car, sound asleep while he went into the motel office to secure a room. When he returned, he pulled the car around to their room, parked, then sat and stared at her for a moment.
She seemed to be sleeping peacefully, but her expression told another story.
Making his way around to the passenger side of the vehicle, he gave her a gentle shake, and whispered, “Tris? C’mon, wake up.”
Though gentle and soft, he stirred her into a quick fit. “Wh-what? What happened? Where are we? What…happened?”
Looking around, trying to get her bearings, Trista was confused by the setting before her. Owen hadn’t meant to startle her awake, hence the gentle gesture and whisper, but it seemed she was as on edge as he was.
“Hey, it’s okay,” he said. “I need to grab a few hours’ sleep before we hit the road again. Let’s go inside, and you can get back to sleep.”
“Oh. Okay, yeah. I’m sure you’re tired. Sorry.” She was quick to get out of the car and waited for him to lead them inside. She took her role more seriously after such a scare and didn’t want to be responsible for their demise anymore than he did.
“I’ll grab the bags when we need them. Best to leave them in here for now,” Owen said, opening the janky door to their home for the next few hours.
“Oh.” Looking around the small space and it’s few amenities, Trista tried to remain positive. “Okay, so just sleep and hit the road. Sounds like a plan.”
“Yeah. There’s just the one bed. You take it, and I’ll take the chair.” His gentleman’s gesture went a long way with her.
“No, that wouldn’t be fair. I’ve already been sleeping. You’re the one who has to drive, so you take the bed. I’ll be fine in…that…chair.” With a bright smile, she really tried to sell it, but Owen saw right through her.
“I’ve slept in worse places, Tris…”
Certain he really had slept in worse, Trista found it noble that Owen was still willing to sacrifice for her after what she had done. “No, I insist. I owe you more than a bed to sleep in at this point, so just humor me and take it.”
“Compromise? We both sleep in the bed.” Even in the dark morning hour, Owen could see her cheeks blush at the mention of sleeping in the same bed. “I’ll sleep on top of the covers, and we each stay on our own half?”
Looking at the bed, then back at him, Trista grinned. “Deal.”
Without hesitation or another word, they both laid down, each facing a different direction to avoid awkward eye contact. It took everything in him to stay on his side and not pull her into him and hold her. Especially when he felt the subtle shakes of the bed and knew Trista was crying. He dozed off when he felt her calm and knew she had finally fallen back. Or maybe, it was more about him needing her?
Crashing and screaming from the room next door frightened Trista awake. Thin walls quickly calmed her spooked nerves when the conversation carried through clearly. The lady next door, it seemed, wasn’t happy with her earnings. Apparently, the guy she was working for was a cheap limp dick who was so small he couldn’t make a pigeon scream. Interesting.
Trista didn’t have to get out of bed and look around to know Owen wasn’t in the room – it was that small. She did see a note, though, leaning against her bag, which was now sitting on the small round table under the window near the door. There wasn’t a clock in the room, but the sun was shining through the barely-there linen curtains, indicating Trista had slept for some time. It must have been a fitful sleep because she didn’t feel any more rested now than she did before they arrived.
Taking the opportunity for privacy, Trista grabbed her bag and went for a quick shower while she waited for Owen to return with whatever breakfast and coffee he could turn up. Feeling clean after her shower was a challenge because the place was a disaster. Trista was pretty sure she showered in rusty water and was covered in microbes that clung to her while in there, but at least she thought to cover the toilet seat with toilet paper before using it.
Complaining about the conditions of the room would be completely inappropriate, considering it was her fault they were there. This was karma for her behavior. Still, her distaste for the place had nothing to do with her previous lifestyle. The place was a wreck by anyone’s standards, and Trista would give just about anything for some good shampoo and a clean bathtub. This was part of her lesson, part of being on the run.
Getting ready was nothing more than drying off and getting dressed. They had been in such a hurry to leave the cottage in Bull Trail that Trista left her makeup behind, along with all of the other toiletries she typically used. She didn’t even have her toothbrush.
22
When Owen opened the door and entered the room, she was suddenly embarrassed. Owen had never seen her without her hair at least somewhat done and a little bit of makeup. It felt somewhat shallow to feel so insecure over such a thing, but she couldn’t help but feel exposed and even vulnerable.
Holding up a bakery box and tray with two coffees, he said, “I couldn’t find anything vegan in this town, so I figured donuts were our best bet. Mostly sugar and least amount of non-vegan…stuff in them. Oh! And the coffee place had coconut milk for your coffee, so…no cows.”
Trista reached in the box, grabbed the first donut and bit into it, shrugging her shoulders. “Thanks! Donuts are kind of becoming a thing for us.”
When Trista turned to grab her bag off the bed so they could leave, Owen couldn’t stop staring. Something was different about her. He didn’t know what, though. Those odd feelings he had been carrying were trying to claw their way out, and he was doing his damnedest to push them right back down.
Trista must have felt his heated stare, even with her back to him. She turned and looked at him suddenly shifting from one foot to the other like something made her insecure. The blank stare Owen was wearing gave nothing away and left her to mistake the expression for one of disgust because her action suggested she was uncomfortable as she ducked her head.
Covering her face with her hands, donut still in one, Trista stammered, “I know – no makeup – I look terrible. It wasn’t in my bag. I left it at the…house.”
“That’s what’s different.” He said. “You don’t need it.”
Trista snorted. “Ha! Right!”
He shook his head in disagreement. “No, really. You’re beautiful without it.”
Those words were not sup
posed to come out of his mouth, even if they were true. That thing that was different about her, that he couldn’t put his finger on, had just revealed itself. Trista, sans makeup, was breathtaking. There was something so honest, wholesome, and real about her natural state. It was like he was seeing who she really was for the first time. No faccade. No expensive clothing, makeup, or strange hair pieces she liked to wear. She didn’t need all of that. With peeled back layers, this was the real woman behind the Trista Ryan brand.
He could see he was making her uncomfortable because he was staring so intently, taking in every bit of her. It was inappropriate. Returning to his cold, icy demeanor to keep things professional, he shuffled stuff around, preparing to leave. Treating her like nothing more than a case was getting harder to do when every time he turned around, she revealed a new side of herself.
“If you think you need some, you can get it at the drug store. I saw one not far from here.” Avoiding eye contact was his new approach.
“Drug store makeup? They test that on animals. It’s cheap for a reason,” Trista retorted. “I’ve never used drugstore makeup in my life.”
“Well then, maybe you shouldn’t have pulled your little stunt and sent out a smoke signal to Cesar’s bloodthirsty henchmen. You wouldn’t have had to leave all the pretty makeup behind.” Owen knew he was being an ass, more so than necessary, but he said it anyway.
The abrasive reminder was overkill. Trista had been hard enough on herself with all of the tears she’d shed and guilt she wore. His brazen approach was more for him than her. An ongoing theme, it seemed. It was a reminder that she was a case, a job. He needed to keep that clear in his mind before Trista became a liability or worse, a target for anyone he encountered over the years. In his line of work, the people he went after wanted revenge. Cesar would want revenge on both their names, that was certain.
The final nail in the proverbial coffin that would bury their friendship came out as harshly as the rest. “You’re lucky it’s just makeup. You almost got yourself killed and left your son an orphan.”
It was the right call. Owen accomplished his goal. Trista completely closed off as the color drained from her face, and her eyes glassed over. Wakling right by him, she tossed her bag over her shoulder and grabbed her coffee on the way out.
Headed straight to the car she paused, adding her own chilly edge. “But I’m already dead, remember?”
Later that evening, they stopped for fuel, and a quick bite to eat in a small just off the freeway rest stop type town. Owen stayed with the car, fueling it up, while Trista ran inside to the restroom so she could toss cold water on her face. Back to the ear blistering silence routine, Trista needed a moment of peace where Owen couldn’t get in her head.
Taking her time to get back to him, she couldn’t help but notice a strange car speeding off just as she exited the building. It was a familiar car and it was driving away from where Owen was now parked. Odd – he was just standing there, watching Trista, calmly. It must have been a friendly driveby and not one of their threatening nemesis.
“Who was that?” she questioned.
Reaching his hand out in front of her without even answering the question, Owen said, “Here, put this in your bag. New identity.”
“Oh, are we back to the less I know, the better? Figures.” Trista climbed in the car and settled in her seat.
Sifting through the fake bank cards and what appeared to be some sort of blood bank card this time, Trista came across her new driver’s license. “Are you kidding me?”
A shit-eating grin crossed Owen’s face as took his seat behind the wheel. “What?”
“What? What do you mean, what? You know what. Do you think this is funny? Berley Rose? You couldn’t come up with anything better?” she asked, referring to the name on her new ID.
Owen pulled into the nearby drive-through that shared a parking lot with the fuel station.. “Well, Molly Jensen was a nice name, and you sort of ruined that one. Maybe you won’t go it around after a few beers this time.”
“So, this is punishment? Am I grounded too? Oh wait, don’t answer that…I’m right here, in this car with you…grounded! Berley Rose, isn’t that some sort of…of…soup or something?”
“Soup? I think you’re referring to barley. Close!” His amused chuckle made her blood boil. “Stay out of trouble, or they’ll keep getting worse, Berley.”
“This is just…I don’t even look like a Berley,” she said under her breath.
“You’re lucky it’s just a name. A temporary one at that. When this is all over and we go our separate ways, you can be whoever you want again. Now what are you eating? I need to order.”
Her face reddened with anger. Owen held all the control – all the power, and it pissed her off. In attempt to get even the only way she knew how in this situation, she played her hand, as Berley. “Do they have anything vegan?”
Continue reading the next book in the On the Run Series by clicking here.
Author Biography
Suspense writer and Southern California native, Wylder Stone winters in Malibu at the beach and summers in the wilds of Big Bear, in the San Bernardino Mountains plotting gripping suspense stories guaranteed to keep you awake at night. The reclusive Wylder prefers the company of crashing waves and a crackling fire— while penning mystery, thriller and suspense novels with psychological twists that will turn you inside out.
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What to Read Next by Wylder Stone
On the Run Series
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Witness On the Run
Exposed on the Run
Vengeance on the Run
Danger on the Run
Deception on the Run
Stranger on the Run
Reckless on the Run
Hostage on the Run
Murderer on the Run
Betrayed on the Run
Corruption on the Run