by J. Saman
Perhaps they’d accept cash bribes in lieu of rape and murder?
One can hope.
The driver’s side door slams shut with a dull click, and I watch through my side mirror as a tall, dark, hooded figure slowly strides up to my car. My heart is exploding out of my chest, my breathing erratic, my knuckles white from my grip on the steering wheel. I can’t move, nor can I tear my eyes away as the figure draws closer.
He reaches my window, staring down at me through eyes I cannot see. His hood obscures his entire face in shadows. All I can discern is that he’s tall and broad and can easily snap me like a twig in seconds.
At first, he just watches me as I cautiously peer up at him, completely immobilized by his presence. I’m the goddamn pathetic equivalent of a deer in headlights.
“Are you okay in there?” he asks, and the way his smooth whiskey baritone rolls over me like it’s being poured from crystal onto ice has me releasing the breath I’ve been holding. “Do you need help?”
The last thing I want to do is open the door to this guy, but I don’t think I have a choice. Especially since my voice still doesn’t seem to be working. He steps back when the lock on my door clicks, giving me a wide berth like he’s expecting me to get out.
My hands tremble violently, and I doubt my legs will support my weight if I attempt to stand. Instead, I sit, shifting on the thin, lumpy fabric of the seat, turning slightly in his direction with the door partially ajar.
What the hell have I gotten myself into?
“Are you hurt?” he continues at my silence.
“No,” I reply as I stare down at his feet—dark stains on black hiking boots, and old, worn jeans covering his strong thighs—my voice soft, but loud enough to be heard over the vociferous engine of his truck that seems to be mocking my useless car.
“From the smell of it, your car is burning a lot of oil. Can it turn on?”
“No,” I repeat, wrapping my arms protectively around my stomach as the meager contents inside swish and sway. I feel way too vulnerable and exposed right now. I’m ill at ease around men on the best of days and in the best of situations, and this is certainly neither of those.
He mutters something indiscernible under his breath and then says, “Come on then.” His gruff directive gives me chills and I can’t decipher if they’re the bad kind or not. But if he was going to hurt me, wouldn’t he have done it already? I don’t know. I have no frame of reference on the methodology rapists and killers employ with their victims.
“Where are we going?” I manage, my voice holding more strength than I would have believed myself capable of.
I lean back in my seat, my gaze finally traveling up. His hands are clean and well kept, unlike his jeans or boots. His face is shrouded in darkness, for which he takes no action to fix even though my intent must be obvious. His reluctance for me to see his face raises my fear factor to an eight. He could be mangled and getting ready to do the same to me. He could be the psycho from the Texas Chainsaw Massacre.
“I’m going to drive you into town,” he explains like it should be obvious to any sane, rational person. But I am neither sane nor rational right now. I’ve been driving for two days, practically non-stop. The only sleep I’ve had was when I pulled into a twenty-four-hour Walmart and parked in the back to close my eyes for a few hours.
Town. He’s going to take me into town. Which town is he referring to? Is Las Vegas considered a town or a city? But if he takes me into town, that probably means he won’t rape and kill me, right? Or he could be lying, the girl in the back of my head reminds me. God, this situation sucks. I have no choice but to trust him.
I certainly can’t stay here.
I’m in the middle of the fucking desert.
“Okay. Thank you. I’d appreciate that.”
He steps back further, like he’s just as wary of me as I am of him. I stand, the gravel and dried earth crunching beneath my riding boots. At least I’m wearing appropriate clothing. I look up at him, only able to catch a glimpse of his mouth and stubble-lined jaw. Angled lines and smooth, full lips to be precise, but the rest?
“Can you, um…,” I swallow hard, shifting my stance. “Would you mind removing your hood?”
He rumbles out a chuckle. “Want to make sure I’m not Leatherface or something?”
I laugh, too, but it’s awkward and comes out shaky, because he just echoed my exact thoughts. Right down to the creepy horror film.
He draws back his hood, and my breath catches for an entirely different reason. He’s beautiful, which seems comical given how manly and rugged this guy appears, but it’s the first word that pops into my head.
“Satisfied?”
I just stare at him. Beautiful doesn’t mean safe.
A crooked smile quirks up the corners of his lips. His head shakes ever so slightly as his hands fly up in surrender.
“I’m not gonna hurt you. I promise. But I can’t leave you here twenty miles from the nearest town.” Twenty? “You’re lucky, actually. I just so happened to be passing this way after going to the dam. I decided to drive around for a bit and took the very long way home. Good thing, too,” he emphasizes that last bit, running a hand across his jaw and eyeing me from head to toe. “You could have been out here all night without a car passing.”
What dam? Like, the Hoover Dam? Where the hell am I?
“Lucky,” I parrot, tasting the sourness of the word on my tongue, because I don’t think I’ve ever uttered it in relation to myself before. It almost makes me want to laugh at the absurdity of it. “What’s your name?” I ask, staring up into his eyes. I think they might be brown. I can’t quite tell, but that’s what I’m betting on. His hair is slightly tousled, longer on the top and shorter on the sides. The color, barely decipherable in this light, appears as dark as his eyes. That strong, chiseled jaw is lined with a decent layer of lazy-man’s stubble.
He’s a lumberjack, I muse. A sexy one at that.
He smiles, and his teeth are perfect. White and straight. An interesting and welcome contradiction to his otherwise roughness. And that smile. Holy wow. It makes me relax for some odd reason. Like the quality of his dental hygiene and the fact that he has a gorgeous smile is an indication of character. When did I become this stupid girl?
“Jake,” he introduces, looking me over slowly, languidly, his eyes sweeping along every inch of me, before they find my face again. His expression alters, growing skeptical and cautious as they bounce around each feature on my face. I wonder if he recognizes me. I hope not. I doubt it somehow. I can’t imagine I’m known in this part of the world. “What’s yours?”
My name. And this is where I hesitate. Which name do I give him? Certainly not my real one.
“Mia,” I blurt out, my eyes skirting his.
“Okay, Mia. Why don’t you grab anything you have in there that you want to keep and follow me? I have a buddy who can tow your car into town.”
I nod, but I don’t get a chance to respond before he stalks off, back to his truck, his impressive silhouette framed in a halo of light. I don’t waste a moment in grabbing my purse from the passenger seat of the stolen car.
I bite my lip. Is there anything else in here I need? Anything that could link me to this car?
Other than where you got it from and your fingerprints?
I growl out a slew of curses under my breath. The moment this car is made, I will be, too. But this guy says he knows someone who can tow it, and maybe I can offer them cash to dispose of it. No one will be the wiser.
Walking around to the trunk, I open it and lift my suitcases out one by one, setting them onto dusty ground. Jake is already there, waiting on me, his headlights glowing across the back of my car, paving a path for me to see by. My license plate is also visible, and I inwardly cringe. The word TEXAS in bold caps along with the picture of the state. Too late now, I sigh. I can only hope he’s not the most observant of men.
Jake wordlessly lifts one of my suitcases for me. I follow after him,
dragging the other behind me, the wheels catching on the cracked earth. We weave in between his truck and my car and then he opens the passenger side for me. Grabbing my suitcase from my hands, he effortlessly picks it up and tosses it onto the small backseat behind the passenger side with my other suitcase.
His impressively large hand reaches out to touch my arm, and instinctively, I jerk back like his fingers are made out of fire. “Don’t touch me,” I snap.
His hands fly up, dark eyes wide. “I was just going to help you up.”
“Oh. I’m sorry, but I believe I can manage it, thank you,” I murmur, feeling a small pang of guilt for my outburst.
I hoist myself up into the clean, cool cab and breathe in the enticing scent of woodsy cologne and new car. This truck is nice. Expensive, if I had to guess—given the soft leather of the seats, wood paneling and massive dashboard filled with buttons and dials and all sorts of technology.
Then it hits me. The guy who tows my car could look it up before I can even strike a deal with him. I need to get as far away as possible. Maybe it’s better if he doesn’t call anyone. If we just leave it here in the middle of nowhere.
“You don’t have to call your friend,” I say when he gets in the car, buckling his seat belt. “We can leave the car here. I think it’s dead and it’s really old. Is there a place nearby where I can buy a new one?” It’ll be a risk, but what choice do I have? Then again, I have no idea what kind of car I can afford with my meager budget. Probably not anything better than what I was just in.
Jake stares at me, long and hard. Like he’s trying to figure me out. It makes me anxious and impatient to get out of here. It feels as though he can see straight through me with those eyes of his and it takes all of my concerted effort not to shift my position or my gaze. I was right about the brown eyes, but they aren’t just any brown. They’re warm, milk chocolate.
“If we leave your car here, the police will eventually pick it up.” He watches me intently for a reaction, and though my heart is pounding wildly in my chest, I’m doing everything I can to maintain my stoic mask. “And nothing will be open until the morning.”
My eyes close as my breath falters. I could take a bus or a train, but that’s a last resort, and I doubt I can get one tonight.
“I’m stuck here,” I whisper to myself. “Where am I?” I ask, more out of curiosity at this point than anything else.
“Just outside of Henderson or Boulder City, depending on which way you’re headed,” he answers and my eyebrows furrow. “Nevada,” he adds.
Henderson, Nevada? I have no idea where that is in reference to Las Vegas, but those were the last signs I remember. Lord, I’m in trouble.
What the hell am I going to do now?
* * *
Want to know what happens next with Jake and Mia? One-Click Touching Sin now and find out!
Love to Hate Her
Viola
* * *
The air is hazy, thick with the cloying scent of weed as I meander my way through the throngs of people laughing, smoking, and generally having a great time. I don’t belong here. At least that’s how it feels. Especially since I have a sneaking suspicion what I’m about to discover.
“Hey, Vi,” Henry, the bassist for the band, calls out to me with shock etched across his face as he grabs my arm and tugs me in for a bear hug. His tone is an infuriating concoction of surprise, delight, and panic. “What brings you out here?”
I’m tempted to laugh at that question, though it’s far from funny. As such, it forces a frown instead of a smile. It really should be obvious. But maybe it’s not anymore, and that only solidifies my resolve that I’m doing the right thing tonight.
Even if it sucks.
“I’m looking for Gus,” I reply smoothly without even a hint of emotion, and his grin drops a notch.
Knowing that my boyfriend of four years is cheating on me should resemble something along the lines of being repeatedly stabbed in the back. Or heart. It should feel like death is imminent as the truth skewers my faith in men, my sense of self-worth, and my overall confidence into tiny bite-sized pieces of flesh. I should be a sniveling, slobbering mess of heartbreak. I should be nuclear-level pissed while simultaneously seeking and plotting a dramatic scene and meaningless revenge.
That’s how it always goes for girls like me versus guys like Gus. And maybe I am just a touch of all those things. But right now, I just want to get this over with and go home.
“He’s umm…,” Henry’s voice trails off as he makes a show of scanning the room as if he’s genuinely trying to locate Gus amongst the revelry. My bet? He knows exactly where Gus is and is attempting to buy him and his current lady of the minute some time.
“It’s cool,” I say, plastering on a bright smile that I do not feel. “I’ll find him.”
Because when you’ve been friends with someone your entire life, in a relationship with them for the last four years, you don’t expect them to betray you. You expect loyalty and honesty and respect. You expect fucking respect, Gus! Gus cheating and lying about it is none of those things.
“I can find him!” Henry jumps in quickly. “I’d probably have a better shot of locating him in here than you will. Ya know, cuz I’m taller so I can see around the crowds better. Do you want a drink or something? Why don’t you go make yourself a drink while I look for him?”
I shake my head and step back when he moves to grasp my shoulder.
Henry pivots to face me fully, a half-empty bottle of Cuervo in his hand, his eyes red-rimmed and glassy. He crumples, his shoulders sagging forward.
“It’s not what you think, Vi. It’s not. It’s just…” He waves his free hand around the room as if this should explain everything. Sex, drugs, and rock ’n’ roll. This room is the horror show definition of that cliché.
I don’t begrudge Gus or his bandmates success. I’m sublimely thrilled for them that their first album is taking off the way it is. It’s been their dream–our dream–for as long as I’ve known them, and that’s forever.
Which is why I should have ended it when Gus left for L.A., and I left for college.
I knew the temptations that were headed his way. I knew women would be throwing themselves at him and that I was going to be thousands of miles away living a different life.
Does it excuse Gus’s actions? Hell no. Have I cheated on Gus once while in college? Absolutely not, and it isn’t like I haven’t had my own opportunities to do so.
But do I understand how this happened? Yeah. I do. I just held on too long.
“It was coming anyway,” I tell Henry. “But it’s nice to know he won’t be lonely.”
Yeah. That’s sarcasm. And I can’t help it, so I might as well allow the bitterness to make an entrance and take over the sadness that’s been sitting in my stomach like a bad burger you can’t digest. Especially as Gus has been adamantly denying his trysts, and Henry pretty much just confirmed them.
Henry’s like a fish out of water, and I lean in and give him a hug. I always liked Henry.
“He’s going to be so broken up about this, Vi. He loves you like crazy. Talks about you all the time.”
I pull back, tilting my head and shrugging a shoulder. “That doesn’t matter so much, though, does it? I’m at school, and he’s out here with…” Now it’s my turn to gaze about the room, my hand panning out to the side, reiterating my point. “Good luck with everything, Henry. I wish you all the success in the world. You guys deserve every good thing that’s headed your way.”
Henry scowls like I just ran over his dog as he shakes his head no at me. “You can’t end it with him. You’re a part of this. We wouldn’t be here without you. We wouldn’t be anything without you. You’re like…,” he scrunches up his nose as he thinks, “our fifth member. Our cheerleader.”
“Maybe once,” I concede, swallowing down the pain-laced nostalgia his words dredge up. The backs of my eyes burn, but I refuse to let any more tears fall over this. I cried myself out on the flight he
re, and now I’m done. “You guys don’t need me anymore. You have plenty of other cheerleaders.”
He opens his mouth to argue more before just as quickly closing it.
“Stay safe, okay? And be smart,” I add.
“You too, babe. I’m gonna miss you.”
This is the moment it hits me.
I’m not just saying goodbye to my relationship with Gus, but to my friendships with these guys. To late-night band practices and weekends spent down by the lake just hanging out. I’m saying goodbye to my entire childhood, knowing that we’re all headed in different directions, and there is no middle ground with this. My throat constricts as I try to swallow, my insides twisting into knots.
Bolstering myself back up, I hold my head high.
I need to find Gus, and then I need to get out of here.
Wild Minds, the band that Gus is the second guitarist and backup singer for, opened for Cyber’s Law tonight. The Cyber’s Law. One of the hottest bands in the world. They’re also on the same label that just signed Wild Minds. This show is a big deal. This contract an even bigger one.
This is their start.
They had given themselves two years to make it big. They needed less than one.
Heading toward the back of the room, I skirt around half-naked women dancing and people blowing lines of coke. It’s dark in here. Most of the overhead lights are out, but the few that are on mix with the film of smoke, casting enough of a glow to see by way of shadows.
I bang into a table, apologizing to someone whose beer I spill when I catch movement out of the corner of my eye. Jasper, Gus’s fraternal twin brother and the lead singer of the band, is tucked into an alcove, a redhead plastered against him as she sucks on his neck.
Where Gus is handsome, charming, and completely endearing, Jasper is the opposite.
He is sinfully gorgeous, no doubt about that, but he’s distant, broody, artistic, and eternally happy to pass the limelight to an overeager Gus. Jasper was actually my first crush. Even my first kiss when we were fourteen. But that’s where it ended. Since that day, and without explanation, I’ve hardly existed to him.