by Eden Summers
He’s ogled her, made dirty comments and filthy promises. He’s poked, teased, pushed, and I’ve withstood it all. But pretty soon I am going to break—his neck.
I press the response button on my screen and whisper, “Concentrate, motherfucker. Have you noted the names on those gravestones?”
“I’m all over it. Once we get home, I’ll have answers for you.”
Good. I’m running out of time.
“Do you think her tits are real?” Deck asks. “I’ve only seen her with a jacket on, but she looks too top-heavy for her figure.”
I don’t know where that piece of shit is hidden, but I raise a hand over my shoulder, above the shelter of my hiding place, and shoot him the bird.
Laughter echoes into my ear. “I think I’ve discovered a new favorite game. Teasing you about this chick is fun as hell.”
I press the response button and mutter, “Teasing me will get you killed.”
I chance a glance over the thick stone resting place of Doug Smith to find her lying in the exact same spot from ten minutes ago. She hasn’t budged, only the cadence of her mumbled words has changed.
She’s having a nightmare, and if she doesn’t wake up soon she’ll get soaked by the approaching black clouds.
“How long are we going to sit around playing with our dicks?” Decker asks.
I slump against the headstone and massage the bridge of my nose. “If you’re playing with your dick,” I whisper, “maybe consider cutting communication for a while.”
“You know what I mean, lover boy. I’m happy to support your somnophilia, but I’m going to draw the line at spending the night in a cemetery.”
“Somnophilia? What are you—”
“Hunter.” Her voice cuts off my question.
I freeze. Not moving. Not breathing.
“Hunter.” This time it’s a scream.
“Don’t panic,” Decker says in a rush. “She’s still asleep… probably balls-deep in a nightmare about your tiny dick.”
I ignore his blatant death wish and scour the ground for something to throw. I have to wake her up. Not because of the nightmare. Not because of the impending rain. I have to wake her because… Fuck. Just because.
I crawl to fetch a pebble a few feet away, then turn and launch it close in her direction. The projectile hits a nearby headstone with a thwack, and her legs jolt.
I slide back against my hiding place and wait as a drop of rain hits my cheek.
“Stay down. She’s awake,” Decker mumbles. “She’s getting up.”
Water hits my nose, my jacket, my jeans, the drips falling with lethargic frequency.
I clench my fists, fighting the need to see her, to read her expression and get a clue as to why she called my name. Was it really a nightmare? Does she know of my intentions? Can she feel me nearby?
I remain hidden, every inch of me on alert, as the rain settles in.
“She’s on the move. Headed toward her car,” Decker adds. “I’ll be right behind her.”
I hear a rush of footsteps, the release of a car door, and the thwack of it closing. There’s the purr of an engine, then the crunch of loose asphalt.
I grab my phone and press the button to talk. “You better be all over her. Don’t let her out of your sight.”
“My pleasure.”
Fucker.
I wait until the sound fades, then dash for my car parked outside the fence on the other side of the cemetery. I’m behind the wheel within minutes and speeding through the streets seconds later.
Adrenaline makes me her bitch—pounding heart, racing blood and all. I’m so entirely fucked up because I know this shit will end badly, and yet I still love the game of cat and mouse.
The trill of an incoming call from Decker hits my speakers, and I connect via Bluetooth. “Where are you?”
“She’s driving toward the I-5. I think we’re going home.”
“Okay.” Fuck. She hasn’t met with anyone. Not even a goddamn boyfriend. “Stay on her, and let me know if you run into any trouble. I’ll make sure to keep my distance.”
I end the call and sink into my seat. This excursion hadn’t been the epiphany of information I’d needed. I have the address of the house she stopped at when we first arrived, and the names on the headstones. But I expected revelations.
And now I have to rely on Decker to do more digging. He’ll have less than a day before I have to quit playing nice with her to ensure I get the answers Torian needs.
She will hate me. Fight me. And I’m a perverted motherfucker for the way my cock pulses at the thought.
Over the passing miles, Decker keeps in contact, giving me updates when necessary. “We’ve reached the highway.” “We’re at Tacoma.” “I just passed Olympia.”
I follow, along with rain that switches from a light dusting to a heavy downpour and back again. I play out the conversation I’m going to have with her once this turns sour—the threats, the lies, her physical abuse.
My dick appreciates the mental stimulation, even though I’m not thrilled to be sporting wood on the I-5 with no relief in sight. Not for a few hours, at least. By then I’ll be back in Portland in the shitty bar, waiting for her to arrive with Brent’s keys. I just have to pass her somewhere in between now and then.
I have every intention of spending the night in her bed. I’ll beg, borrow, and steal to get between those sheets. Or more accurately, I’ll bluff, intimidate, and manipulate.
Old habits die hard.
Night descends, and boredom grows. The taillights in front of me brighten the highway like a switchboard, and I become tired of the radio silence. I haven’t heard from Decker in more than forty minutes, which isn’t normal.
I dictate a message, press send, then wait some more. Once another five minutes pass, I succumb to the update deprivation and place a call. “What’s going on?”
“I’m not sure. I’m a little on edge thinking we might have a problem.”
“What is it?” I press down on the accelerator.
“We could have a tail.”
“And you didn’t think to call me?” Fuck. “Where? What car?” I scan the passing vehicles, even though I have to be miles behind him.
“It’s a black Mercedes. I noticed it a while ago, but it hung way back. Now he’s being obvious. Every time she slows, he slows. If she speeds up, he’s right there behind her.”
“Have you got eyes on the driver?” I pass car after car, exceeding the speed limit without any shits given.
“I’ll take a closer look.”
There’s silence, nothing but the slush of water beneath my tires.
“Damn it,” he snarls.
“What?” My chest pounds, and I grip the steering wheel tighter.
“He’s got tinted windows. I can’t see dick. But he’s retreating now that I’m riding side-saddle.”
“Don’t hound him. Keep back and watch. I don’t want her thinking she’s boxed in. I’m going to make a call and see if I know who’s responsible.”
“Torian?”
Yeah, fucking Torian. “I’ll let you know.”
I disconnect and make the new call.
“Good evening, Hunter.”
“Have you lost your fucking mind?” I suck in a breath and let it out slowly. “You’ve got eyes on me, don’t you?”
He laughs, and I have to force myself to remain calm. Decker comes into view up ahead, his white suburban in the middle lane, the fucking Merc farther ahead.
“You promised you wouldn’t follow,” I snap. “You gave me forty-eight hours.”
“I made no promises. In fact, I think you were the one who made a pledge during that conversation. Something about a dumpster, if my memory serves.”
“Did you think I was joking?”
“No, but I thought I’d send Carlos to investigate anyway.”
“Well, your investigator is about to run my mark off the road.”
“Maybe he’s there as a friendly warning, too.”
&n
bsp; Breathe. Just fucking breathe.
“I get it, okay? You want answers, and you think I’m dragging my feet. Believe me, I understand. But this will pay off. You don’t need to send your bitch to play hardball.”
“Are you sure? Carlos says she hasn’t met with anyone yet. I’ll be interested to hear his full report once he returns.”
“After all these years, you don’t trust me? Come on, Torian. You either let me do this my way or you’re on your own.” I’m bluffing. I have no choice. “Commit to the forty-eight hours you gave me. Let me do my job.”
The Merc’s brake lights grow smaller with its gaining speed, and he cuts into the middle lane in front of Decker, closing in beside Steph.
“Torian…” My chest pounds. My temples, too. “You’re going to blow this, and I’m so fucking close.” To her. To this. To insanity. “What’s the plan, anyway? You’re losing your fucking mind if you want to run her off the road.”
“Maybe that’s necessary.”
“For what reason?” I snap.
“To send a message. Or do you already get the picture?”
“I’ve got the fucking picture. Do I have forty-eight hours or not?”
“No. Now you’re approaching twenty-four.”
The line disconnects.
“Fuck.” My shout reverberates through the car. I can’t get any closer. Not without letting her know I’ve been trailing her. All I can do is twiddle my fucking thumbs as this son-of-a-bitch veers closer and closer into her lane.
I call Decker.
“What do you want me to do?” he asks. “This guy is going to ram her.”
“I know.” And all I can do is watch. One look at me and the game is over. She can’t see me here. I could claim it was a coincidence we ran into each other whenever she left her building. But being in the same place, more than an hour from her home, is a fucking stretch. “Slow down. Maybe he’ll back off if you do.”
“Okay. Got it.”
The Merc veers for her again. Slow. Slow. Then fast, almost ramming into her. She swerves, the car fishtailing along the slippery road as her brake lights beam bright.
“Stop,” I yell at Decker as I rapidly approach.
She hydroplanes, sliding one way, then the other, taking over the middle lane, then the third.
I slow, but I can’t stop.
I can’t fucking stop.
“Help her.” I hold my breath as Decker slows in front of me, hanging back to stalk her movements.
I approach, getting closer and closer, while she careens off the road, along the soaked grass and puddles that spray water in every direction.
“Make sure she’s okay.” My pulse spikes as I pass. I’m fucking shaking. In anger or fear, I don’t know.
“You’ve really got a thing for this chick, don’t you?” Decker asks.
“Pretend I do and make sure you act accordingly.” I stalk my rear-view mirror, watching as he pulls up beside her. “That means you touch her, you die.”
He chuckles. “Although I’d love to make promises, sometimes the charm can’t turn itself off.”
“Touch her and die,” I snarl.
“You’re such an easy target these days.”
His laughter echoes through the car until I disconnect the call.
I have to get over this shit. I’m nobody’s bitch. Not hers. Not Torian’s. And definitely not this fucker in front who thinks he can mess with my assignment.
I shove my foot against the gas, and the car kicks up a gear. Decker and Steph disappear in the distance of the mirror, and I force myself not to look back.
I crank up my music and let the rhythmic thump of rage take over. I’ll catch up to this motherfucker and teach him a thing or two about road safety. I’ll also ensure Torian doesn’t get that report he’s waiting on and make it clear I always fulfill my promises.
12
Her
I careen off the road, panic clogging my throat. I jolt in my seat as I bump along the grass median strip, hitting puddles that douse my windshield. The car slides sideways, completely out of control, along with the frantic beat of my pulse. I release the brake and try again, shoving my foot down hard.
The brakes grip. Tight. I keep my foot planted as I’m flung forward. The seatbelt finally locks, burning my neck and holding my chest in place. My forehead hits the steering wheel. Pain consumes my skull, and the world blurs.
For a moment, there’s nothing. No movement. No sound. No panic. Just a blur.
“Jesus Christ.” I close my eyes and breathe. Slow, calming breaths.
The rhythmic thump of the windshield wipers returns to my awareness. The light patter of rain, too. Cars pass, slushing water.
I’m safe. I’m safe. I’m safe. I chant the words over and over in my mind.
It was a careless road accident. A stupid goddamn mistake. That’s all. There was no malicious intent. No hidden agenda. No asshole trying to kill me.
I open my eyes and swallow the need to crumple. For once, I wish I could be weak. I want someone else to fix my mess. To make everything okay again. I want the guilt over Dan to be gone. The pain over my family to ease. And I want Hunter.
I want him now.
Come on, bitch. Focus. Get your ass out of here.
I place the car in reverse, and a shadow creeps into my peripheral vision. A large, looming figure approaches my door. I lunge for the glove compartment and yank it open.
“Are you okay?” a man asks.
I pause in my reach for the gun hidden beneath road maps and glance over my shoulder. A guy stands at my window. His image is distorted through the droplets of rain against the glass, but I can still glimpse a relatively handsome face full of concern.
“I saw everything. Do you want me to call the cops?”
“No. I’m good.” I straighten and wind the window down a crack, letting the chilled wet air gush in.
He smiles at me as rain hits his smooth honeyed skin and chocolate hair. “You sure? That old guy shouldn’t be on the road.”
“Old guy?”
He nods. “hair, thick glasses, golfer hat. He almost cut me off a few miles back.”
The tightening in my lungs loosens. I can deal with the thought of an old-timer. It’s the other possibilities that poke at my paranoia. “I didn’t see who was driving.”
“I don’t think he saw much of anything either.” He chuckles, but the humor quickly fades under his narrowing brown eyes. “You’ve got a bump.” He points to his forehead. “Are you sure you’re okay?”
“I’ll be fine once I get back on the road.”
He retreats a step and glances along the side of the car, his gaze low. “That might be a problem. Those wheels look pretty deep.”
Shit. Shit. “Shit.” My frustration comes out in a rough shout. This is the karma I expected. The starting phase that will slowly morph into something big enough to drag me under its suffocating wing.
He flashes a sexy grin. It’s gorgeous, filled with oozing amounts of charm. “Don’t worry. I’ll get you out of here. Why don’t you put it in reverse and give it a try?”
A shiver runs down my neck. Not a welcome one. As physically appealing as this guy is, I don’t want to be reliant on him. But being stuck on the side of the highway, in the middle of nowhere, is even less of a preference.
“Yeah…” I nod and wince at the renewed pain pounding through my head. “Okay.”
I place the gearshift in reverse and slowly lower my foot on the accelerator. The wheels spin, whirring and sliding without traction. “Damn it.”
“I’ll give you a push.”
He stalks for the front of the car, and I can’t help my usual cautious analysis. He’s tall. Way taller than I am. Thick arms, broad shoulders. In an attack, overpowering him would be difficult. In all honesty, it would be almost impossible without a substantial eye gouge or knee to the groin.
He stands before the beaming headlights, places his hands on the hood, and meets my gaze through the windshie
ld. “Give it another try.”
“Hold on a sec.” I reach across the car, grab my gun from the glove compartment and my coat from the passenger seat. I hide the weapon inside the thick material and place them both in my lap.
I don’t believe this guy’s selfless act. I don’t care that he’s attractive, or kind, or charming. I’m not even sure I buy his account of the old guy not seeing me. I have no choice but to question everything.
“I’m ready now,” I call out the window. “How about you?”
“Go for it.”
I inch my foot down on the pedal. The wheels spin, whir. I hold my breath, my pulse increasing with each passing second. I can’t stay out here. I can’t wait for a tow. The piece-of-shit car has to move. There is no other choice.
Please, please, please.
The man roars as he pushes, his expression pinched, the material of his long-sleeve gray shirt growing damp and sticking to his biceps.
The car slides in and out of traction, moving sideways, farther and farther, before finally gripping. I exhale in a gush of relief and steer through bumpy, soaked grass.
The man follows, running after me, still pushing, until I pull the car to a stop parallel to the highway. He grins at me through the windshield, his chest heaving as he straightens, exposing more muscles hugged by his shirt and the faint hint of dark tattoos beneath.
He walks around the hood, shaking his feet, and returns to my window, his lips quirked in smug satisfaction.
“Thanks.” I glance down at his soaked shoes and wince at the pants drenched from his ankles to his knees. “I’m sorry about your clothes.”
“You don’t happen to have a towel, do you?” He leans forward and looks in the car, scoping out the front and the back.
The chill returns, sliding down my neck, my spine. I slip my hand into my coat and palm my weapon. “No, unfortunately, I don’t.” I shouldn’t be this jumpy, not when he clearly needs a towel, but distrust comes with the territory.
“No problem.” He waves me away. “Where are you headed, anyway?”
None of your damn business. “Portland.”
“Me, too. Do you want me to follow you in case you have any problems?”