by Lulu Pratt
Ernest seems to chew on my observation for a while before a nasty grimace takes over his features.
He looks entirely different than the man who picked me up half an hour ago.
Finally, he speaks in a deep, raspy drawl that makes me shiver.
“We aren’t lost, Ms. Chambers. We’re actually on the fastest route to Ravenwood.”
The name of my hometown drowns me in fear.
There’s only one reason he would be taking me there. But I ask anyway, my voice stronger than I feel.
“Why are we going to Ravenwood?”
“I know you’re not as stupid as you look, Ms. Chambers. Do the math,” he taunts evilly.
Brick.
The blood in my veins ices over as the weight of his words sink in.
How the hell am I supposed to get out of this?
I reach over and test the door handle. Cursing when I realize child safety locks are in place, I try a different tactic.
“Stop this car right now or I’ll call the fucking cops,” I bluff.
Ernest smiles faintly at my empty threat and keeps driving. He shakes his head at me.
“Not going to work on me, princess. That smart mouth may go over well with your little boyfriend but I don’t give a damn. He couldn’t get the job done so I’m doing it.”
I don’t have time to process anything he’s saying. My mind can only focus on exit strategies.
“Pull over the car, you slimy piece of shit. Do you feel good hunting down innocent people in the name of a check?” I snarl at him.
Hatred is ripping through me along with a dizzying dose of adrenaline.
The driver ignores my taunting but I continue hurling insults at him, not sure where my courage is coming from.
But I refuse to shut up. If I stop talking, I know I will have nothing left. I have to talk myself out of this.
Some way, somehow.
“What a fucking lowlife. I actually feel sorry for you.”
His eyes flash annoyance before he pulls a risky move and swerves, coming to an abrupt stop on the side of the road.
“Enough out of you,” he growls. I see him grab a pile of rope and duct tape from the passenger’s seat before abandoning the driver’s seat, leaving the car running.
He’s going to gag me and restrain my hands.
I turn to face the door as he pulls it open and I seize the only opportunity I may have.
With my spiked heel aimed at his crotch, I jerk my leg towards him sending him backwards.
“Fucking bitch!” he swears, stumbling away.
Unsteady on his feet, he sways before bending at the waist.
With him temporarily out of commission, I jump out of the back of the car with my left fist balled up around the keychain that Jameson gave me and the right open wide, palm twitching for my next move.
When he moves towards me, I slap him hard across the face. The action barely rattles him and he lunges towards me on the side of the road.
I side step him quickly but his arms are too wide. He slams me against the trunk of the car and fiery pain shoots through me from head to toe.
Panting heavily, I try in vain to raise my leg and kick him in the balls again, but he’s too quick. He knocks down my raised knee as if he’s swatting a fly.
Strong hands find their way around my neck and panic sets in. He tightens his grip until I’m forced to lean backwards over the trunk of the car.
As my oxygen supply diminishes, I know I don’t have much time to act.
I’ll be unconscious soon if he maintains his death grip.
Reaching up with my right hand, I try like hell to pry his meaty fingers from around my throat but his hold is unrelenting.
Left with no other choice, I slam my left fist with the keychain’s knife extended against the side of his face with all the might I still possess.
The first blow seems inconsequential but the second strike causes his grip around my neck to falter.
I suck in a deep breath, thankful for the slight reprieve.
Recovering from the blow, he tightens his grip as blood begins to trickle down the side of his face, evidence of my effort.
“You little bitch,” he breathes heavily, leaning down so that we’re eye level.
Hocking up saliva, I spit in his unsuspecting face. “You’re the bitch,” I snap back.
Disgusted, he lets go of me and I move in for the kill.
Blind with rage, I drive my left fist hard into his face several times and watch the blood as it starts to flow more heavily.
He’s crying out in pain at my attack and for the first time I’m happy that not a single car has passed since he pulled over.
With another sharp kick from my spiked heel, he falls to his knees and I run for my escape.
Dropping the bloodstained keychain to the ground, I race around the car and climb into the driver’s seat before he can gather his wits.
Throwing the car into drive, I speed off into the night.
Chapter nineteen
GRACE CHAMBERS
The illuminated gas light on the dashboard is mocking me. The needle rests stubbornly over the “E.”
I’m running on fumes. Literally and figuratively.
The adrenaline from my previous encounter has waned and I just feel nauseated.
My hands are nearly numb from the tight grip I have on the large wheel and for the millionth time I regret forgetting my phone at home.
Vowing to stop for gas when I pass another exit, I breathe deeply and try to calm myself.
I have no idea where I am or where I’m headed but I can’t go back.
Even in the dark interior of the car, I can see the blood smeared on my hands.
Had I really stabbed a man in the face?
Granted, the blade was small and left much smaller wounds than a typical knife. But still…
Drawing in another breath, I watch the dark road ahead of me.
Lights are scattered sparingly along this route and cars pass even less frequently.
Several miles later, I finally spot an exit sign boasting a fuel station symbol.
Only four more miles to reach it.
Relief radiates through me, relieving some of the tension.
If I have gas, then I can put more distance between myself and that psycho.
In the rearview mirror, blinding headlights flash at me in quick succession.
Annoyed, I frown.
The jerk has ample space and opportunity to pass me on the deserted road but would rather ride my ass.
When the lights flash again, I tap the brakes. It’s almost a dare for the driver to hit me.
I’m not in the mood for games tonight.
The flashing finally stops but the car remains on my tail, even after I take the exit.
What the hell?
Is it Brick?
Because of the darkness enveloping the highway, I can’t make out what kind of car it is.
Still, fear constricts my throat but I’ve already taken the exit and don’t see a way around it.
Deciding to abandon those worrying thoughts, I resolve not to stop the limo until I’ve reached the well-lit gas station.
Pulling into the station, I stop at a pump near the door to ensure that there will be plenty of witnesses should the driver behind me try something.
Searching the side panel of the limo, I look for a lever to release the gas tank cover.
Just as I find it, I tug it and push the driver’s door open having retrieved my wallet from the backseat.
A car pulls up beside me and the driver opens the door as soon as the tires halt against the pavement.
Someone’s in a rush, I muse.
Shoving my debit card into the slot, from my peripheral vision I see a shiny, black shoe exit the car first.
When the man stands to full height and fully exposes himself, I cry out in relief and drop the gas pump in my hand to throw myself at Jameson.
*
Jameson practically has to
pry my arms off him after our embrace stretches on, me sobbing into his chest.
“Grace, let me see you,” he says hoarsely, emotion clouding his voice.
Reluctantly, I release my hold on him and step back.
Gasping, I realize for the first time that there’s blood splattered on his white jacket.
“Who hurt you?” I shriek, horrified.
This isn’t how I imagined seeing him in his uniform for the first time.
“Don’t worry about me, I want to make sure you’re okay,” he states, eyes roaming over me carefully.
His honeyed orbs land on my neck and he swears savagely.
I know then that my attacker’s hand must have left a noticeable mark around my neck.
A roughened thumb reaches up to wipe away the tears pooling on my cheeks.
I savor his touch, finally feeling a semblance of normalcy and safety.
His presence has anchored me.
“How did you find me?” I wonder aloud.
Still examining me from head to toe, he answers offhandedly. “The car service has tracking devices on each of their vehicles.”
“How did you know I was in trouble?”
The questions are just flowing.
I’m thrilled that he’s here but there are a ton of gaps to fill in.
His brow quirks, testament to his annoyance.
Had Brick sent someone to derail him as well?
“We’ll discuss that later. Are you sure you’re okay?”
Before I can reassure him, sirens blare as three cop cars skid into the parking lot of the gas station.
Trepidation seizes me even though I’ve acted purely out of self-defense all night.
“Don’t worry, the limo service sent them,” Jameson assures me, expertly reading the horror on my features.
*
An hour later, I’m sitting in the passenger seat of Jameson’s Porsche as we head back toward his home for the evening.
Exhaustion weighs me down and my head droops as my body tries to submit to slumber.
In the last hour I’ve learned that Brick is in custody for breaking and entering with an armed weapon. And the driver I stabbed is in the hospital, mending from the wounds I inflicted.
The driver I stabbed.
Jesus Christ.
After garnering that information, we talked with the cops for an hour and they took an initial report from me. They’d urged us to come into the station tonight but Jameson had shut that down.
He promised that we’d be there tomorrow morning after we both got a good night’s sleep.
And the police relented without any further questions.
Not for the first time, I wonder just how much power Jameson had in this town.
He seemed like a god.
Interrupting my reverie, Jameson’s hand wanders over to my side of the car and rests in my lap as we near his property.
“We’re here, baby.”
The endearment fills me with warmth, replacing the icy fear that had previously coursed through my veins.
I love the thought of being his baby. His actions certainly demonstrate his obvious affection for me.
It’s a comforting feeling.
Gravel crunches under his tires as we journey towards the garage.
Parked, Jameson turns to me and exhales heavily as a somber expression clouds his face.
“Let’s go inside. We need to talk.”
Chapter twenty
JAMESON WILCOX
Bewildered, Grace stares at me across the desk in my home office.
“I don’t understand,” she states again.
“I’m a bounty hunter,” I reiterate.
“No,” she shakes her head. “You told me you were a security guard.”
Trying to approach this delicately, I mull over my next choice of words.
“What I told you is that I wanted to start a private security business.”
Her eyes squint, amber pools still drowning in confusion.
“I was hired by Brick to capture you.”
Grace recoils as if she’s been slapped in the face.
A shooting pang of regret takes root in my chest.
I’ve done a lot of fucked-up things in my life but none have made me feel quite as guilty as lying to Grace Chambers.
She doesn’t deserve that.
“Jameson, I don’t understand…” her words trail and I see moisture gathering in her beautiful eyes.
“I fucked up, Grace.”
Betrayal is reflected all over her features and it rips my heart in two, knowing that I’m the culprit.
“So, it was all a lie?” she chokes on her words as the first few tears finally slide down her cheeks.
“No,” I say emphatically.
“I trusted you.” Her words are accusatory and for good reason.
“Grace,” I began sorrowfully but she doesn’t let me finish.
“Why did you pretend to care?”
The question slices through my resolve.
“I never pretended to care about you, Grace. I just did. I never had to fake my feelings for you because they came naturally after we spent more time together.”
Her head whips in my direction, suspicion the dominant emotion there on her face.
I lean forward, palms facing upward.
“I wasn’t honest with you. And for that I’m sorry.”
Grace glares at me but says nothing.
“But I won’t apologize for falling in love with you, Grace.”
“In love?” she echoes, her expression transforming. Distrust is replaced by inquisitiveness. But she masks the emotion as soon as it emerges.
“Yes, I’m in love with you.”
Saying the words aloud is both terrifying and freeing.
Grace has never alluded to the fact that she loves me. And I know even if she doesn’t reciprocate these feelings, it won’t dim the devotion I have for her.
No other woman in my life has ever crept beyond the exterior and infiltrated my heart.
Until Grace.
“Love doesn’t lie, Jameson,” Grace mutters and the disappointment in her voice is disheartening. She leans away from me and folds her arms across her chest in a protective gesture.
Her words slice through me and I know she’s right. On one level.
“I just wanted to protect you. From Brick and from the truth of who I am. I knew that if I was honest with you from the beginning that my chances were nonexistent.”
Grace tilts her head to observe me, stealing my signature move.
“And how are you feeling about your chances right now?” she asks.
I swallow the anxious knot in my throat and let silence answer the question.
“This is unbelievable,” she mutters to herself.
Instead of raging emotion, I’m met with her silence which I think is worse. At least if she was yelling at me, I could try to deescalate the situation. I have nothing to work with here and it’s driving me insane.
I feel the need to further explain myself.
“Grace. Don’t leave me. Please,” I urge. “I knew the second time we met, that I would do whatever I had to do to protect you. It was never my plan to fall for you. It just happened. Naturally. I was supposed to meet you and deliver you to Brick. Plain and simple. But I was so drawn to you. I kept coming up with excuses to see you again. I wanted to be wherever you were. I wanted to text you all day, and call you every night. It was so outside of my character but with you, it just flowed.”
She blinks in my general direction and I’m not even sure she’s absorbing my words.
I continue anyway.
“You’ve become everything to me, Grace. When I wake up in the morning, my first thought is you. I meant what I said about protecting what’s mine and you are mine, Grace. Forever. Whether you want me or not, I’m here. I need to know that you’re safe. I need to know that you’ve eaten. I need to know about your shitty day at the office. And I need you to know that I love you and that
will never change.”
After my spiel, Grace’s face is even tougher to read. She’s not giving anything away.
“I want to go home,” she says.
Panic sets in and I don’t have a problem letting it show. I can’t let her leave me tonight. I’m afraid that she’ll run and I’ll never see her again.
“It’s late. I don’t feel comfortable driving you home tonight,” I say.
Annoyance colors her features. “Fine, I’ll call Stephania.”
Then her face falls and I know she’s remembering that she left her phone at home.
“Can I use your phone?” she sounds loathe to ask me for anything.
“Stay here tonight,” I persist. “I won’t touch you, I won’t even sleep in the same bed. But please don’t leave.”
The exhaustion seems to conquer any of the fight she has left in her and she gives in.
“I’ll be in the guest room.”
She quietly dismisses herself without a backwards glance.
Though the impulse is strong, I decide not to crowd her and give her the space she needs. I’ve said a mouthful. Some things I hadn’t planned to reveal.
But now everything is on the table.
She has all the power now.
*
I don’t sleep a wink all night, my nerves are strung too tight.
But knowing that Grace is in a nearby room comforts me.
In my office, I down almost a full bottle of bourbon.
I don’t undress or go to my room, even though I know Mendoza came to scrub the scene before I returned.
It just wouldn’t feel right sleeping there without Grace when I know she’s in another corner of my home.
My blood-spattered jacket is discarded on the sofa against the far wall and my shoes are in a corner somewhere. Long ago, I unbuttoned the collar of my shirt. An outsider looking in might say I look calm, however I’m anything but.
I can’t shake the image of Grace’s face when the betrayal sank in.
I’m a piece of shit.
At nine a.m., I can’t take the confinement any longer.
The house is silent so I assume Grace is still out like a light.
Standing up, I head to my room to shower and change.
Under the scorching water, I meditate on the events of the last twelve hours.
I almost lost her to that bastard and the thought breaks me.