by J. Saman
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 seatbelt. “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?
Chapter Two
The ride into town is long and quiet. We pass through Henderson, and as we’re driving, I realize he never asked me where I wanted to go. He just assumes it’s Las Vegas because those are the signs we’re following as we glide along the highway. I don’t bother to suggest anything else. Las Vegas gives me the most options and it’s where I was headed tonight anyway.
The radio is on, but it’s turned down so low it’s more of a background hum than actual music. I can’t even tell what song is playing. “What do you think is wrong with the car?” I ask, unable to handle the silence a moment longer.
“I don’t know, but if I had to guess, I’d say your engine is shot due to a pretty extensive oil leak.”
“Is that expensive to fix?”
He chuckles lightly, rubbing his hand along his stubbled jaw. His reaction irritates me. There is nothing amusing about my situation. Nothing at all. But I guess he doesn’t know just how desperate I am.
“That car is probably older than you are, and considering it hasn’t been in production for at least a decade, I’d say it’s not really worth it. But that’s your call, not mine.”
I sigh, swallowing down everything that is trying to rise up and suffocate me. Or have me vomit all over his car. “Can you take me to a bus or train station? I can pay you,” I add.
Jake glances in my direction, before turning back to the black expanse of the road, his headlights illuminating the yellow dashes of the highway.
He’s silent and that silence draws my attention over to him as I try to patiently wait him out. He’s still rubbing his jawline, thinking, I assume. Finally, he pivots his head back to me. Even in the dimly lit cab, I can tell he’s trying to read me. His eyes give me a slow sweep before they’re forced to return to the road. “It’s late,” he says in a measured tone. “Las Vegas is an all-night town, but that doesn’t make it a good idea to go to the bus station.”
“I don’t follow.”
“You’re a young woman. A beautiful young woman at that. And you’re alone. The bus station in Vegas is not a safe place to be at this time of night.”
I nod my head, but I can’t manage to speak past the lump in my throat. I do take some small measure of comfort in the fact that I’ll be in Las Vegas, which is a big place with a lot of tourists. “Okay,” I finally manage. “How about a hotel?”
He nods with an expression that says I’m finally being reasonable. “That I can do. What sort of place are you looking for?”
Anyplace that won’t ask questions or require a credit card. Or photo ID.
Which is no place on the planet anymore.
I don’t know how to answer him, so I don’t. I can’t stand this feeling of trapped helplessness. It’s smothering. Absolutely terrifying. It’s everything I’m running from and yet, here I am again, in over my head in a situation that has me paralyzed. No car. No place to stay. No way out.
“Is there anyone you can call?”
“No,” I snap, my voice thick with the tears I refuse to let fall. The only people in my life are the ones I’m running from. He was right when he said I was alone. I am. I have no one.
“Where are you coming from?”
I don’t respond.
“Where are you trying to go?”
Again, I stay silent.
He blows out a heavy breath, clearly as exasperated with me as I am with myself. And him. I’m exasperated with him, too, though I know I have no right to be. He’s been nothing but kind, and I can’t stand it. I can’t stand his questions or his helpful ways. I can’t stand any of this. I knew that car was old. I knew Roderigo hadn’t driven it in ages. But it started when I turned the key and it had gas in it. I couldn’t take any other car and I certainly wasn’t about to buy one.
I have no way of leaving wherever he’s taking me tonight. I’ve never been to a hotel that doesn’t require a credit card. Every single one of my cards has my real name on it. Leaving like I did was impulsive and epically stupid. So fucking stupid.
Now I’m trapped.
It’s only a matter of time before he finds me and drags me back home.
And then I lose it. My face drops into my hands as tears pour out of me like a broken faucet. I tremble and shake as sobs rip their way out of me, one after the other. I don’t even care that I’m a blubbering mess in front of a stranger. What am I going to do now?
“Hey,” he says softly. “It’s okay. It’s going to be okay.”
I shake my head, my hands still covering my eyes, because this guy has no idea.
“Listen, I’m not going to leave you at the shop with no place to go. I wouldn’t do that. We’ll talk to my friend and then we’ll find you a hotel.”
I shake my head again, my hands falling to my lap as I peek over at him. “I can’t go to a hotel.”
He’s quiet for a beat and then he asks, “Can you tell me why?” Another head shake. “I can’t leave you at the bus station. It’s really not safe. I’m not kidding about that. You might not be familiar with Vegas, but I am.”
He has no clue what the definition of unsafe really is. What true nightmares are made of. “That’s not your call to make.” I’ll take a cab there if he won’t take me. I have cash. It can’t be that far from whatever garage he’s taking me to.
He scrubs a hand over his face before slapping the butt of his palm on the steering wheel. “Okay, how’s this? You’ll come with me to work and I’ll make some calls,” he urges, his right hand drawing away from the steering wheel and over to me like he’s about to touch me, but then thinks better of it and puts it back on the wheel. “We’ll figure something out. I won’t leave you with no place to go tonight.”
We, he says. He uses the word ‘we’, like he’s invested. But why? “Why are you helping me?”
He chuckles sardonically and something in the way it sounds has me wiping the last of my tears so I can see him clearly. It’s a laugh that says he has no idea. “You’re alone and stuck in Vegas. I mean, it’s not exactly original.”
I glare at him. What a rude comment to make.
I think he realizes he just crossed the line into asshole because he follows it up with, “You need help and I’m not th
e sort of guy who just lets a young woman fend for herself with no place to go.” He pauses here, a small, lopsided grin pulling up the corner of his mouth. His eyes, so very dark, sparkle against the blue glow of the dash. “Or maybe it’s because I can’t stand your tears. Whatever the reason, I said I’d help you and I meant it.”
He turns back to the road and focuses on driving, essentially ending the conversation.
I stare at his profile, wondering if he’s for real. I’ve never met a selfless person before. I realize that sounds awful, but it’s no less true. Everyone I’ve ever known has always had an ulterior motive for the things they’ve done. Even when giving to charity, it was for tax breaks and appearances. How sad is that? But this guy is offering to help me and I find myself waiting for the punchline.
“What do you want in return?”
His head snaps over and for a fleeting second, I think he looks wounded that I even asked. Or perhaps that expression was disgust, because there are a lot of ways a question like that can be construed. But it’s a question and not an offer. He doesn’t respond, and I don’t know whether it’s a positive or negative thing with him. He angrily twists the dial up on his radio and instead of country music or metal, as I expected, it’s Arctic Monkeys.
I smile despite myself and my miserable situation. Anthony, my maid’s son, liked this band, which is why I know them. He used to play this album for me, but after my father found out we were spending time together, he forbade him from returning to the house.
“You know them?” Jake asks, surprised. My eyebrows knit together as I tilt my head at him. How could he tell that? “You’re humming along,” he supplies, answering my unspoken question.
Oh. Oops. “Yes. I know them. But not all that well. Just a few of their songs.”
He shifts in his seat, and catches my eye before quickly going back to the road. “You have an accent,” he starts and then takes a deep breath before he continues. “And your license plate said Texas. Is that where you’re from?”
I don’t answer, instead looking out my window, taking in the Las Vegas strip that we’re slowly approaching as we meander our way through the city.
“Are you in some kind of trouble?” I want to laugh at that question, but he’s being serious. I have no way of responding with an honest answer. “Are the police looking for you?”
I don’t know the answer to that, either.
I realize I need to give him something. He’s helping me out and probably just needs to ensure he won’t get arrested for helping a criminal or something. “I haven’t broken the law, if that’s what you’re asking.”
“Are you a runaway?”
I scoff, running my fingers through the ends of my long hair, “I’m twenty-two,” I tell him, hoping he understands I’m not some underage kid who ran away from home. The fact that I’m an adult who ran away from home is an entirely different issue. “And you don’t have to help me.”
He doesn’t come back with anything else. He presses some buttons on his steering wheel and the volume on his sound system increases, drowning out any further ability to speak. I bet he’s regretting picking me up. I would be if I were him. A few minutes later, he pulls into a gas station that says Healey & Sons. The main building and the garage bays are partially dark, but the gas pumps are still brightly lit. When I focus, I notice someone inside the main building with their feet kicked up on a counter.
“That’s Brennan.” Jake points to the man. “He runs a towing service in town and he can get your car situated.” My eyes stay trained on Brennan. I don’t know what to do about that car yet. In the half an hour it took us to arrive here, answers to my situation have alluded me. “Wait here, okay?” He takes me in, watching me closely. “I’ll go speak to him and then once we get that set up, I can take you to a hotel.”
I huff out some air, but suck it back in quickly. I can’t go to a hotel. I just told him that.
“I know a place. It’s nice and not too far from here.”
Nice places want nothing to do with me tonight.
“Sure,” I puff with a forced smile. “Sounds perfect.” And because I won’t get another chance to say it, I pivot my body to face him better and say, “Thank you, Jake. For picking me up on the side of the road and bringing me here. For trying so hard to help me.”
He gives me a crooked grin, squeezing the back of his neck. His eyes roam my face and then he hops out of the truck. I watch him walk toward the main building. I even take a minute to appreciate him as he does. The moment he steps inside, I get out of the truck, grab my suitcases and run. I drag them down the street and away from the gas station. There are cabs everywhere and part of me is tempted to flag one down and hop in, but where would I go?
He’s probably right about the bus station not being safe at this hour. It’s well after one in the morning, and even though there are a good amount of people on the streets, they’re mostly drunk and loud and leering at me as I pass them. Or maybe that last part is in my head, but it feels like they are. My stomach sinks as I somehow find my way down to the Las Vegas strip. It’s bright here. Blindingly so, almost disorienting, and even more congested with people walking every which way. Men are handing out fliers for hookers and women are wearing jeweled bikinis with pleasing smiles.
I could go to the airport, but using my ID is a huge risk and a major tip off to anyone who is searching for me.
I stop, standing in front of one of the massive hotels that line the strip as I think this through. He said a woman being lost in this city was a cliché, and right now, I believe him. Because that’s exactly what I feel like. A cliché.
“Hey there,” someone calls out, dragging me out of my reverie and away from the massive gold structure to a group of guys headed my way. They’re eyeing me up and down, taking in my suitcases and lost expression. Then, the one who I assume spoke to me, grins in a way that turns my blood cold. “You look a little lost, baby doll. Why don’t you come with us? We’d love to help you find your way.”
I shake my head at him, my stomach rolling over as I think about what these guys could do to me. “Thanks, but I’m all set. My husband is waiting on me.” And then I book ass up the ramp that leads to the massive gold hotel. I don’t look back and they don’t follow me. I guess this place, The Turner Grand, will have to do until I can figure out a plan.
Chapter Three
“Checking in, miss?” the valet asks as he holds the large glass door to the hotel open for me.
“Uh,” I pause, caught off guard by the question, but I am hauling two suitcases and entering a hotel, so I go with, “Yes.”
“Would you like me to help you with your luggage while you do that?”
I shake my head and force a smile. “No, I can manage. But thank you.”
He gives me a warm smile and doesn’t offer anything else. The small heel of my riding boots clicks against the marble floors of the lobby. There’s a stone fountain of Greek Gods in the center of the atrium, the ceiling dripping with ornate, multicolored glass that appears lit from within. Off to my left is a large reception area, teeming with people checking in. Along the counter closest to me, is the concierge area. One of the smart-looking, suit-clad men glances up the moment I step over and spots me. He gives me a full once-over. I know I’m a mess. Two days in the car and a lot of tears. I quickly scurry off, heading I have no idea where.
I wander around for much longer than I should, fatigue building as the rush of adrenaline ebbs. Jake. I feel bad about running out on him. He was…nice. Helpful. So gorgeous my insides liquefied with just one look from those brown eyes of his. I nearly laugh out loud at that, mentally shaking myself. How ridiculous to focus on that given the situation I find myself in now.
The longer I meander around, the more exhausted I become. I’m also drawing more attention to myself by employees and drunk men and I’m running out of routes to take and places to peruse. I spot a sign for the pool and head that way, lost as to where else to go. It’s quieter over here, t
he shops lining this part of the building are all closed now and most of the action is back over where the casino and bars are.
One of the doors off to the side of the pool entrance catches my attention simply because it’s slightly ajar with a sign in front of it that indicates it’s under construction. And no one is around. I look left. I look right. Then I book it, keeping my head down and my face averted from the numerous overhead cameras. I slide through the open door, hauling my suitcases along. After I make it through, the door shuts with a loud clatter behind me.
I freeze, standing bone still as I wait for the inevitable security to arrive. But after two minutes and no cavalry to come and haul me off, I ramble out into the warm summer night. The breeze runs across me, catching my hair and bathing me in the faint scent of chlorine. My boots click loudly against the hardscape, the sound echoing through the night, forcing me to move faster. To where? I have no idea. I just need to find a place to hide out. A place to sit and gather my thoughts without curious, prying eyes on me.
Along the back wall, close to a sign that reads, Spa Exit, is a lounge chair partially obstructed by shrubbery. I make a bee-line for it, sliding my suitcases next to me and tucking myself down onto the lounger, curling in and making myself as small as possible. Then I listen. I have no idea how long I listen to the sounds of the pool at night, to the waterfall and the rustling of trees, but my eyes end up closing and my mind wanders, only to be jostled awake by visions of everything I ran from.
My head whips around instinctively, my heart rate through the roof as my chest heaves with barely contained panicked breaths. Darkness closes in on me and I swallow down a sob as I try to remember where I am. Pool. Hotel. Las Vegas. Oh God. How did I get myself here? How did this hopeless situation become my life?
I should feel some relief.
I got away. I made it out. But not one ounce of fear has abated. If anything, this feels worse. For a flicker of a moment, I regret my hasty flight. Homeless. No car. No usable ID. No job. Little money. I could go to a shelter. That might be safer than sleeping outside. Or I could try to find a place to live like a motel or an apartment that doesn’t require anything but cash.