The Watcher

by Bella Jewel

  “Sorry,” I say again.

  He sits up, running a hand through his hair. Don’t look.

  “Stop apologizing. Not going to talk about it?”

  I narrow my eyes. “You think you know everything about me. You’ve come to your own conclusions and made your own assumptions. What makes you think I’d talk about it with you?”

  He glowers at me. “Have it your way.”

  I clamp my mouth shut. Angry and a little disappointed that he didn’t even try to argue that he wanted to know. What did I expect? He’s only asking how I am because it’s clearly the right thing to do. I lay back down, pulling the cover over my body and listening until Kenai starts deep breathing again.

  He went back to sleep.

  Just like that.

  This is going to be a long trip.

  * * *

  Even before the sun comes up the next morning, Kenai is dressed and ready to hit the road. I drag myself out of bed, groaning with frustration as my legs refuse to let me move around without pain. Still, I manage to get dressed, grunt at Kenai when he asks if I want coffee, and then follow him to the truck.

  We hit the road in silence and I actually doze off a bit as we head into Santa Fe. Kenai wants to go to a club to speak with a man about Chris. This is where our first lead is, so we’re going to follow it in hopes we get some answers. I don’t know how the two are connected, but Kenai has been on the phone for a few hours, tracking down information. The club owner is apparently well known in the drug industry.

  I guess it’s a better lead than we could’ve had staying in Colorado.

  We arrive at the club just past noon, after getting breakfast and waiting for Kenai to make some more calls. The club is above a restaurant and bar, and apparently is a part of it. The restaurant and bar are open, but the club is closed. Kenai has it on good authority that the owner is here, though. At least, that’s what I gathered from his conversations. Outside of his talking on the phone, he’s barely said a word to me.

  Whatever.

  Kenai parks the truck in an alley next to the club/restaurant and turns to me, face stern. “Do not get out of this truck.”

  I salute him. “Yes Chief.”

  His jaw tics. “I mean it, Marlie. I don’t have time for any shit. You stay in this truck or you’ll have me to answer to.”

  “I heard you the first time,” I mutter.

  He glares at me, then gets out, slamming the door and locking the truck with a click of the keys. I sit tight because I don’t want to anger the beast this early. I wait for a solid thirty minutes before Kenai finally returns, face tight, fists clenched. He unlocks the car and leaps in, starting it up with an angry grunt.

  “What happened?”

  “Don’t speak to me.”

  I cross my arms. “That wasn’t one of the rules. It’s my sister. I’m paying you. Answer me.”

  He shoots a look at me and grinds out, “My contact wasn’t there. Somehow the fucker knew I was coming. I don’t have any idea how he found that out. Did you tell anyone?”

  I shake my head. “Who the hell would I tell that would know him?”

  He rubs a hand over his face. “Either way. I know where he is. Buckle up, princess. We’re going to Vegas.”

  I blink. “Pardon me?”

  “I didn’t stutter.”

  “Vegas is like nine hours away.”

  “We’ll stop on the way.”

  “You can’t be serious. We’re going all that way to talk to someone who may or may not have information about Chris?”

  “That’s where this fuck is going to be for the next week, and he’s the best lead we have. So if we want to find him, we need to get moving. Do you want to find your sister or not?”

  “Yes, but…”

  “Then don’t question how I do my job,” he says, pulling the truck out onto the main highway. “You just do what I say. Please. Now buckle up.”

  “My God, do you always have to be such an asshole? I have a right to know where you are taking me and what the plan is.”

  “Yeah,” he mutters. Then after a pause he continues. “We’ll go to Flagstaff tonight, then onto Vegas tomorrow. I have another lead in Flagstaff that’s connected to this guy—he might be able to give us more information.”

  “Great,” I mumble, tucking my legs up and staring out the window. Fortunately, they seem to be adjusting to my new routine. They don’t hurt nearly as much as they did yesterday.

  Kenai says nothing as we hit the road for another long journey. I fall asleep somewhere around two in the afternoon and don’t wake for several hours. When I do, the sun is beginning to drop on the horizon and Kenai, as always, is focused solely on the road. I can’t do this no-speaking business any longer.

  “You might not like me—” I begin after rubbing my eyes and stretching.

  “I don’t.”

  God. Jerk.

  “I didn’t even finish what I was going to say!”

  “Don’t care to hear what you were going to say.”

  Anger bubbles in my chest and I snap, “What is your problem with me?”

  He says nothing.

  “Are you secretly attracted to me, is that it?”

  His fingers tighten around the wheel and he snaps, “No, I’m not fuckin’ attracted to you.”

  “Then what’s the problem? Are you like this with everyone or is it just me?”

  He doesn’t answer.

  I growl in frustration.

  “You know, I think you judge people too harshly. You don’t even give them a chance.”

  He doesn’t answer for a second, then says, “What?”

  “You don’t give people a chance. You just assume to know everything about them.”

  “Wrong,” he mutters.

  “Spare me your crap. I know what you think. It’s the same thing everyone else thinks.”

  “And that would be?”

  “That I used my situation to make millions.”

  His jaw tics, and I know I’m right.

  “Didn’t you?”

  “Is that what you think?”

  He glances at me quickly, then mutters, “Seen the book. Seen the house. Yeah. That’s what I think.”

  “And you think I’m selfish because I did that.”

  He has no idea. None. But I’ll play his little game.

  “Fuck yeah, I think it’s selfish. Those other girls never got a second chance, and instead of relishing in your freedom, you make money from it. And their families have to see it and be reminded of everything they lost, all so you can make a buck.”

  “Let me tell you something,” I say, my voice a low angry growl. “You know—”

  I don’t get to finish, because out of the blue, a loud bang sounds out. The truck rocks to the side, and for a moment I’m confused and a little dazed. It takes a second more to realize what’s happening when another bang sounds out and Kenai curses. Are we being shot at? Oh. Oh my God. We’re being shot at!

  “Kenai!” I cry, frantically. “Is someone shooting at us?”

  He looks behind us, and I follow his vision. A black SUV with dark windows is there. There is no one else around. How did we miss that car creeping up on us? But most importantly, why the hell are they shooting at us? The window winds down and an arm comes out. Another shot sounds out, this one hitting the tire.

  I scream.

  “Grab the wheel!” Kenai bellows.

  “What?” I gasp, shaking my head and throwing my hands up. “No.”

  “Now!” he roars.

  I reach over and grab the wheel without thought. The truck swerves when Kenai spins around, bumping my arm as he reaches into the back and pulls out … is that a gun?

  “Oh my God, you have a gun!?”

  “Shut up and focus,” he barks.

  Oh shit. This isn’t good.

  He lowers the window, leans out, and starts shooting. The truck sways as I try to steer around him, which is really hard when you’re being shot at and your tires a
re in less-than-desirable condition. The blasts of the gun hurt my ears, and it takes everything I have inside to stay focused on the road ahead. Kenai shoots again and the SUV behind us speeds up.

  Panic seizes my chest and I feel as though I’m going to stop breathing.

  “Kenai,” I squeak without thought.

  “Hang on to the wheel, keep it steady no matter what happens. Focus, Marlie.”

  I swallow the fear and focus on the road. The SUV comes closer to our side. Another shot rings out and the truck swerves. I scream as Kenai slams his foot on the brake and we start spinning out of control. I try to keep the car as straight as possible but there’s no point, it won’t happen. We skid off the side of the road, hitting the dust and coming to a screeching halt.

  Kenai leaps out of the truck before I even have a chance to take a shaky, relieved breath.

  When the dust clears, I see we’re alone. Completely alone. The SUV has gone and the roads are empty. Kenai bellows a curse to no one in particular, then comes around to my side of the truck, jerking the door open. “You okay?”

  I stare at him, blinking, confused. “Ah…”

  “You’re bleeding.”

  I shake my head, confused. “What?”

  “You must have hit your head. Get out.”

  I reach up and touch my forehead. My fingers come back covered in blood, and my entire body goes stiff. Oh. Oh God. Memories flood my mind and I tremble as I stare at the sticky blood. I remember another time my head was bleeding. Oh. Oh. Oh God.

  His fingers curl into my hair as he drags me down the hall. I fight, but my body is tired and weak. He hasn’t fed me for two days. I’ve had minimal water. He’s been torturing me with stories of what he’s going to do. Today he’s going to show me a video. A video of him skinning his last victim alive.

  I can’t watch it.

  I won’t.

  I fight some more, trying to release myself from his hold. It’s pointless. He’s too strong and I’m too weak. He tugs my hair and I scream. I try to lash out, which only angers him more. He slams my head down onto the ground so hard my vision blurs as pain explodes behind my eyes. A broken scream is ripped from my throat as he lifts me and starts jerking me down the hall again.

  Something warm trickles down my face.

  Blood.

  “The first drop of blood,” he says, stopping and reaching down, wiping it off with his finger. It comes back red and I gag at the sight. He raises it and brings it to his mouth.

  No.

  Don’t.

  He sucks my blood from his finger.

  “I can’t wait to see how much you bleed. Some bleed more than others, I think you’ll be one of them. You just wait until you see the blood pooling around your body as I peel your skin from it.”

  I gag and sob at the same time.

  “I can’t wait to show you this movie. The last girl really screamed. She made it so much fun. She bled a lot. I hope you’re not squeamish.”

  He laughs to himself, like he’s just said the funniest thing in the world.

  “Let me go,” I plead for the millionth time.

  He ignores it. Clearly tired of answering.

  Someone help.

  “Marlie!”

  Someone is shaking me. I blink rapidly. My heart is pounding, my chest clenching so hard I can’t breathe. Another shake has my teeth snapping together and my eyes focusing. Kenai is in front of me, hands on my shoulders, shaking me just enough to snap me out of my memory.

  “K-K-Kenai?” I whisper.

  “You freaked out.”

  “I…” I stare down at my bloody finger. “It’s the blood. Please, get it off.”

  He reaches for my hand and tucks it behind my back. “Don’t look at it. I’ll clean it up.”

  I nod and stare straight ahead at the vast empty, dusty earth and try to focus back on the here and now. Let it go. He’s gone. He’s dead. I do a few breathing exercises my therapist taught me, and by the time Kenai returns I’m feeling less … freaked out.

  “You okay?” he asks in a thick voice, placing a small first aid kit beside me and pulling out some alcohol wipes.

  He takes my hand and wipes the blood off first, then gets to work on my head. The wipes sting, and I close my eyes against the pain.

  “Yeah,” I mumble.

  “That happen often?”

  “What?”

  “Flashbacks.”

  I clench my teeth and say nothing.

  I focus on the work he’s doing on my forehead. I realize his hand is cupping my jaw as he turns my head from side to side to clean it. Suddenly, that’s all I can focus on. His hands are big, a little rough, and so masculine. They feel good. Safe even. I open my eyes and see his are focused on my lips. My heart pounds against my rib cage as the air grows thick with a tension I’ve never felt before.

  The second he realizes I’m looking, he lets me go and steps back. “You’re done. Just a superficial scratch.”

  I look anywhere but at him. What was that? A moment? No. He hates me. He’s an asshole. But, seriously, what the hell was it?

  “What happened to the SUV?” I ask, deciding to change the subject entirely.

  He closes the first aid kit and stands back, arms crossed. “Sped off.”

  “Why would anyone be trying to kill us?” I say, more than confused.

  “They weren’t trying to kill us.”

  I blink. “They were shooting at us, Chief.”

  He shoots me a look. I ignore it and cross my arms, waiting for him to elaborate.

  “If they were trying to kill us, they would have shot through the back windscreen, or shot at us when they came past. They were only aiming for the tires, which means their goal was to slow us down.”

  Oh.

  That makes sense.

  “Do you think it was ordered by that club owner?”

  “Possibly, but that seems extreme. No one seemed to know anything back in Santa Fe, so I don’t see how it’s related.”

  “So what could it be?”

  He runs his hands through his hair in frustration. “No fuckin’ clue. I’m thinking.”

  “How many tires are out?”

  “Two.”

  “Oh.”

  “Yeah,” he grunts.

  “We only have one spare, right?”

  He nods, turning and cursing under his breath again. “And there’s no cell reception out here to call a tow.”

  “Do we wait for a car to come past and help then?”

  “Yeah, I guess. Could be hours. Could be minutes.”

  “I’m sure someone will come past soon,” I say hopefully because the idea of spending a night out here terrifies me.

  “They probably will, but not everyone will stop.”

  He makes a good point. I’m not sure I’d stop if I saw two people sitting in the middle of an open highway with gun damage to their tires. Not to mention, Kenai is a scary-looking man. I wouldn’t be in a hurry to help him.

  “So what do we do?”

  He walks to the back of the truck and drops the tailgate down, sitting on it. “We wait.”

  I slide out of the truck and go over to join him on the tailgate. We sit in silence for the next half an hour, hoping for a car to come past. The sun keeps setting on the horizon. It’ll be dark soon. My stomach grumbles and in the silence out here, Kenai hears it.

  “Have you got some food?” I ask when he stares at me.

  “No.”

  “Who doesn’t bring food on a road trip?”

  He glares at me. “We stopped not that long ago for food.”

  “So? You should still bring some with you, for the drive.”

  He keeps glaring at me.

  “Stop glaring at me,” I snap. “The wind will change and your face will stay like that. Oh wait, too late.”

  I jump down from the tailgate and go to my side of the truck, pulling out my phone. I see I’ve got two missed calls from Hannah. Praying its news that Kaity is home and safe, I listen
to the voice message she left.

  “Hey, honey. It’s just me. I wanted to see how you were doing. I got your text earlier. I hope everything is okay. No news here about Kaity. I’m still visiting Grams. I’ll call you tomorrow and see how things are going. I really hope your trip isn’t too eventful.”

  “Eventful” would be an understatement. I hang up the phone and toss it back into my purse. No service out here so there’s no point in trying to call her back. I lean down and dig through it, praying I’ve got some stashed food, but I come up with nothing more than a tampon, tissues, a key, and a dried flower. Honestly. I don’t even want to know how that got there.

  With a sigh, I join Kenai again, who is still staring into the distance.

  “How can you sit for so long in silence?”

  I slide onto the tailgate again and wait for him to answer.

  “Not everyone needs to hear their own voice twenty-four hours a day.”

  Rude.

  “I don’t like my own voice that much. Believe it or not, when I’m at home I spend a lot of time in silence.”

  “What, writing the sequel to your encounter with the devil?”

  I flinch. Anger and frustration bubble in my chest and I explode without thought. “I didn’t write that fucking book, you jerkoff.”

  He looks to me, shock registering on his face for a second before he turns back and keeps staring. “Doesn’t matter if you wrote it or not, you still allowed it to be published and you certainly didn’t say no to the money.”

  I hate his judgment. I should correct him, but I’m so pissed that he assumes he knows everything, I don’t. Let him believe what he wants about me. I don’t care. I don’t need any more judgment in my life.

  “I’m going to try and get some sleep in the truck,” I say, my voice tight.

  He doesn’t answer.

  “If a car comes, make sure you call out,” I mutter sarcastically. “I’m sure you can stand your own voice for a few seconds.”

  His mouth forms a straight line. “I think there is a rule about your sass.”

  “There is,” I say nonchalantly. “But as you’ve clearly learned by now, I don’t follow rules.”

  “Clearly,” he mutters.

  “Deal with it. You’re getting paid double. It should be me making the rules.”