Still. He couldn’t allow Bane to potentially thwart any head start they might have.
Bane moved back yet another step, a grin playing at his pierced mouth. He held up his hands. “I’ll tell you where I left the girl.”
“What girl?”
“The one whose tight body I was wearing a few minutes ago.”
Jesse hesitated. Before he’d met Par, he wouldn’t have given it a second thought. Now . . . innocent lives were beginning to matter. “Where is she?”
Bane smirked. “Patrick really has no idea how far you’ve fallen.”
“Where.”
“You find out when I leave.”
“Is she alive?”
His eyes glittered. “Girls just aren’t built for hard fucking these days. Too tender.”
Jesse studied him. Of all Patrick’s creations, Bane had the means to murder without public blowback. Having the ability to look like anyone you wanted, including the victim’s nearest and dearest, had its advantages. But Bane’s loyalty to Patrick was steadfast. It was why Bane refused to fight. He assumed he would win and knew better than to return to the mountain after having killed Patrick’s beloved first son. And Patrick would know. He always knew when one of his appendages was severed. It was also why Jesse knew Bane wouldn’t outright admit to what he’d seen here tonight. If he was here without Patrick’s knowledge, and Jesse was betting he was, Bane wouldn’t relay anything that might compromise himself. If Jesse let him go, he could help the girl and get Par out of town before Bane found a way around the pitfalls of his own duplicity.
Jesse closed the distance between them and grabbed Bane by the shirt. “Where’s the girl?”
Bane snarled, grabbing Jesse’s wrist and digging his too-long fingernails in. “Get your goddamned hand off me.”
“Tell me now, or I’ll change my mind about letting you walk out of here.”
The silver hoops in his nose glinted as his nostrils flared in fury. He spoke between clenched teeth. “Behind the dumpster. Second Street. Hardware store. Now let the fuck go.”
Jesse shoved him away with a growl, right into the lights and sounds of the street. Bane stumbled into the nearest concession’s trashcan, knocking it over, spilling greasy food remnants and empty pop bottles across the pavement. He steadied himself on the side of the trailer and cursed, kicking a wilted French fry off his boot. He glared at Jesse, who still stood in the shadows. “One day,” Bane said.
Jesse didn’t blink, fingers curling at his sides. “I relish the thought.”
Bane rolled his shoulders and stepped away from the stand. “Good luck with your bitch. I guarantee whatever traitorous shit you had planned won’t be happening now. That girl’s not going to forgive you. Saw it in her eyes.”
Jesse said nothing.
Bane laughed. “Be seeing you.”
“You can count on it.”
With one last flip of his middle finger, Bane strode off and disappeared into the crowd.
Jesse took out his cell and dialed.
“9-1-1. What is your emergency?”
“There’s a teenage girl behind a dumpster on Second Street in Floyd. Possibly raped and beaten. Send someone.”
“Is she conscious? Can you tell—”
He disconnected and dropped the phone onto the pavement, grinding it with the heel of his boot. When it was nothing but shattered glass and fragments of black plastic, he closed his eyes a moment, bringing his thumb and forefinger to his throbbing temples. Bane was a cocky son of a bitch, but he was right about Par. She wouldn’t forgive him, and it created a serious problem. He had to get her out of this town tonight. She wasn’t going to go willingly. Not now. Which meant he would to have to force her.
He dragged his hand down his face. There wasn’t time for apologies or explanations. Nothing he said would convince her to leave with him. Hell, she didn’t even know she was in danger. He’d intended to break it all to her gently. Tell her everything. Spend the night answering her questions and wooing her into understanding. Now, haste was all that mattered.
The only problem was him. No way was he going to be able to face her tears and pleading and still manhandle her. Not after what he’d already put her through tonight. He was weak when it came to her, and it was a weakness that could get them both killed.
There was only one thing he could do—turn it all off.
Vampirism came with the ability to go into an emotional wasteland. Nothing existed there. Not love. Not sorrow. Not grief. He suspected it was, in part, what’d kept him sane during the centuries he’d spent with Patrick. It was bleak and cold and he hated like hell to return to it—hated like hell for Parsley to see him return to it—but it would enable him to do what he had to do tonight.
If she didn’t hate him already, she would by tomorrow.
Even as the thought drove a wedge right into the heart of him, he realized her loving him didn’t matter to him nearly as much as her survival.
He only hoped he could maintain some vestige of his humanity. Vampires who left their emotions behind weren’t known for being gentle, but it was a chance he had to take.
Straightening his jacket, he took a deep breath and emerged into the flashing lights and noise of the festival. As he walked, he allowed that familiar barrenness to settle over him. There was a remote sense of sorrow as the last of his feelings drifted away into the ether. And then . . . there was nothing. Flipping his collar up, he kept to the sidewalks, which were darker and less populated. It was imperative that he not draw any more attention to himself than he already had. The few people gave him a wide berth, stealing wary glances as they hurried past. They didn’t know why he unsettled them. But he knew. They were prey, and part of them, somewhere deep down, recognized him as predator. He paid them no attention, though. He only cared about one thing—finding the girl he’d just destroyed. He shoved his hands into his pockets as a crisp wind blew his hair, and walked on into the night.
***
Shivering, I pulled my cardigan around my waist as I walked. The air had grown chilly and the wind chapped my tear-streaked cheeks. My purse had slipped from my shoulder and now swung from the crook of my elbow, bouncing against my leg as I hurried toward my apartment. I’d had to stop once already to get a hold of myself when a sob had torn from my throat, forcing me to duck behind a concession. It was either that or break down in the middle of the crowd. I’d spent far too long there though, huddled against the aluminum trailer while it vibrated from the movements of people inside, fist at my mouth to hold back the worst of it. It wasn’t until I realized he would probably come looking for me that I forced myself back onto the sidewalk.
I couldn’t bear an apology. I couldn’t even bear to look at him.
Fresh tears welled in my eyes now, blurring my vision. The festival scene replayed through my mind again. And again. And again. The way he gripped her so tight her thigh bore imprints of his fingers. The way he kissed her as if he wanted to devour her mouth. The way she looked at me with such delicious satisfaction. I bit my trembling bottom lip as I jogged across the deserted street. The only light came from the porches of other houses and from the moon, which shone down through the few trees silently guarding the sidewalk. My thoughts spiraled.
He never once tried to kiss me. Let alone like . . . that. Is that what he wanted? Someone like Kristen? Did he ever really care for me?
And even though the notion seemed so at odds with the Jesse I knew, I could only assume the answer was no. That first night, when we’d stood in front of his car, with hearts pounding and eyes wide, we’d almost kissed. Almost. And there’d been times since when he’d whispered softly in my ear or ever so gently brushed a strand of hair from my face, that the longing to bring our lips together had been so intense I would tremble with disappointment when he’d finally pull away with a sigh.
I’d assumed he was a gentleman. Taking things slow. Enjoying the simple act of being together. Because I understood that. Because it was the same for me. But no
w, the idea that he’d just been toying with me—the shy, hesitant girl—was like suffocating. There was no air anymore. No hope. I paused at the bottom of the concrete steps to my apartment and gripped the wobbly wrought iron railing with white knuckles, trying to catch my breath.
“Why?” I whispered to no one, sobbing quietly and tasting the salt from my tears.
A passing car startled me, and I stumbled up the steps. I stood on trembling legs at my windowless door, fumbling blindly inside my purse for keys. There was no porch light, and it seemed as though the darkness was closing in around me. I wanted inside. I wanted away from the world.
“Parsley, stop.”
I paused at the sound of Jesse’s voice, fingers tightening around the cold metal of my keys, but didn’t turn around.
“I need to talk to you,” he said.
Heart pounding, I ignored his demand and clumsily tried putting the key in the lock, desperate to hide my hurt behind a closed door. I didn’t want to see his face or the guilty acknowledgment I knew I would find there. I couldn’t take it.
“Leave me alone.” I dropped the keys, and they jangled on the concrete.
I bent to pick them up and, when I stood, he was there. He took me by the bicep none too gently and spun me around to face him, my fingers losing their grip on the keys once again.
“Stop this,” he said. “We need to talk.”
Glaring up at him, my anger finally rose. “Let me go.”
“I need you to come with me. Now.”
For a moment, I was too stunned to respond. He couldn’t be serious. I tested his grip on my arm, my eyes narrowing when it wouldn’t budge. “Jesse, I said let me go.”
His brow furrowed. “I’m sorry you had to see what you saw, but it’s not important. Come.” He began pulling me down the steps without ceremony.
I stumbled behind him, my purse slipping from my shoulder. It tumbled down to land on the sidewalk, some loose change rolling out, gleaming copper and silver in the moonlight. My toe caught, and I fell against the railing, the metal clanging hollowly. I cried out, my knee hitting the edge of the concrete step, the impact reverberating up my thighbone.
The pain was instant and burning, and tears sprang to my eyes. The only thing that stopped me from pitching forward was his hold on my wrist. I reached up with my free hand and grabbed the railing for support, arm trembling, and stared up at him in shock. He stopped and frowned down at me. His eyes darted to my knee, which was bleeding freely, and then back to my face, as if he’d assessed my injuries and found them insignificant.
“Are you okay?” he asked.
“What are you doing, Jesse?” I breathed.
“Get up.”
I blinked, unable to reconcile the man who stood over me with the man I’d spent the last two months getting to know. “You’re hurting me.”
For a moment he looked confused, but he blinked it away. “Get. Up.”
I focused on his thoughts and listened with a growing sense of desperation. I’d made a vow not to invade his privacy like this, but the moment he’d put his hands on me, any obligation had gone out the window.
But what I got was . . . nothing. He was locked down. Utterly. An impenetrable wall that, in my current state of bewilderment, I couldn’t begin to break through. He was, however, determined. He was focused. Single-minded. That much I could intuit.
“Up,” he said, eyes narrowing as though he somehow knew what I’d done. Or tried to do.
“No.” I resisted the urge to tug my wrist free and instead pleaded with my eyes.
He growled in frustration and moved as though to pick me up by force.
I tensed and locked my grip on the railing. “Jesse, please. I don’t want to hurt you.”
And I didn’t.
But I would.
He paused, brows rising ever so slightly. He went to slide his arm under my knees.
Letting go of the railing, I shot out my splayed my fingers, releasing a warning burst of energy. He rocked back, barely maintaining his balance by grabbing the railing and stumbling down the last two steps. I stood up, ignoring the throbbing pain in my knee. “Leave now,” I said.
He looked from my trembling hand to my face. Though surprised, he didn’t seem confused. “That was unexpected.”
He knew. Dread shot down my spine. He knew about me. I took a step backwards.
Straightening his jacket, he sighed. “Stop this. Come with me now. We don’t have time.”
I took another step back. “Leave.”
He started forward. “Parsley, listen to me—”
I blasted him with such force that he was thrown from the sidewalk and through the air, landing in the middle of the dark street. He hit hard enough to break bones, rolling in a blur of denim and black leather. My eyes darted to my rusted-out, baby-blue Chevy Chevette parked along the curb just a few feet away. I hurried down, gritting my teeth at my knee. I didn’t bother going back for the keys still lying on the doorstep. Nor did I stop to pick up my purse. It held nothing of value. Everything that truly mattered to me was in the trunk of my car. Always.
I crouched near the trunk and quickly grabbed the single key magnetically attached to the back of the license plate. By the time he regained consciousness, I’d be long gone. Pulling myself to my feet, I limped around to the driver’s side. I was just about to pull open the unlocked door when his hand clapped onto my mouth, muffling my scream. He tugged me back against him and, before I could react, a sharp stinging sensation bit my throat. Within seconds my world started to spin.
“Quiet,” he whispered in my ear as my head rolled back onto his shoulder and my arms dropped limply to my sides, the key slipping from my loose fingers. My thoughts grew sluggish. I couldn’t understand why he wasn’t still unconscious on the pavement. Why he no longer sounded cold and hard. Why he was doing this. Why.
His hand released my mouth, and I felt him brush my hair from my face. I wanted to smack him away. Curse at him. But my energy was fading like the setting sun, and all I could do was blink up at him with blurry vision.
“Jesse . . .”
“Shh . . .” He rubbed my cheekbone with his thumb.
“I thought I . . . loved you.” My speech ran together as I sank helpless into his arms, my eyelids becoming heavy. What was I saying? My brain was a swamp, dark and murky, and nothing made sense. I couldn’t move. Couldn’t think. Distantly, I felt myself picked up, my arms and legs dangling. “I . . . thought . . .”
After a long pause, I had the vague sensation that we were moving, and in a quiet voice he said, “I know.”
And then there was nothing.
12
Road Trips & Pancakes
Jesse stared straight ahead into the rain and darkness as he drove, one hand on the wheel and the other on the gearshift. The wipers passed rhythmically over the windshield as the hood of the car ate up the yellow lines of the two-lane road, his headlights’ twin beams disappearing into the long stretch of highway. He didn’t look over, but she was there in the passenger’s seat. He could hear her breathing. Could see the paleness of her wrist in the dark, palm upturned as it rested on the edge of the vinyl seat, vibrating with the movement of the car. Her face was turned toward him too. But he didn’t look.
He’d driven for two hours. There were still two more to go. He didn’t worry about her waking up, though. The sedative he’d given her was a stout one. She would sleep until morning. He had no damned idea what he’d do then. After what he’d pulled earlier, he’d probably have to physically restrain her to keep her from escaping. The thought caused him to grip the shifter knob, the leather groaning in protest.
The scene from the apartment replayed in his mind. Again. It was vivid. Details sharp and crisp. The look of shock on her face. The tremble in her voice. The fear. The moment she’d fallen on the steps because he’d pulled her too hard too fast. He gritted his teeth until his jaw ached and resisted the urge to swerve off the road into the nearest tree at seventy miles per ho
ur. And had he been alone, that’s just what he would have done. He deserved to bleed.
Because he wouldn’t have stopped. He would have kept pulling if she hadn’t done what she’d done. He would have dragged her right down the steps and tossed her in the trunk if he’d had to. In that moment, with his emotions so utterly flatlined, nothing mattered but the objective. Get her and get out. A to B. And as long as she was breathing, any non-life-threatening injuries were irrelevant.
All because he’d decided to disconnect. It had seemed like a good idea at the time. The only idea.
He sighed, leaning back in his seat and adjusting his hand on the wheel. In that alley, he’d been emotionally unstable and depressive. Volatile. Nothing he wanted to be when he approached her and tried to convince her to leave with him. He’d needed to be in control. He’d needed to be efficient. To make her see reason when all she would see was betrayal.
As he slowed to take a curve, he downshifted harder than necessary, glaring out the windshield. That was all bullshit, and he knew it. What he’d been was a damn coward. Too afraid to face the monster he’d become.
He’d taken the easy way out.
As he pulled up to a stop sign, he glanced over at her for the first time. Rain beat down on the car’s roof above them, the engine’s idle was a low rumble, and the wipers swished steadily back and forth. It was a cocoon of sound that made it feel like there was no outside world. There was just the inside his car and the two of them and the weight of what he’d done.
The moment she’d hit him with that extraordinary burst of power in front of her apartment, he’d snapped out of his emotionless state like a released rubber band. The electrical charge had overridden his self-imposed lockdown instantaneously, short-circuiting his control panel. It’d hurt like a son of a bitch, his entire body straining and frozen as if connected to a live wire. He’d lain gasping on the asphalt for several dazed moments as the knowledge of his actions sank in. As the consequences and emotions that had been absent while in his state of emptiness rushed in to fill the void. As he’d processed the fact that she’d had to defend herself against him.
First Fruits Page 10
