by A. J. Downey
“So stupid,” she whispered finally, cheeks flaming.
“Yes, yes it was,” I said and started walking. I barely felt the branches and dry leaves beneath my heavily calloused feet.
“Can’t exactly blame you,” I admitted, “But running like that definitely wasn’t your brightest move.”
She gave a halfhearted shrug but said nothing. She shook slightly in my arms, whether out of fear, pain, or an adrenaline crash I couldn’t say. Nor did I particularly care at that point, we’d wasted enough time with this foolishness.
At the car, I stooped and pulled open the passenger door. I twisted with her in my arms and set her on the seat with her legs hanging out, she was so short they didn’t touch the ground. That wasn’t a bad thing, it was super helpful in fact.
A quick inspection, which she suffered through silently, revealed no real injuries save the minor ones I expected. The bottoms of her feet were a mess of mud, twigs, crushed scraps of leaves and blood. The metallic scent of which rose heavy, cloying, and sweet around me. I bit the inside of my cheek hard enough to fill my mouth with a tiny flood of copper. The pain and the metallic taint of my own blood focused me, allowed me to concentrate. I needed to get some dinner and I needed to get some soon.
I rose and walked around to the trunk of the car, popping it with the key fob as I approached. I dropped my keys back into my pocket and dug around in the trunk’s space for a moment. I grabbed one of the emergency protein shakes I kept back there first and shook it, cracked its seal and chugged it down. It tasted alarmingly like strawberry. Just strawberry. When these things tasted as advertised without any off flavoring whatsoever it meant your body needed it. For one of my kind, that meant I was way past time for food. We go too long without eating, we lose some of our control and eventually, the survival instinct kicks it into high gear, we shift and we hunt and when that happens? We aren’t too particular about what or who is on the menu. It gets messy, fast.
I returned, kneeling beside her again, setting down a small first aid kit and several bottles of water before I took hold of her right foot and got to work. The cuffs of her jeans were filthy and had even frayed in a few places. I grabbed the material and ripped her pant leg halfway up to her knee. She jumped, startled, but said nothing. Pouring water over her foot I carefully cleaned it off using the scraps of denim as best I could. I probed gently at the few small cuts I found there. As I worked the muscle in her calf tensed and relaxed beneath her warm, silken skin and I bit my cheek again, studiously fixing my gaze on her foot instead of her toned leg when what I really wanted to do was let my eyes sweep over every inch of her. I redoubled my efforts at focusing on the task at hand.
“The damage isn’t that bad, minor lacerations. No stitches. I’m going to clean and bandage your foot, okay?”
She didn’t say anything but I saw her nodding out of the corner of my eye. She had her face turned to the side and pressed into the seat, so I set back to work. A few small pieces of gauze, a thorough cleaning and some stinging disinfectant later, I was able to wrap her foot. I was being as gentle as I could while I held the gauze in place, but she was stiff and ridged regardless.
We said nothing as I did the same with her left foot, which luckily had even fewer cuts but one of them was relatively deep as compared to the others. Still not bad enough for stitches, but it would hurt like hell later. She would be limping for a few days, at best. I’d been stupid in forgetting to pack her some damned shoes but when I’d realized my mistake I’d figured it could and would work to my advantage, maybe make her think twice about trying to run away. So much for that brilliant idea.
I dug around in the first aid kit for a moment, came up with a white oblong pill and held it and a bottle of water out to her.
“Here.”
She looked up at me, eyes bright with unshed tears; the blue of them unbelievably luminous, before they focused on the pill in my hand.
“What’s that?” she asked suspiciously.
“Vicodin, it’s a little strong for the level of your injuries but it’s all I have on hand. You can take it or not, up to you.”
I know I was being short. I’m well aware of the issues I have with my temper and a total lack of patience. But she could have gotten herself killed with that stunt and I would be damned if she was going to get hurt on my watch.
I paused and shook my head roughly. I needed her alive when we got to Seattle, I reminded myself forcefully. That was all. It wouldn’t do me any good at all to bring a corpse back and that was my only reason for concern.
I lifted her legs into the car, shut the door, and retrieved her bag of clothes where she’d left it before going around to the driver’s side. I pitched the bag in the back seat and got in, putting on my seatbelt. I started the car then sat there and waited while she studied the pill in her hand for a moment longer before she shrugged and popped it into her mouth, washing it down with half the bottle of water.
“Seat belt,” I said and she put her seatbelt on without argument. As soon as it clicked into place I pulled away from the curb and headed back for the freeway.
“Why do you know so much about me?” she asked some time later. The words were listless and so quiet I barely heard her. The Vicodin was obviously starting to take effect.
“Why me?” she asked when I’d been silent for too long.
I heaved out a deep sigh, unable to help myself and pinched the bridge of my nose between thumb and forefinger for a moment before putting my hand back on the steering wheel. “I told you,” I said. “Your father killed mine. It only made sense to do as much research as I could on him.”
She said nothing but her half lidded eyes were fixed on me so I sighed again. “It was a little over a week ago. Eight days, to be exact. My father died. He was killed. Murdered, in his bedroom, in his home. I’m no criminal justice expert but I can put two and two together and come up with four. Only one person visited my father recently. One person that my father had a long standing and bloody feud with.” I glanced at her again and saw she was listening with rapt attention.
“Your father, Mathias Young, visited mine the day before he was killed with a certain type of weapon that Mathias is well known for. There’s no one else that it could have possibly been but him.”
“But he’s just an accountant,” she whispered and she looked so lost, so hurt and confused that it made me uneasy. It was the first time looking at her that I felt like a total tool. I gritted my teeth, determined to hold onto my anger. Anger kept me strong. Anger kept me from feeling sympathy.
“Your father is not an accountant,” I growled, frustrated with her stubborn refusal to see the writing on the wall. “He never has been, he never will be. With how much I know about you, and about your family, can you honestly still think that I have the wrong person? Is it possible, just maybe, that I might know more about your family secrets than you do?”
She said nothing for a long time and I caught a glimmer of movement. I turned and jerked back but she was reaching a finger out carefully.
“What are you doing?” I asked her and she blinked, foggy from the too-strong painkiller. I should have snapped it in half. She was so damned tiny and the prescription was mine, meant for a person of my size and weight and then some because of my metabolism. That shit was little more than a couple of aspirin to me, but to her… I really hoped I hadn’t just OD’ed her past just several hours of sleeping it off.
“It’s really a shame that you’re crazy, you know that?” she asked and she traced a gentle fingertip along the scar I knew resided along my jaw. Yeah, that Vicodin was hitting her like a fucking freight train but she didn’t look like she was in any trouble from it.
“Yeah, why’s that?” I asked genuinely curious.
Her hand dropped listless to the center console between us, “Because you can be nice when you try and no matter how incredibly sexy you might be, the crazy really detracts from that.”
I laughed outright, “Is that right?” I asked, but
when I glanced her way again her eyes were closed and her breathing was deep and even in sleep. It wasn’t too surprising. She had gotten zero sleep the night before and the pain killer easily took care of the rest of her will to stay awake.
I sighed again, something I don’t remember doing so often before I met her and focused my attention back on the road. The burning lump of coal I had felt in the center of my chest since Father’s death was gone. In its place was simply a cold feeling of loss and regret and I found it harder and harder to stay angry at her over her father’s actions. I didn’t like that, I needed to hate her, I needed to want her dead and I needed to see her blood. The debt must be paid.
For now, I let her sleep, kept my eyes on the road, and put my foot down. I would need to stop for food, the protein shake just a temporary measure. I would also need to fill up soon judging by the fuel gauge, not to mention get some sleep of my own. Fuck, I was running out of time. My window of opportunity was closing and all too soon, there would be even more obstacles in my way. Her father would already know she was missing and he would never take that calmly. Not the Mathias Young that I knew.
As dangerous as that man could be, however, there were two others that terrified me even more and every time I heard the roar of a Harley Davidson motorcycle my pulse would begin to race against my will.
Chapter 6
Chloe
Light… bright and shining, causing my world to glow like fire. I squeezed my eyes shut tight and brought my hand up to rub them but a sharp metallic clack brought it up short. I tried my right hand much to the same result. I blinked rapidly several times and looked over, William looked back, a bemused expression on his face.
Fuck! It wasn’t fair for him to look that good this early and it really wasn’t fair that he had me handcuffed twice over. My right wrist was latched to the inside door panel of his car while my left, yeah, that he’d looped through the steering wheel, the other cuff around his own wrist.
“Really?” I asked incredulous.
“Really,” he responded. I eyed his key ring hanging from the ignition. He grinned wider at me.
“What?” I asked.
“I know what you’re thinking, and no dice Princess, the keys to the cuffs are in the trunk, well outside your reach.”
I stared at him open mouthed. “What?” I shrieked, the sound sharp even to my own ears but the grimace on his face made it seem like I’d been pitched high enough to shatter crystal or something.
“Okay, one, don’t ever do that high pitched bullshit again! And two, calm your tits, the object is to keep you from getting away and this was the best way to ensure that and make sure I’d wake up if you tried,” he swore under his breath.
“You don’t have to snap and yell at me all the fucking time, you kidnapped me, remember?” I stared at him, face bright with my own temper.
“Glad I filled up before bunking down,” he muttered and then did something so horrible I can’t even…
He gripped his thumb, the one on the hand that was cuffed and he broke it or dislocated it or something. The bone gave a sickening crunch, my stomach flipped and I scrambled for the door handle on my side but couldn’t reach it with how he had me cuffed.
“Oh no, you had better not fucking puke in my car!” he cried and lunged across me, hooking the fingers of his mutilated hand and popping the door for me. I leaned out and gagged, sucking in heaving breaths of cold, clean, morning autumn air as I tried valiantly not to heave.
“You okay?” he asked a moment later and eyes watering with the effort it took not to throw up on an empty stomach, I nodded silently.
“Hey, look, come on look at me, over here,” he said tersely. I didn’t want to, I really didn’t want to, I looked though, because after how things had gone thus far, I wouldn’t put it past him to grab me by the hair and make me look.
“It’s fine, see?” he held up both his hands with a flourish, like a shabbily dressed magician and wiggled his fingers and both thumbs, “Didn’t even hurt,” he said and for some reason it was just too much. I shut my mouth and shut the car door and shivered, but it had nothing to do with the temperature. I was not going to cry. Crying wasn’t an option. My father’s daughter didn’t cry.
I was hurt, I was exhausted, I was scared and as much as we didn’t get along all the time, I missed my dad. And this… this asshole, kept doing terrible and terrifying things, each one more horrible than the last and I just reverted to that hysterical little girl line of thinking. My brain went out to lunch without me and I resolutely shut my mouth, biting my lips together to keep from screaming. I stared out my window and tried to breath. In and out, in and out, in and out but I was pretty sure all I was going to accomplish was hyperventilating.
I could feel the tears slip free and that made me so incredibly angry. It wasn’t fair. None of this was fair. I just wanted to go home, but there wasn’t any going home and there wasn’t any getting away from him and…
“Easy,” his voice was gentle, almost soothing and I closed my eyes, my shoulders and back shook with the sobs that I may have not been able to contain but I did manage to keep silent. At this point, I would take any victory, no matter how small.
I heard William sigh and he swore softly, “Shit,” as he started the car. We were pulled up alongside a deserted service station, and I glanced over at his instrument panel. Sure enough, full tank. He studied my face for half a second before I turned away from him, but it had been enough for me to see his brow furrowed, an expression of grave consideration or perhaps even concern painted across his handsome features.
Well as far as kidnappers go, I guess I can at least be grateful I didn’t get an ugly one, I thought to myself bitterly, the humor was there but it was black as pitch and I couldn’t even bring myself to smile this time.
William pulled out onto the deserted road and put the dawn at our backs. West, west, ever traveling west. I wondered how far we’d go until we stopped. Would we turn south? Would we turn north? I just wanted one slice, just one sliver of certainty in a whole world gone mad with uncertainty. At least for me.
“Where are we going?” I asked tremulously, and hated just how broken I sounded. I sounded used up and broken. William didn’t answer me. I swept my fingers against my cheeks, swiping at the wetness there, the handcuff swinging from my wrist, gleaming silver and cold in the morning light. I sighed out, frustrated in so many ways.
“To find food,” he said finally, tone gentle despite remaining intentionally obtuse, still, he wasn’t being an overt dick right this minute, which I guess was something, and so I would take it.
“I have to pee,” I told him.
“We’ll stop soon, when we do, I’ll get the keys and take those off but Chloe…” the way he said my name made me turn and look at him plaintively, “Don’t run, Sugar. It’s not worth it. I’ll catch you, I’ll drag you kicking and screaming and we’ll be gone before the police can get there to make any difference.”
I closed my eyes and nodded, desolation filling my heart. We drove on in silence and finally he pulled into the parking lot for a strip mall that held a bunch of bargain basement retail type places. He shut off the car and looked at me.
“What size shoe do you wear?” he asked gently.
“Six,” I said hollowly.
“Thanks for not arguing. I’ll be back in a minute.”
“I’ll be here,” I said sarcastically, rattling the handcuff against the door.
He disappeared and I stared out the passenger window. It was too early for anything to be open, I didn’t know what he would do or how and truthfully I didn’t really care. I was alerted to his return by the trunk opening, the clack of the mechanism letting go making me jump. He shut the trunk and came back, getting behind the wheel. He handed me a bag with two shoe boxes in it. I blinked.
“They were open?” I asked.
“One of ‘em, yeah,” he said and took a key to the handcuff closest to him. He released the cold metal from around my wrist and h
is fingers were warm and gentle where he rubbed out the mark left behind. I watched his hands, fascinated for the moment by the rhythmic motion they made against my skin.
William seemed to startle, realizing what he’d been doing and let me go. He cleared his throat and started the car, my right hand, my dominant hand, remaining cuffed to the door for now.
“Should find someplace to eat further up,” he said quietly and I nodded. We were in some kind of muted, uneasy holding pattern with one another and it was so tentative, so fragile… I didn’t want to break it. I was tired and I much preferred the nice William to William the Asshole and so for now I simply took the path of least resistance.
I peeked into the bag, a pair of running shoes and a pair of flip flops. Simple, nothing fancy, but that was okay. They were shoes where I’d had none before, which was something. I sighed and looked at my ruined, ragged jeans. One leg torn to the knee, the other mostly intact.
“Can you fix this?” I asked quietly, and he glanced over. He smiled, the first really genuine smile I’d seen since this whole ordeal began. It made him… human.
“Worried about the fashion police?” he tried to joke but I had no humor. I turned and stared out the window, silent instead.
“Yeah, I’ll fix it for you,” he said quietly and we lapsed into a short silence while he found us someplace to eat.
He parked at a little mom and pop diner that was mostly deserted at this hour, it being during the week and early like it was. He reached across me and unlocked the handcuffs while I studied the place through its windows. There were a few people inside, retirees by the look of it, so no help there. Not that I would want to put anyone else in danger. I sighed.
William came around my side and I swung my legs out the door, setting my shoe boxes on the floorboard my feet and legs had just vacated.
“How short you want ‘em?” he asked and I used the blades of my hands atop my thighs to indicate. He raised his eyebrows at me and I looked at him plaintively.
