Jenna
Tears are streaming down my face. I know I should keep it together but it’s near impossible. The cuffs on my wrists are starting to cut into my skin. I can’t wipe my eyes because my hands are still trapped behind my back.
My heart rate increases with every bend in the road I have to manoeuvre. Each one seems worse than the one before.
This one is about two hundred degrees and I need to stop midway through the corner. I won’t make it. I need to put the car into reverse. It’s so cumbersome and painful. I cry some more.
Why the fuck did Braden take off?
My inner voice reminds me that this is entirely my fault. I could have confided in Braden a lot earlier. I should have told him. If I had, I wouldn’t be risking my own life, or Braden’s, right now.
Every time I see the lights ahead of me take one of those killer pins, my heart leaps into my throat and I almost pass out. When Braden’s car emerges in one piece, I breathe a sigh of relief. I’m on what feels like an emotional rollercoaster on which the breaks are not working.
Suddenly, I see Braden’s headlights spin violently. I close my eyes and hold my breath, bracing myself for the impact I’m sure is coming. At the same time, I’ve put my own foot on the brakes.
When I open my eyes again, he seems to be driving on the road again. He didn’t crash. He’s still alive. He’s not dead.
And the agent is still hot on his heels. I think he might even be gaining a little in distance.
Slowly, I reverse and then go forward again to go around this damn tight bend. Why did anyone built a road like this out here anyway?
My hands are numb, and I stop again. I need to rub my cheeks and eyes.
This is such an awful fucking mess. I never meant for any of this to happen. Now I can’t shake the feeling something terrible is going to happen.
If Braden dies, it’ll be my fault. How can I ever live with myself if that happens?
I take a deep breath and continue at a snail’s pace to wind down the road.
Nausea wells up in me. Fuck. I don’t think I can do this.
The lights below me are going backwards and forwards so fast it makes me even sicker.
Why did the agent keep going? Surely he could reach his goal another way? Isn’t there some saying about more than one way to skin a cat?
I curse under my breath. I stop the car.
My entire body is shaking and convulsing. And the road stretches ahead of me in a seemingly endless snake-like manner.
My head drops onto the steering wheel. I can’t do this. I just can’t drive any further. I’m now shaking so badly I don’t know what to do.
Other than the two speeding cars ahead of me, I can’t see anything. My phone is out of reach so I can’t use it for anything.
I lift my head again. The cars are getting close to the bottom of the hill. What will happen when they get there? The agent’s car is getting closer to Braden.
I should have told Braden what was going on earlier. Why didn’t I just trust him?
Trust.
There’s no trust in my line of work. Life is about secrets. How else do you get ahead? You steal all the information you need and use it. Our entire industry is based on lies.
A bitter taste rises in the back of my mouth. I feel like throwing up. When did I turned into this person full of lies and deceit? I don’t remember, and one thing is sure, I don’t like it.
I wipe my eyes best as I can on my shoulder and rattle against these blasted handcuffs.
I still can’t believe the prick handcuffed me. I’m shaking so much, I can barely manoeuvre the steering wheel anymore, and it wasn’t easy to begin with.
My knees clench down around the wheel. Stupid. Stupid. Stupid.
What was I thinking driving after them? This is madness. I start sobbing and soon my whole body is shaking even more violently.
I curse the day the agent came to stalk me. Here in the isolation of my car, I decide that’s what it was: stalking. They fed me lies to get me to do what they couldn’t.
And I’m so stupid, I fell for it.
If I could turn back time, I would. And I wouldn’t make such bad decisions. Stealing is wrong, even for the right reasons.
Instead of betraying Braden, I should have taken him into my confidence. Together, we might have been able to come up with a better solution. I’ve been a fool, and now I’m paying a fool’s price.
A flash of light makes me look up. One of the cars has crashed. My heart stops beating for a fraction of a second before it kick starts into overdrive.
It takes several minutes—exactly how long, I don’t know—for me to realize it’s the agent’s car that’s crashed and not Braden.
Now I’m a complete mess. I decide to drive no further. What’s the point?
Slowly, those headlights at the bottom of the valley inch toward me.
I close my eyes. What will I say to him?
My inner voice pipes up. The truth. You tell him the fucking truth.
It seems to take forever for Braden’s car to reach me. I wonder what the agent’s doing? Was he badly hurt? Has Braden called an ambulance? Or did he go to punch his lights out? I wouldn’t blame him. The man is ruining our perfect little world.
I watch the car disappear for a few seconds as Braden goes around another hairpin bend. They’re literally one hundred and eighty degrees. Some of them are so narrow, the slightest mistake will set you rolling down the near vertical embankment.
And then the car stops next to mine.
A shiver runs through me when I see Braden get out of the car. I breathe a sigh of relief. Seeing him in one piece is reassuring.
I look at his face. Even in the dark, I can see the thunderclouds on his face.
Slowly, he opens the car door.
Restraint is written all over him. Each muscle is tightly tensed. The vein running along his temple is pulsing. Anger oozes from him. The worst are his eyes.
There’s not an ounce of kindness, compassion, love or empathy there. Just hatred. Or is that hurt? Maybe it’s a combination of both.
Those are both suitable reactions considering all that’s happened. And I can’t blame him for that, can I?
“I—” I start, but am overcome by another wave of crying.
“He’s dead.” His icy voice is a slap in the face and a kick in the guts.
I look at him, shock registering on my face. Someone died tonight. It takes a while for me to digest this.
The worst part is that it could have been Braden. Braden could be dead. Those thoughts keep playing on repeat in my mind as if someone has pressed the replay button.
How could this have happened? Is it entirely my fault? Probably.
“I—” I start again, but no more words come out.
Suddenly, Braden’s eyes soften. He’s looking at my hands. For the first time, he spots my handcuffs.
“Fucking prick,” he mutters.
And then he bends down on one knee. Ever so gently, he takes my wrists and turns them over.
There’s a bit of blood from the cuffs, and I think there might even be bruising.
It takes him less than a minute to free me. Ignoring his body language, I throw myself at him and wrap my arms around him tightly.
“Braden,” I sob.
Once I am a little calmer, I untangle myself from him. I keep my hands on his chest. He’s not reciprocating my affection and I don’t blame him.
I take a deep breath.
“Listen, Braden.” My arms won’t stop shaking, and I feel my courage desert me under his fierce stare.
“It’s not…” I falter. His gaze hardens again. They’re the same eyes, but they’re not the eyes I’ve fallen in love with. “I did take your blueprints. But I wasn’t going to give them to the agent.”
He doesn’t speak, but his eyes tell me he doesn’t believe me. I rub my wrists.
“I made a mess, Braden. But you have to believe me. I never set out for any of this to happen. I’m interested in you for you.” I wish he’d soften even just a little.
“I told him I wasn’t going to help, and he started to threaten me. Tonight, I was going to give him fake blueprints I made. Please, you have to believe me. I wasn’t going to betray you.”
Something flickers in his eyes. Now they’re looking at me a little kinder.
“Take a look.” I point to my bag.
Braden doesn’t.
Instead, his hands cup my face. His lips move to meet mine and then fireworks erupt in my head. At first, his mouth is soft and gentle, but soon it becomes demanding, forceful and hard. His tongue pushes past my lips and wraps around mine.
I groan and melt into his kiss.