Chapter Nine

Isabelle

I hopped off the back of the bike and prepared to say my goodbyes to Jameson, once and for all, when it hit me. I didn't know a single person here in Milling. He was it.

“What's wrong?” Jameson asked, staring at me from where he remained on the bike. “Almost looks like you're second guessing our arrangement.”

“Not second guessing anything,” I said, my head held high. Inside was a different story, but I wasn’t going to let him know how scared and lost I felt.

I could be as stubborn as hell when I wanted to be. And in that moment, I wanted to be. Felt like I needed to be. I wasn't one who particularly enjoyed showing weakness or asking for help. I could be as prideful as any man.

“So, you have stuff to eat in there?” he asked, motioning toward the motel room.

“I'll head to the store in a bit.”

“In those heels?” He looked down at my feet.

“I can walk barefoot, if need be,” I snapped. “Believe it or not, I can usually take care of myself. Did it a long time before you ever came around.”

Jameson smirked. I hated smirks. “Have you felt the pavement beneath your feet, Isabelle? When it's this hot outside, the ground is scorching as well. But don't take my word for it. Go on, put your hand to the ground and feel it.”

As gracefully as I could manage, I squatted down and put my fingertips on the pavement. Damn. He was right. I didn't even have to lay my hand against that nasty ground to know he was right. I could feel the waves of heat coming off the rough asphalt from several inches away.

“Thank you for your concern, but I promise you I'll be just fine. You don't have to worry about me. I'm a big girl.”

I turned on my very high, very painful heels and walked toward my motel room, biting my lip and blinking back the tears that were trying to fall. I didn't have the first clue what I was going to do about my car, about food, about comfortable shoes, about anything. As much as I wanted to scream and cry in frustration, after my tirade earlier, I sure as hell wasn't going to give him the satisfaction.

“What about some new clothes? Might be nice to change out of that get up, wouldn't it?” he yelled after me.

Yeah, it would be nice. But I had a feeling Milling didn't offer much in the way of respectable shops. I didn't imagine that Niemen’s or Saks Fifth Avenue had locations here. But I'd find something. I couldn't parade around like this every day. Maybe I'd have to lower my standards and find something a little more suitable for this place. Maybe a burlap sack and some Crocs? Yeah, liked I'd ever be caught dead in Crocs.

“I'm sure I'll figure it out,” I called back to him as I pulled the key card out and inserted it into the reader.

It beeped, signaling it was okay to enter. I needed to stop by and tell Jerry I'd be here for a few more days, but I decided that I'd wait until Jameson took off first. I shuddered, realizing I’d have to stand in front of Jerry—alone. The guy gave me the serious creeps, but according to Jameson—he was harmless.

Like Jameson was the type of person I could trust for a character reference, but still. What choice did I have? Also, Jameson was a big, burly man. Not a woman. A woman alone, at that. Part of me wondered how harmless Creepy Jerry really was.

I stepped inside and began to close the door behind me and found that Jameson was standing there, his foot stopping me from shutting it. In a moment of panic, I started yelling for him to leave me alone.

“Isabelle, stop, please. Jerry’ll be calling the cops.”

“Yeah, well that’s what I want him to do. Get out of here.”

He pushed hard against the door and before I knew it he was inside standing in front of me, shushing me like crazy trying to shut me up. I reacted the only way I knew how—I kicked him out. Literally. But my open-toed shoes didn’t give my foot much protection when it connected with his shins and both of us yelped in pain.

Jameson grabbed me by the arms looking all kinds of irritated.

“Isabelle, calm down, I'm not going to hurt you!” he said through gritted teeth.

“You said you'd leave me alone,” I cried out, trying to force him out the door. “So leave me alone. Go away!”

Jameson backed into the door and leaned against it until it closed. He held up his hands to prove he wasn’t going to beat me up. “Look, I'm worried about you,” he said. “I can't help it. I wish I wasn't. I really wish I could just walk away and not think about the scared woman with the black eye I found on the side of the road. Believe me, I wish I could. You've been nothing but a pain in my ass since I found you. But I can't. I'm not that type of man—nor would I want to be honestly.”

“You don't need to worry about me,” I lied. “I'm fine.”

He was annoyed, I could tell by the look on his face. I wasn’t sure why he was bothering with me. Truthfully, I wished he'd just stop. I wanted to be left alone. I didn't want to have to explain myself or have any man mess with me at that moment. I'd had more than my fill of men screwing with me, hurting me, and I just wanted to be left the hell alone. Was that too much to ask?

“You don't have a phone, a car, no way to reach your family—don't you have anyone you'd like to reach out to? Somebody who can help you? Aside from me, since you obviously don't want my help.”

His question burned my insides, and my blood boiled. I wasn't going to spill my life story to him. He didn't need to know my background. He didn't have a right to know my story.

“No, I don't,” I said. “There's no one I want to talk to right now.”

“Don't you have parents? People who care about you? Who might want to know you're in trouble?”

I squeezed my eyes shut, forcing back tears I didn’t want to shed in front of him. I was not going to let him see me cry. I'd kill myself first. As much as he didn't deserve to hear my story, he didn't deserve to see my tears.

“That's none of your business.”

“Okay then, a best friend?” he pressed. “Somebody you can turn to?”

“No. I told you that. I wish you'd understand.” How could I even explain how humiliating it was to run away from one horrible guy only to get stuck in a miserable motel room with another?

There was a moment of silence as he looked at me with wide, sad eyes full of pity. Pity for me. The poor little rich girl in the middle of nowhere with no family or friends to turn to. God, I was seriously pathetic.

“Isabelle, you don't have to be alone,” he said. “I'm alone, too, just let me in. I can help you.”

“No one can help me,” I said quietly. “No one.”

His shoulders slumped and for a moment he looked as sad as I felt. “Believe it or not, Isabelle, I'm actually the kind of guy who can help you. If you want me to, that is. I'm not as bad as you seem to think I am.”

I looked at him for a long time. He made no move; he was waiting for me to make a decision.

I don’t know what he saw as he looked into my eyes, if he could see the fight I was waging with my fears. He was right. I had no one. I wasn't in a position to turn down help, no matter where it came from. But the very idea of letting a man like Jameson into my world scared me—especially after everything I'd been through. He looked like a bad guy, the kind of guy people like me feared. With his rough clothes, his tats and unkempt hair, his careless swagger, he looked like the kind of guy who hurt people. And that was the last thing I needed in that moment.

Hell, Scott didn't even look like he was a bad guy, and he'd turned out to be one of the worst guys I'd ever met. He’d had everyone fooled—my parents included. They loved him, thought the world of him. Thought he walked on water and never imagined he could hurt me. What would they think of Jameson? They’d take one look at him, his motorcycle, and come up with one word: lowlife.

And if Scott could turn out to be a monster, why couldn't Jameson? He certainly looked like he fit the part—right out of central casting. A gangbanger. Yet, standing there, waiting for me to respond to him, he let down his guard. Maybe for just a minute. I saw through the tough guy exterior. All of a sudden, he wasn’t sending up red flags anymore—even though my mind argued that he should.

Maybe I was naive. Maybe the ordeal with Scott had worn me down.

Then he surprised me. He opened the door. “I’m going to be outside. For as long as you need me.”

What girl could resist an offer like that?