The walls are painted red. All of them. A deep, dark red that seems to pulse in an unnerving, unnatural rhythm. A rhythm beating in sync with my own heart—thundering in my chest and echoing in my ears like a gong.
“And here’s the kitchen.”
My gaze moves from the walls to fall on the busty blond real estate agent who keeps not-so-subtly yanking her ugly cream blouse lower over her ample chest.
“I’d stop that if I were you,” I suggest. “Unless, of course, you like exposing your nipples to your clients.” I let my eyes roam briefly over the kitchen, barely taking in the black and gray marble countertops and state-of-the-art appliances. Spying the back door, my feet take me to it as I mutter, “Sorry, my mistake. You probably do.”
She sucks in a loud breath behind me, and Dexter quickly rushes in with apologies before saying, “Give us a moment, please.”
I pause on the wooden deck outside, and he joins me, closing the glass door behind him. A pool big enough for ten Olympic swimmers to do laps in takes up residence just beyond the deck, and below it all, the bay. Water laps gently against the sand as I stare down at it.
This place is huge. It’s too big. Too much.
Yet it’s everything I always envisioned myself having one day.
“Vera,” Dexter hisses. “That was uncalled for. What’s wrong with you?”
The breeze stirs some of my long black hair into my face. What’s wrong with me?
“The walls are red.” I tuck my hair back behind my ear and watch a dog chase a Frisbee into the shallow water of the bay.
He breathes out a disbelieving laugh. “What?” He grabs my arm, turning me to face him.
“I said …” I blink, trying to focus on his handsome, clean-shaven face. But all I can seem to make out is the brown of his eyes. “That the walls are red.”
He shakes his head, a few tendrils of his brown hair coming loose and falling over his forehead. He runs his hand through it, smoothing them back. “I heard you. And you know we can change that.”
We can change that. The words slam into my ears with a force so different from what he intended with his soft, worried tone. They swim violently in my head, thrashing against one another until it’s suddenly hard to breathe. “Can we go? I need to go.” I step back, moving toward the door.
“Vera … wait.”
I don’t wait. Stepping inside, I walk straight past the disgruntled real estate agent until I reach Dexter’s Maserati parked in the circular driveway out front.
It takes him five minutes, but he finally joins me and unlocks the car. I climb right in, my eyes closing as I sink back into the leather seat.
“You going to tell me what that was all about?” he asks, starting the car and speeding out of the driveway.
He wouldn’t understand, and if I’m being honest, I don’t even think I understand myself.
“It just wasn’t right,” I settle on saying.
He scoffs, turning out of the neighborhood. “Care to tell me why? It was perfect, and it’s probably going to be snatched up any day now.”
He sighs when I don’t elaborate. My eyes stare unseeingly out the passenger window until we reach the turn off to the highway that’ll take us back to Rayleigh. I look over at him then, studying his profile and the way his eyes narrow while he stares intently at the stretch of road ahead. His brows lower, and he chews his bottom lip in clear frustration.
“You’re going to make an offer on it anyway, aren’t you?” I finally find my voice.
He shrugs. “Well, if it’s not what you want … but we won’t find much better. Not right now.”
That makes me frown. “Why the rush? And why wait until we’re already on our way there to tell me anything about it?”
Where the hell was I in this decision?
“Come on, Vera. Most women would be falling over themselves at the sight of a house like that.”
I snort. “Yeah, because it’s not a house. It’s a fucking museum.”
He scowls at me briefly before returning his attention to the road. “Your father’s home is even bigger.”
Exactly is what I don’t say.
“Isn’t this something we should’ve talked about? You know together?”
I snatch my purse from the floor and dig my nude gloss out, spreading some over my drying lips while he talks. “I wanted to surprise you. But you had to have known this was coming soon. We’ve been together for over six months now.”
He says it like it’s an astronomical amount of time. It all started when my father introduced us at a business dinner with Dexter’s family. After that night, we kind of fell into this fucked-up relationship, sleeping with one another too many times in the weeks after. It’s a relationship I choose to co-exist in because it’s what I know. It’s reliable. It’s easy. And even though I knew I’d one day end up here, as he said, I just never thought it’d be this soon. And not with him. Not yet. I’m not ready.
“You should know by now that I’m not most women.” I cap my gloss and put it back into my purse.
He laughs dryly. “You can say that again.”
My teeth grit together, and I try to calm my jumbled nerves. Something vital is starting to unravel inside me that I can’t quite put my finger on. And I don’t think it’d be wise to do so anyway. My gut roils violently.
“You know what?” he suddenly says. “I’m not pussyfooting around it anymore. I don’t see the point in putting it off. It’s the natural next step for us. Couldn’t you see it? Us? Raising a family there, growing old, and sharing our life together? No more of this apartment hopping crap.” He scoffs. “When you even feel like seeing me, that is.”
My head starts to spin. “Pull over.”
“What?”
“I said, pull over.” The volume of my voice rises to a harsh demand.
“You can’t be fucking serious. Why?” he asks loudly.
“Just pull the fuck over. Now,” I growl the words at him, tearing off my seat belt as he merges onto the shoulder of the highway.
“What the—” He’s cut off when I step out and slam the car door shut. The cars barreling by have my hair wrapping around my face and my dress parachuting into the air. I quickly stuff it down and scoot precariously along the side of his car in my four-inch white wedges until I reach the guardrail. Opening my purse, I dig out my phone to call a cab.
The passenger window goes down. “Vera! What the fuck are you doing? Get back in the car. This is insane!”
I know it is, but right now, the thought of spending just one more second in that cramped car with him, the same reason my anxiety levels are shooting to the sky, makes me want to hurl on the side of the road.
“Vera, I’m not going to say it again. Get. In. The. Fucking. Car. Or I’m leaving.”
Lifting my eyes from the call log of my phone, I glare at him. “So go. I’m not in the mood to play the doting girlfriend today, Dexter. Come to think of it; I think I’m done playing it entirely.”
He leans over, trying to stick his face out the window. “You don’t mean that.”
“Yeah. I think I do.”
He groans, his head hanging for a second before he says, “Stop being crazy. You don’t want the house? Fine. We’ll find another one. Can we please just go? I’ve got a meeting in half an hour.”
When I return my attention back to my phone and ignore him, he curses. “Fuck this. Let’s see where being a bitch gets you today, Vera.” The window goes up, and then I’m left standing in a gust of dirt-stained wind as his car speeds off down the highway toward the city.
The words don’t sting as they should. No. In fact, fighting with Dexter never stings. It’s not that I don’t care about him. I think some part of me does, or I wouldn’t have put up with him for this long. And though I’ve thought about it a few times, I know I don’t love him. I’ve never been in love and I’m pretty sure if you need to think about whether you’re in love, then you’re more than likely not.
Dialing the cab company, I put my phone to my ear and wait for the call to connect, but all I get is three beeps. I try again and again before realizing I have no damn signal.
Well, crap. Nice one, Vera.
A truck honks, causing me to fumble with my phone as I wave my hand above my head and squint at it while walking down the breakdown lane.
“Sup, sexy lady!” Some idiot yells out the window of the truck that barrels past.
Yeah, I really didn’t think this one through. But in my defense, I could barely think at all just a few minutes ago. Did I expect him to leave me here? No. Though it’s what I wanted, I didn’t expect him to actually do it. Oh, how hard I could kick my own ass right now.
It’s fine. Breathe.
I close my eyes and try to calm the rising panic. I’m still at least a fifteen-minute drive away from the turn off to Rayleigh. I glance down at my Gucci wedges. They’re seriously too damn pretty to be subjected to this. But … with nothing left to do, I start walking, mentally apologizing to my shoes for the torment I’m subjecting them to.
I check my phone again.
Nothing. No signal at all. What is this shit? Aren’t we living in the twenty-first century? Cell towers should be everywhere.
Giving up, I put my phone away. I need my hands free to keep my dress from blowing up my thighs every time a car zooms by anyway.
He’ll come back.
But after ten minutes of walking, he’s nowhere to be seen.
Loud rumbling sounds from behind me. Close. Too close. I spin around, flattening myself against the barricade when I see a motorcycle roll into the breakdown lane and come to a roaring stop. The rider is wearing a black helmet, a pair of Ray-Bans, and the most mischievous smirk I’ve ever seen.
God. How the hell did I get myself into this predicament?
Dexter. I’m blaming him.
The rider quirks a finger at me to come closer. Ha. Yeah right, buddy.
When I don’t, he looks at me for a moment before wheeling his bike forward some more and coming to a stop right in front of my white wedges, which are starting to look a little cream and brown already, much to my heart’s dismay. He turns the bike off and leans over the handlebars while I try to think about how fast I can run, or if there’d be any point.
“What the fuck are you doing walking down the side of a highway?” His head shifts up and down a little as he no doubt surveys my lavender Vera Wang sundress and black blazer. “Pretty thing like you is bound to cause a pileup or get yourself killed.”
Okay, I’m a little scared. I’ve watched a few too many horror movies to be able to form a coherent reply right now. When I just continue to stare, he plucks a pack of cigarettes out of his leather jacket pocket and grabs one from the pack with his teeth. “Do you talk?” He puts the pack away and lights the cigarette. His brows furrow over his sunglasses as he continues to study me. “Wait, are you, ah … lost or some shit?”
Great. He thinks I’ve got a few screws loose. I guess I would look rather crazy walking down the highway in thousands of dollars’ worth of clothes and four-inch heels. Let’s not forget the way I was waving my phone in the air earlier as though I were at a rock concert.
Sighing, I decide to unglue my tongue from the roof of my mouth and answer him. But I suddenly do get a bit lost by the way his thin lips wrap around the cigarette and his sculpted cheekbones become more prominent when he inhales. Trying to say something, I open and close my mouth, but then my eyes zero in on the way his lips part slightly when he exhales. Smoke billows out and disappears into the dust flecked wind around us.
He smirks. Shit. “Uh-umm …” I stammer, and what the fuck? I never stammer. “If you must know, I had a fight with my boyfriend and got out of the car. Apparently, his threat to leave me behind wasn’t just a threat.”
He inhales deeply then says on an exhale, “Right. Why the fuck did you get out of the car?”
My shoulders tilt. “Ah, because I was pissed off.” Duh.
He chuckles quietly, the sound raspy yet warm. “You should probably have held in that anger until the asshole at least got you closer to home, no?”
My face scrunches in irritation. “You don’t think I know that? Now, if you’ll excuse me …” I turn and keep walking, hoping like hell he fucks off and not giving a damn if he’s attractive and he’s got transportation. I’ve made enough stupid decisions today.
“Hey, where the hell do you think you’re walking to, anyway?”
I choose to ignore him and keep moving. He curses, and not even a minute later, his hand is grabbing mine and pulling me back toward his bike.
“Hey! What the hell are you doing?” I try to tug my hand away, but his hold is firm. Shit, one minute ago would’ve been a good time to pluck my pepper spray from my purse. I’d smack myself in the head if I wasn’t so preoccupied, what with some guy trying to lure me onto his death machine and all.
“I’m getting you off this damn highway before you turn into roadkill.” He stops by his bike, using his other hand to tug off his helmet, and I get my first close look at him.
He’s tall, but so am I; my forehead is level with his chin. Even with the sunglasses on, I know he’s got the kind of face bound to have broken many hearts and shattered countless girls’ dreams. Brown stubble covers his chiseled jaw; his brown hair is thick and slicked back over his head. His nose is straight and his teeth blinding white as he grins down at me while he puts the helmet on my head. My eyes stay planted on his teeth. They’re all perfectly straight except for the one front tooth. It curves slightly over the one next to it, and I find it oddly endearing.
I’m snapped out of my daze when his hands brush underneath my chin while he buckles and adjusts the helmet.
I rear back. “Wait, what?” I can’t get on that … that motorcycle. “I’m not going anywhere with you.” I reach up to undo the helmet, but he stops me, his eyes hardening as he stares down at me and holds my wrists in his hands. My mouth dries, and I try to decide whether I’m excited or really fucking scared by his proximity. Maybe it’s both.
“Don’t. You’re getting on that bike whether you like it or not.”
Who the hell does he think he is? I ask him as much.
“Someone who’s trying to save your clueless ass. Get on the bike.”
He pulls me over to it, and I scowl at him. “I don’t even know you. This is …”
“Zip those sexy lips and let’s go.” He releases me and climbs on to start it up.
This guy could possibly still kill me. Horrific images of warehouses or woods and torture dungeons flash through my mind. But with no cell service and Dexter probably back in the city, arriving at his meeting, do I really have another choice?
God. I’m totally going to kick my own ass back to whatever hellhole I crawled out from. That is if I survive this shit.
Once the bike is finally started, which has a Harley-Davidson badge, he grabs my hand again and directs me to sit behind him. It’s awkward, trying to get the skirt of my dress under my ass and between my thighs so I’m not displaying the goods to everyone.
“Where’re you going?” he asks loudly over the noise of the engine, taking my purse and shoving it in a bag on the side of the bike.
I’ve gone this far, so I may as well see if he’ll take me home. “Rayleigh. Oceanside apartments.”
I swear his head shakes, but he simply says, “Put your arms around me and hold on tight.”
I reluctantly do, in barely enough time to stop myself from flying off the back of the damn thing.
The helmet and the direction of the wind thankfully keep my hair from slapping me in the face, but my stomach still lurches harshly when he kicks it up a gear, and then we’re flying down the highway. My arms wrap around him in a death grip, and I bite my lip, clenching my eyes closed. I must look all kinds of stupid, but I guess it’s better than walking down the side of the road.
His scent travels into my nose. He smells like clean linen and tobacco with a slight undertone of grease. Though that could be the bike. Do serial killers usually smell like they use good laundry detergent? I’m going to make myself feel better by saying no. They probably wouldn’t bother.
We’re soon slowing down for him to take the turn off into Rayleigh and then we’re weaving in and out of traffic as he takes the back streets to my apartment.
My heart finally stops racing when I think I’ll live to see another day.
He pulls up to the curb outside my black gated apartment complex and leaves the bike running. I take my purse from him and unclip the helmet, fumbling with it for a second before handing it over.
He dumps it on his head and holds a hand out. My brows lower as I look at it, which makes him laugh and causes my stomach to lurch in a whole different kind of way.
“Take it. If you’ve never been on a bike, your legs are bound to feel like jelly.”
Jelly? I snort and swing my leg over, standing before my legs indeed wobble slightly, and his hand is grabbing my arm to steady me.
He chuckles, and I glower at him, which just makes him laugh even more.
“Thanks … for not being a serial killer,” I mutter before turning to walk up the sidewalk to the gates while he continues to laugh.
“No problem,” he calls out. “Stay off those highways, yeah? Or better yet, dump that boyfriend.”
I wave him off, resisting the urge to turn around and look at him one more time.