Nicole

 

I had never in my entire life been shot at. A lot of other terrible things had happened before, and if I was being entirely honest with myself, some of those things had left me wondering if my life were in danger. But I’d never been shot at. To me, it felt as though I’d crossed some sort of invisible line. There were things that happened to normal, everyday people, and there were things that didn’t. This was one of those things that didn’t.

 

I glanced down at the ring on my finger. It caught the light and gleamed prettily, though it was plain. I had always imagined my wedding ring—assuming I ever got married in the first place—being fancy and maybe classic, with a modest but noticeable diamond placed elegantly in the center. Not that I was so vain that I would turn down someone who truly loved me just because the ring wasn’t my version of perfection.

 

But now I was married and neither the ring nor the man fit any incarnation of my married fantasies.

 

Maxwell was driving as he had been since we left. I frowned as I looked at him now and wondered if that was such a good idea. I’d come with him because we were in danger and that night had shaken me up enough that I probably would have gone off with the first person who told me he would help.

 

But would you have married him?

 

That was a tougher question. Would I have married just anyone if they had claimed it was necessary for the things that were happening? I seriously didn’t think the answer was yes, but here I was, running from gang members who wanted to hurt me because he was in my life.

 

This was all his fault and that thought stung a little. It made me sullen and a little angry. Which didn’t help the situation. Maxwell was already tense, not just because of what happened back there—they’d yelled at us, shot at us, and tried to follow us as we tore out of the parking lot of the hotel—but because he’d been the only one to drive and he wouldn’t stop until he put some real distance between us and them. The result was him being a little sleep deprived and very cranky.

 

Thankfully, the car was silent now. We’d been arguing on and off over everything from speed limits to hotels to food stops. We couldn’t seem to agree on any of it.

 

Two days married and it’s already falling apart, I thought bitterly. How did I get myself into this mess?

 

My phone went off—again—and I winced. I’d set it to vibrate only after the first half dozen texts had come in from Ben. He was angry with me, demanding to know where I was and telling me my husband was clearly a sham. He told me I’d pay for that—then he’d switch tactics and tell me he was sorry. He would beg me to come home. I wasn’t unfamiliar with his sudden mood swings, but that didn’t make me comfortable with them. Some part of me desperately wanted to believe the sweetness in the ones that called for me to come home, but most of me knew just how stupid that was. I knew better than to think he would ever be a good boyfriend, one who didn’t control me. Worse, I knew if I didn’t follow his rules, there would be violence.

 

I glanced over at Maxwell. He wasn’t looking at me, acting as though he hadn’t heard my phone or seen me wince, but I saw that his full lips were pulled down into a frown. His hands gripped the steering wheel harder and I could tell by the muscles in his clenched jaw he was pissed.

 

He liked the texts even less than I liked them, and it didn’t bode well for this trip. I was desperate for the damn destination to pop up so I could get out of the car and away from Maxwell.

 

Trying to be casual about it, I subtly slipped the phone from my pocket and checked it. I was right; it was Ben.

 

Come home, baby. You know I’ll take care of you. You’ll never have to worry about anything again. Don’t let that dick drag you down.

 

I frowned at the text. It wasn’t the first one to mention Maxwell, but it was the first one that suggested his wanting me to leave Maxwell had to do with my own safety.

 

I didn’t answer the text, just sliding it back into my pocket.

 

There were several minutes of silence, but I knew it was too good to last. In a gruff, harsh voice, Maxwell asked, “Was that Ben?”

 

I really didn’t want to tell him yes, but I wasn’t going to lie either. I just wasn’t very convincing at lying and there was no way I would come up with something convincing quickly enough anyway. He would know and it would just cause more problems. Clearing my throat, I said, “Yes, it was.”

 

“And?”

 

“And what?”

 

He made an irritated noise in his throat, looking more and more like he wanted to punch something. I tried to tell myself he wasn’t interested in punching me. “And what did the prick say?”

 

I folded my arms across my chest. I wanted to tell him, “None of your business,” but I didn’t think that would fly. He would throw something back at me like, “I’m saving your ass here,” or, “You’re my wife; it’s my fucking business now.” Which may have both been true, but I didn’t think they warranted him being privy to everything in my life. At least not given our very unique and unanticipated circumstances.

 

Instead, I finally just told him a short version of the truth. “He asked me to come back.”

 

Maxwell made a low noise in his throat that almost could have been a growl. “Did you answer him?” he asked, and I could tell there was more to the question than just the obvious. There was an underlying current of tension and anger that had me a little worried. I couldn’t be sure what answer he was looking for, but I figured he didn’t want to hear yes. At least I could say I hadn’t honestly.

 

“Of course not,” I told him, letting irritation fill my tone. Like he had any right to be angry with me. This was my life, after all. He’d just forcibly inserted himself into it without any consideration of my opinions or feelings. “Of course not. Why would I answer him? I have no intention of—”

 

Maxwell cut me off before I could start ranting about me never going back to Ben. Maybe I was scared and thinking things had spiraled way out of control, but I still knew Ben was bad news. It didn’t even matter that there was a part of me that still wanted to believe he was a good guy. The rest of me knew the truth and I’d worked hard to get him out of my life.

 

“Then why don’t you just block the fucking number already?” Maxwell demanded, and there was no question he was angry now. Really angry. I was grateful he was driving, because it meant he couldn’t really look at me. His eyes had to be locked on the road, at least enough to make sure we didn’t hit any oncoming or slow-moving traffic. “If you don’t have any intention of answering the piece of shit, then why not cut him off? Block his number and be done with it instead of whining like some stupid little school girl.”

 

Anger boiled beneath my skin. School girl? What right did he have to say that to me? He didn’t know the first thing about the complexities of this relationship or of me for that matter. How dare he just try to dictate what I should and shouldn’t do.

 

Just like Ben.

 

The thought hit me like a ton of bricks and suddenly I stared at him with new eyes. From the first time I’d met him at the bar that night, I’d been working to resist him. There was temptation laced in the curves of his swollen muscles and in the edges of his square jaw. There was the promise of sex—what I now knew to be amazing sex—lingering in the wild toss of his blond hair. There was a storm of passion shining in his grey eyes.

 

He was the walking embodiment of temptation and I’d been resisting it since I met him—mostly ineffectively, if our current situation was any real indication.

 

But I’d been resisting him because he had that whole bad boy, sex god vibe that warned me off. It was the type of thing I was attracted to, and I just wasn’t interested in being used for sex and then dumped. But maybe I’d been running from the wrong thing all along. Were there obvious similarities between him and Ben?

 

At first glance, I wanted to say no. He was well-built, carelessly put together, like he didn’t care and the result was effortlessly gorgeous, with a cocky arrogance that made him both delightful and dreadful. Ben was the exact opposite in almost everything. He was cool, controlled, and constantly on the edge of snapping. He was mild and could blend in almost anywhere effortlessly, looking like a sophisticated version of the boy next door. But beneath that, there was violence and anger. He liked things a certain way and when you were constantly working not to snap, you needed things to be the way you liked them. Even if it meant those around you had to bend to your every whim.

 

At first, I thought the fact that I could see Maxwell’s temper—not constantly, not in a way that suggested he was incapable of existing without said temper—meant he couldn’t constantly be on the verge of it. He would never just snap because he had an outlet for his anger. But maybe I’d been thinking of it in the wrong way. What if it wasn’t about how long it took for someone to snap, rather the type of anger they carried inside them?

 

It initially didn’t seem like Maxwell needed things his way. Yes, he was arrogant and pushy, but I never thought, If I don’t change, he’s going to hurt me. But it wasn’t really about changing, was it? It was about control. Doing what you were told because that person told you to do it.

 

And wasn’t that what he was doing?

 

He was giving me orders, pushing me to do things I wasn’t ready to do, and telling me I was being stupid for not following those orders. And that sounded a lot like Ben. Suddenly, I felt a little queasy. I’d worked so hard to get away from that awful man and now…was I married to him?

 

Biting my lip, I took out my phone. Just block the fucking number already. I stared down at my phone. I’d thought about blocking the number on my own once before. Ultimately, I hadn’t wanted to because Ben would know. And it would make him angry. He knew where I lived, would come after me, and Maxwell wasn’t any sort of guaranteed protection. But now? I was married to Maxwell and on the run. Was knowing where I lived any sort of danger now? I wasn’t sure, but the rational part of me said yes. After all, I’d have to go home eventually, right?

 

Assuming you survive.

 

I shoved that unpleasant thought aside and focused on my phone. At this point, I agreed with Maxwell. Blocking Ben’s number was a good idea—but I wasn’t going to do it. Good idea or no, I wouldn’t do it because, damnit, it was the principle of the thing! I was my own person and I wouldn’t let anyone control me again.

 

Puckering my lips, I shoved my phone back into my pocket and folded my arms across my chest again. “No,” I told him. I turned away so I wouldn’t see him, not even out of the corner of my eye. Outside the window, the desert passed us by. We were in California now, though I couldn’t be sure which part. I wasn’t exactly sure where we were headed, but I had a feeling we were taking a very roundabout way to get there. He was still nervous about the gang members who had found us at the hotel, which I didn’t blame him for.

 

I caught a glimpse of him reflected back at me in the glass. He had glanced over at me and I could see splotches of ruby red crowding on his face. He was mad. And not just a little bit.

 

“No?” he repeated back at me, his voice low and silky. The kind of voice that could be sexual, but definitely wasn’t just then. No, he was absolutely pissed. “No. No, you’re not going to block the number of your asshole ex-boyfriend who clearly was interested in stalking you? The asshole that any idiot can see is abusive?”

 

I winced at that, though I tried to hide it. The implication was clear: I hadn’t seen that Ben was abusive until way into the relationship, ergo, I was an idiot.

 

It didn’t exactly make me feel warm and fuzzy inside, though my cheeks did blaze with embarrassment and shame. I didn’t feel good about what had happened between me and Ben, but Maxwell didn’t have to throw that back in my face.

 

I was planning on keeping my mouth shut, not giving him the satisfaction of seeing that he’d gotten to me, but then I turned away from the window to look at him and was blathering before I could stop myself. “Oh, you’re really right, you know? I’m an idiot for not seeing Ben was a dick. But you know, apparently, I haven’t learned from my mistakes, have I? After all, you’re here.”

 

That made him flinch and I took a little vindictive pride from that. How did he like it?

 

“I’m nothing like him,” Maxwell growled back angrily.

 

“No? Because it really sounds like you’ve done nothing but give me orders since this whole thing started! Which, I’d like to add, is all your fault in the first place.”

 

“I didn’t ask them to do that to you!”

 

“You didn’t have to! They knew to do it all on their lonesome!”

 

Our voices had grown in volume and become intense with angry heat. I felt a twinge of guilt for insinuating that Maxwell was responsible for the attack on me. In my heart, I knew it wasn’t really his fault, not in the way I was suggesting. Those men…they’d been there for the sake of violence. It wasn’t just a warning or a threat or meant to shake me up. Even thinking about their intentions made my stomach roil. I had to fight the urge to throw up.

 

Maxwell wasn’t the kind of guy to do that. Maybe he wasn’t, strictly speaking, a “nice guy,” but he wasn’t the kind of man who would just go after a woman like that. He wouldn’t attack me not in that sort of way. Not in any way, I hoped, but certainly not in the way of sexual violence.

 

But still. Just because he didn’t deliberately mean to try to rape me, didn’t mean he was a good or trustworthy guy. After all, he was part of some gang, obviously, and not only that, but he was on the wrong side of the tracks with them!

 

How did I let myself get dragged into this? I wondered miserably.

 

“You know I would never—” Maxwell broke off, emotion choking his voice strangely.

 

For a second, I felt guilty all over again. I even opened my mouth to apologize, but then he kept talking and the moment passed.

 

“You’re a real piece of work, you know it?” he said to me, his words grating and his voice harsh. “I rush there to save you and you throw it back in my face? Like I fucking asked them to do it? Is that what returning a favor means to you?”

 

I gritted my teeth and searched my mind for the best barb to shut him down. It came too easily and maybe if we hadn’t been arguing and maybe if we weren’t running from people who were trying desperately to kill us, I wouldn’t have used it. But right in that moment, I wanted all the weapons at my disposal, because I was angry and more than that, terribly frightened.

 

“No. That’s what getting rid of the bad boys I seem to attract means to me. I knew the moment I laid eyes on you—you remember? When I walked away—that you were trouble. The kind of trouble I didn’t want.”

 

I saw his angry features falter slightly. He looked like he didn’t want me to continue along this thread of thought, but what could I do? He’d struck out at me and I was stressed. He needed to know he couldn’t push me around, not like Ben had.

 

“In fact, I made it clear I didn’t want you on several occasions, but you wouldn’t leave me alone,” I spat with all the venom I could muster. Maxwell was silent, but silence wasn’t enough for me now. I was on a roll. “And then you deliberately inserted yourself into my life anyway, despite my wishes, not caring that you would bring trouble with you. And don’t tell me you didn’t know, because that’s bullshit! You knew you were in some kind of trouble even when you were trying to get into my pants, didn’t you?”

 

I tried not to remember that he had gotten into my pants. Twice. That it had been amazing sex, the kind of sex I didn’t know I could have. That part of my body ached for more of it, even as the rest of me wanted to get as far away from him as possible. I didn’t know how it was possible to want so badly away from someone and want so badly to touch them at the same time, but I was feeling that.

 

At odds with myself.

 

Silence filled up the car and I thought maybe that was the end of our argument—it wasn’t.

 

“You didn’t seem to mind my inserting myself into you before,” he pointed out, making sure there was no question as to what he meant.

 

I could feel the blush rising along my cheeks and down my neck, probably down my chest, too, though I was glad that wasn’t visible, at least. Whether my body wanted him or not and whether we had a good time or not, I didn’t want him to get the satisfaction of knowing he affected me, damnit. I was my own person—I could stand without him without getting all jelly legs.

 

Forcing myself to laugh, like it was all a joke and there was nothing stirring inside me, flashing back to the way he slid inside of my hot, slick body, I gave him my best catty smile. “I never said I had a problem with the sex,” I told him, doing my best to feign nonchalance. I couldn’t say how well it worked, given that I was probably still flushed from head to toe. Thankfully, his eyes were on the road, so maybe he wouldn’t notice. “After all, even criminals have to be good at something, right?”

 

His muscles flexed at the word criminals, and I could tell he was gritting his teeth. I’d gotten to him and I celebrated the small victory. He deserved it.

 

“It figures,” he said after a long, drawn out moment where I once again hoped that perhaps I’d gotten the last laugh.

 

I left him the space to continue and elaborate on just what it was that figured, but when he didn’t, I sighed. He wanted me to ask. I was determined not to and folded my arms across my chest again, turning back to the window and the bleak scenery we continued zipping through. I never much cared for the desert, though I’d spent most of my life in Nevada. Maybe that was why I didn’t care for it. All the dirt and dust and sand, plants that were gnarled little shrubs, clinging to a desperate existence and choking out anything else if only to ensure that existence. Out here it seemed like everything wanted to kill you. The cacti had water, but they had spikes and needles to prevent you from getting to it. The sun gave you warmth, but it would dehydrate and kill you if you gave it half a chance. Even the smaller things—snakes, creepy crawlers, arachnids—all seemed to have it out for us poor, stupid humans. No, we simply were not meant to exist in a world like this.

 

And yet, we do. We insist on pushing ourselves into an ecosystem that we don’t belong to. Reluctantly, I glanced back at Maxwell. He was still staring out the windshield, but I thought I saw a spark in his eye, telling me he was waiting and knew that eventually I would cave to his desires. Funny, seems like Maxwell is just like humans, forcing himself to live in a desert.

 

Of course, that analogy made me the desert, which meant I was basically a barren bitch, so I didn’t care all that much for the comparison. I shoved it aside and was still positive that I didn’t want to speak with him, but all of a sudden my mouth opened and words poured out of it. “Fine, I’ll bite. What figures?”

 

I saw a smug smile tug at his lips and instantly I regretted my words. I wanted to swipe my hands across his face until I’d wiped that smile from it.

 

“It figures that you’d be interested in the kinky shit,” he said, his voice teasing, so low it rumbled somewhere low in my stomach, making me ache.

 

Still, his words had me sputtering in annoyance and indignation. “In what? What do you mean kinky shit?” I demanded, sounding angry and offending. At least, I really hoped I did. I knew better than to sound sultry or intrigued. That would only give him ammunition, not to mention a reason to try to get into my panties again.

 

Would that really be so bad? a small voice in the back of my head whispered to me. I had to forcibly shove it aside because I would not give in to some weird, whimsical desire to have him again.

 

This was all one big, huge mistake and we both knew it. This argument was enough to prove that, wasn’t it?

 

“Kink,” he said, repeating it like I was stupid and didn’t know what the word meant. “You know, sexual kink? Perversity? Liking something weird and taboo. Something you’re not supposed to, like taking it up the ass or playing with yourself while someone—”

 

“I know what it means!” I interrupted hurriedly, mostly because his words were making me uncomfortable. Desirous. I hardly needed more of a reason to be attracted to him.

 

He grinned broadly. “Then you know you’re a dirty girl for wanting it, don’t you?”

 

“I am not a dirty girl!” I huffed angrily. “You’re just a pervert! A pervert and a muscle head and…and trouble!”

 

He actually laughed at that and I could have punched him. I didn’t, mostly because he was driving, but also because I thought it would hurt my hand. Besides, I had the feeling I wouldn’t do much damage to his face, but I might manage to break my hand. Maybe.

 

“A pervert?” he said, still laughing a little at me. “Well, if I’m a pervert, what are you? The girl who likes to get fucked by a pervert?”

 

I opened my mouth to respond, but snapped it closed abruptly. What could I say to that? I’d backed myself into a corner and now he was teasing me, making fun of me because of my own damn words. Well, then I just wouldn’t say anything else to him, I decided. I looked out the windshield and watched the faded, barely visible yellow stripes disappear beneath the hood of the car as we sped down the crumbling highway.

 

Damn poorly maintained roads. I had thought California would have been in a little better shape, but at least it wasn’t as bad as going the other way. New Mexico had some of the worst roads I’d ever seen.

 

I was focusing on the roads, because I was trying to not focus on Maxwell, but it wasn’t working. Though I tried to resist the temptation, I couldn’t help but slide a glance over to Maxwell and saw he was still grinning.

 

Damnit.

 

“I wish I’d never met you,” I muttered, still pissed and wishing to lash out at him. How had my life crumbled so quickly?

 

His smile faltered then and I felt a little surge of pride. Ha.

 

“I don’t even know why I went with you,” I continued now that he was no longer grinning at me like an asshole. “What made me think this was the right thing to do? I should have just gone to the police.”

 

He snorted, amused. “The police? Since when have they done anyone any good?”

 

“That’s their job, remember? They’re supposed to help people out when they get in…in situations like these.”

 

“Like these? Really?” he asked, disbelief clearly etched into his words. “You think calling them would have helped you out?”

 

I nodded emphatically. “In fact, I think it would still help out. I should just go ahead and call them now, tell them what’s happening to me.”

 

Maxwell’s eyes flickered to me for just a moment, examining my face and my expression, maybe gauging just how serious I was being. After a moment, he spoke again. “And you think that’s the smart thing to do?”

 

I fidgeted against his gaze. Did I really? Probably, I admitted. The police would certainly have a better grasp on the situation than I would and it would be their job to protect me, right? They had witness protection and all that stuff, and at the very least they could put some guards outside my apartment to look out for me. That was all stuff the police did, right?

 

I really couldn’t be sure. I’d watched a lot of crime shows, but I’d only had once incident with the police. It hadn’t been a particularly good one and it gave me pause. I’d called them, panicked. Ben was in one of his moods and I was scared, really scared. Normally, he wasn’t violent, but that night he’d made a mess of the home we shared. He’d lost his mind and had been yelling at me, telling me how worthless I was for the last half an hour. He told me nothing I did was right. All of which wasn’t enough to get me to call the police; his words were pretty standard at that point. But when he’d thrown that vase at my head, when it shattered against the wall and a shard had sliced across my cheek, well, he’d crossed a line.

 

The police promised to send someone to check on us. They did and they took our statements. It was almost forty-five minutes after I had called and by then the whole place was cleared up. I still had a slice in my cheek, but it was bandaged and Ben had said the whole thing was an accident. I had told the officer he’d thrown it at me deliberately, intending to cause me harm, but Ben insisted he hadn’t meant for it to get anywhere near me. In fact, all he had wanted was to get rid of the vase because it was a present from his mother who had cheated on his father. Despite the ridiculousness of the story, the police had believed him. They even told me I should consider being less sensitive, that I should be more patient and try harder to understand my partner.

 

They told me a relationship took work. I could have killed them both.

 

After that, I never called the police. It was the main reason I never bothered with a restraining order after I split from Ben. After all, if the police wouldn’t do anything in person, what was a stupid piece of paper going to do for me?

 

Even so, I didn’t want Maxwell to think he’d won, so I said, “Yeah, I do.”

 

“Well, I don’t. After all, if you did that, I’d land in jail, too.” He grinned and I opened my mouth to ask him why that would be such a bad thing, when he continued, “And you wouldn’t want your new husband behind bars, would you?”

 

The reminder that we were married was like a smack in the face. I shut my mouth with a snap and turned away from him as I said, “Shut up.” Finally, we stopped talking and there was silence the rest of the drive.