CHAPTER TWO
Jillian
MY BODY BOUNCES UP AND DOWN as the truck races down the dirt road in the outskirts of Nevada. The cool, steel cuffs biting into my wrists painfully. I can’t help but scowl at Zeek. My heart filled with heartache, fear, and love. I want someone to rip my chest open and dig my heart out with a dull knife, to take away the unbearable emotions I can’t comprehend or bare any longer.
Looking out of the corner of my eye I notice Zeek holding his arm, his face scrunched in distress as he glances down. Pulling his palm away blood stains his hand and shirt.
“Oh my God, Zeek, you’re bleeding!” I begin to sweat nervously, scared he’s really hurt. “Did I do that?”
“No, I caught one getting back to the car when we ran. It didn’t act up until I had to chase your ass across the desert and haul you back, then it started burning like a bitch.”
“We need to get you to a hospital.”
“Oh, now you care? Weren’t you just shooting at me?” He shakes his head. “I’ll never understand women.” His sarcasm is not lost on me, but I ignore it. When someone you care about is hurt it apparently sets your ill feelings aside giving fear a front row seat. I think that’s how you know if you really love someone, if you can put your differences away to focus on your significant other’s well-being. “And, hell no to the hospital, it’s not safe,” he adds, pulling me from my thoughts.
“You need to be seen, Zeek, something critical could have been hit.” Sliding over I peel up the sleeve of his shirt and see a bullet wound biting into the flesh of his arm. It’s bleeding profusely. Pulling his arm up I inspect for an exit wound, hoping the bullet went clean through, but there’s nothing.
“I got it under control, calm your tits. Damn!”
I arch a brow, my mouth falling open, offended.
“Did you really just say that to me?”
He shrugs, bending down he pulls up a greasy red rag from the floorboard. Using his knee he steers the truck, and wraps the dirty rag from the floorboard around his bicep. Using his teeth and one hand he ties it tightly around the wound.
A groan vibrates from his chest, his eyes squeezing shut.
“You sure?”
He adjusts himself in his seat, taking back control of the wheel. “I’m sure. Drop it.”
Knowing he didn’t hit an artery and isn’t dying, my anger floods my fear, and I scoot back to my side of the truck. He’s such a dick.
My stomach growls loudly, and Zeek turns his head toward me, glancing down at my stomach. I’m surprised he heard it with the loud radio playing “Hideaway” by Daya. A song that is making me see things for the first time.
“You hungry?”
I don’t answer. I don’t need a damn thing from him. Unless he’s going to let me go, that is. My poor mom, I bet she’s a wreck right now. I wonder if she’s doing okay. I wonder what Alessandra is thinking knowing I’m with Zeek…and on the run?
“We’re going to have to stop at some point. We need to eat, come up with a plan.” He’s talking to himself at this point, because I’m now looking out the window, acting as if I’m ignoring him. I’m lost in my thoughts of Alessandra and my mother. I hope one of them feed Jinx while I’m gone. “Not talking to me is just going to piss me off.” He growls, his voice deep and angry.
I huff, and roll my eyes. “And I could care fucking less,” I mutter under my breath even though I wanted to yell it at him, but honestly I made sure he didn’t hear it. You tend to tread lightly when you’re riding shotgun to a murderer who kidnapped you and handcuffed you. The truck suddenly makes a distressed clunking noise, throwing Zeek and me forward in our seats as the vehicle dies. Zeek’s face narrows in confusion as he eyes the dashboard.
“Shit, it’s out of gas.”
“Nice grand theft auto skills.”
Slowly turning his head he lifts a brow at me.
“I didn’t see you coming up with any options back there.”
My mouth falls open as I nod. “I did, actually, it’s something your kind isn’t familiar with though. It’s called turn ourselves in. Remember that?”
“You still don’t get it, do you?” His tone is talking down to me, and it’s pissing me off more than I already am. He opens the door and slams it behind him. I contemplate just sitting here, seeing how far he walks before noticing I’m not with him. But I’m the one in cuffs, in the middle of nowhere.
“Shit!” Frustrated, I open the door and climb out, jogging to catch up to him.
“You’re right, I don’t get it. How the hell am I just supposed to believe I can’t go back and explain my innocence? Alessandra is practically my sister; she would have my back—I know it. Not to mention, who the hell is going to feed my cat?!” He ignores me, his eyes focused forward as his boots stomp along the dirt road. “You know what I think it is, you’re using me to save yourself!”
He turns, pinning me with a stare that stops me in my tracks and causes me to swallow hard. His hair is sticking to his face, his tan skin glistening with beads of sweat from the night’s humid air. It’s like the dirtier he gets, the hotter he gets.
“That is where you’re wrong. The only reason I’m here right now is because of you. Otherwise I would be back in Vegas taking my club back. Do you get that? Do you get that I chose you over saving my club?”
I suck in a sharp breath, my eyes searching his face for any indication that he’s lying.
“You’re—” I stumble on my words, not sure how to banter with that. “But my father, Lieutenant Oaks, you…” I trail off, so confused right now.
He runs his hands down his face, clearly agitated with me.
“I told you, I didn’t know who he was to you, Jillian. He was dirty though. You need to understand that. Do you get that?”
I can’t stop the tears from filling my eyes. “No, I don’t get that. It doesn’t make any sense at all, so why don’t you explain it?”
“Dirty is dirty, Jillian. It doesn’t matter now.” He shakes his head. “We need to keep moving, I don’t have time to explain this over and over to you. I can’t penetrate your naive little brain any more than I have.” His Adam’s apple bobs, and he grips my cuffs, pulling me after him.
“Why do you have to be such an asshole!?” I yank back on the cuffs to get his attention.
Looking over his shoulder, he jabs, “I guess you just bring it out in me, Rookie.”
That stung.
We walk for what seems like forever, and not one car drives by. The moon is high in the sky, and the wind is beginning to blow with a chill that has me shrinking into myself to keep warm.
My emotions are a mess. I don’t know what to accept as truth, and what is a lie. I’m always so sure of everything, until Zeek walked in my life. Now, I know nothing about nothing.
A shiver trembles from my lips causing my teeth to clatter. Zeek looks over his shoulder and stops.
“You cold?”
“I’m fine.”
Ignoring me, he shimmies his leather cut off.
“Here, this will help.”
I shake my head and hold my cuffed hands up.
“No, really I’m fine.” The last thing I want is to wear the insignia of the club that just offed one of my family members.
His face hardens, his eyes narrowing in on me.
He grips my upper arm turning me forcefully, and places the warm leather on my back. The smell of cologne, worn leather, and a hint of mint cocoon me in a blanket of danger. I find it comforting, the lingering scent a warning of adventure and risk. It’s no surprise I crave an adrenaline rush, and Zeek is a non-stop high.
Peering up under my lashes I catch Zeek looking me over hungrily, the look in his eyes anything but earnest. They’re hooded and trailing up and down my body unforgivingly.
“What?” I whisper. Running my hands down my pant legs I look down at myself a little uncomfortable.
“You look so beautiful wearing my cut.” He blinks, his eyes hardening like he didn’t mean to go there.
I swallow the lump of lust forming in my throat. My body flushes with excitement that wearing his cut is such a big deal to him. But my head battles with what the hell my body is thinking. It’s like there is a much more rational woman in my head waving little red flags around wildly, yelling, “Hello, he’s a cop killer, let’s not just go throwing our panties at him!”
Pressing on the small of my back he urges me forward, snapping me from my internal war on whether or not to hate the criminal, or toss my underwear to the side for him.
An old raggedy motel comes into view a few miles up. The sign reading Whispering Petal Inn. I quirk a brow at the name. It sounds like the name of a porn star.
I point at the motel.
“Maybe we can stop, get some water and rest our feet.”
Zeek stops, and looks over the building, rubbing his chin.
“Yeah, maybe.”
Getting closer the motel is an ugly blue color, and has ten rooms or less. It looks like something out of a scary movie.
“Maybe we should keep moving after all.”
Looking over his shoulder, the corner of Zeek’s mouth curves into a grin.
“You scared, Rookie?”
“Look at the place.” I gesture toward the beat up motel.
“I can assure you, it will be fine.”
“If you say so…” I respond and step forward hesitantly.
“We can’t just check in, our faces are probably plastered everywhere,” Zeek mutters, walking toward the motel.
Looking at the open road the thought of running flickers through my mind once again. The thought is there, but my feet won’t move. For some reason, what Zeek told me back there, about him saving me before his club is sticking in the back of my mind. I know how much that club means to him, and he’s throwing it away for me. At that thought, I swear I feel my heart clench.
He pulls on the small chain of the cuffs when he notices me looking out at the vast freedom before he tugs me behind him like a disobedient pup. “Don’t even think about it.”
“I’m not.” I kind of was.
Rounding the side of the building you can see into the main office. It has a couple of ugly blue chairs that look like they’re from the fifties, with a pock-marked counter running along the back side of the office. A man with a magazine has his feet kicked up, clearly oblivious to anything around him.
“Donald, that was just delightful, dear. We will have to go back there on our way back.” Zeek’s head snaps in the direction of the voices. Holding his hand, conveying for me to stop behind him and stay still. Following the voices myself, I find a little old lady hunched over, her flowery dress that looks more like a nightgown slapping against her with the wind. Her silver colored hair pulled into a bunch of little pink rollers.
“It was okay, at best, Mildred. Let’s not get carried away.” The man I assume is Donald states, his tone of voice not nearly as cheerful at the little old lady. They’re getting out of a red Buick, looks to be a 1980’s model, and heading toward a motel room. They’re both carrying takeout in their hands, and my stomach growls, this time with hunger pains.
Zeek marches toward the elderly couple, one hand gripped on my cuffs as he reaches behind his back and pulls his gun from his waistband. My eyes widen. What is he doing?
“Zeek, no,” I whisper, tears filling my eyes.
Why would he shoot them, they don’t even see us? Looking over his shoulder he gives me a look of warning.
“Whatever you’re doing, stop!” I whisper loudly, digging my feet into the ground. I won’t be a part of this. I’ll never come back from this. Older people are like cute little kittens or puppies. You can’t help but fall in love with their helplessness. Ignoring me he continues forward, dragging me behind.
“Zeek—”
“Shut up, Jillian,” he snaps.
Sucking in a trembling breath, I shut my mouth. I don’t know if he’d hurt me, but I clearly don’t know Zeek like I thought I did, so I bite my bottom lip to keep quiet.
I was worried about the scary motel? Ha, the scariest thing out here is Zeek fucking Deluca.
Satisfied with my silence, he steps up behind Donald and presses the barrel of his gun into the gentleman’s back.
A sob breaks through my pinched lips.
“Which room is yours?” Zeek questions quietly, the sound of his voice is unrecognizable. I’ve never heard it before. It’s sharp, cutting through the night air and everyone within hearing distance.
The man tenses, and tries to look over his shoulder.
“Donald?” The lady standing outside of what I assume is their room, looks over her shoulder discovering her husband at gunpoint. “Oh my!” Her eyes light up, and a hand clutches her chest.
“Move,” Zeek growls, thrusting the gun into his back further.
“Alright now, just—just take it easy, yeah?” Donald steps toward the door, and looks at his wife with worry. My body winds up so tight, I feel like I might break in two watching this unfold in front of me. “Open the door, Mildred.” The little old lady looks at Zeek, then me. Her blue eyes bright and youthful, despite the wrinkles creasing her round face.
She nods, the little curlers bouncing on her head. Turning, she unlocks the door, and Zeek shoves Donald and Mildred inside the room.
Placing his gun in the back of his pants, Zeek turns around and shoves me in front of him.
“This is wrong, Zeek.” He doesn’t even flinch, I know my fight here is pointless. “Please don’t hurt them,” I plead, as I descend into the musky motel room.