After a few hours of driving under the cloak of night, Wulf traded in cars. She returned to the passenger seat and gulped down the lump in her throat. She’d cried and cried already. Amy Blackwood’s death hit hard. But Mary Jane had a set of skills as evidenced by her brainwashing. She clung to the “drug addicted Megan” who rarely exhibited any grain of emotion. A part of her felt an urge for a hit. Some hardcore shit that would cut through the loneliness.

Wulf’s large, muscular frame was tense in the driver’s seat. With the sporadically placed lights on the freeway, shadows cast along his angular face. It made him less approachable, which was all wrong since she was truly the asshole. They’d been through so much shit together he’d said.

Wrong. She’d ruined his life and forced the shit upon him. It was the same thing Peter had done to her. And she hated Peter. Why didn’t Dylan Wulf want to be a million miles away from her?

Out of the blue he spoke. “We’re going to have to drive to the airport in Le Quela.”

Mary Jane’s eyes closed as she listened to him. She imagined that they were back in the villa they’d rented. They were happy and life was good. A small seed churned in her gut, warning her that no matter what, her life ultimately sucked. No need keeping Wulf around. People around you die, just push him away, something told her.

“How do you know about Jake?” she finally asked, after guilt had all but eroded the lining of her stomach.

“Juarez and Robertson.”

“So Jake and the Feds are searching for me?”

“The Feds want to sacrifice you to Jake. He’s murdered half a dozen women named Mary Jane.”

“Oh,” she mumbled as his words just solidified the fact that she was toxic. Faces flashed before her gaze. The elderly Protestant couple, the Blackwoods, the women Jake murdered, even some of the idiots who worked for Beasley had to have families that would miss them.

“Stop,” she said.

“Why?”

“I’m feeling queasy.” Her hand planted against the dashboard again, this time Mary Jane’s vision began to swim before her.

“I told you that I’m getting you home to your parents.”

Her voice was devoid of its commanding nature, almost alluring as she pleaded, “Okay, but not tonight. Can we stop? I need a hot shower and a good night’s sleep.” I need to save you from me. Being around me is a death sentence.

“All right,” Wulf replied. “Just a few hours’ sleep, then we will head home.”

An hour later, they’d pulled into the parking lot of a two-story motel. When he said he’d check in and wanted her to stay in the car, Mary Jane saw that as the prime opportunity to hit the road.

To save Wulf’s life.

To save him from her.

But she couldn’t leave him without a note and a quick check in the glove compartment showed old, frayed insurance documents. Nothing to write with.

At the sight of his thick silhouette leaving the motel lobby, Mary Jane groaned. It was too late.

The hotel room was a blur of tans and browns with the typical two wood tables and two chairs by the window. It also had double queen-sized beds. A rush of relief flooded through Mary Jane. She’d leave once Wulf was asleep. Her eyes skimmed across the room where there was a Gideon’s Bible along with a token pen and tablet that had the motel insignia. Her body tensed further, plans ready for fruition.

Wulf came up behind her and skimmed a hand down her shoulder. She bit down harshly on the inside of her lip, warning herself not to cry. Needing the pain to remind her that he deserved better than all of the craziness she could offer. One foot before the other she subtly moved away from the caress.

“Don’t do this!” He yanked her around. “Don’t allow yourself to just shut the world out. I told you in the car don’t fucking do it, and right now, I am telling you that it is not allowed.”

She took calming breaths. Being good to her shouldn’t have been allowed. Wulf deserved better than Mary Jane.

“Peter had a means far beyond any man should. He’s tossed a wealth of curveballs at you. But concentrate on what you have. Your family cares. MJ, I care. Don’t shut me out. Talk to me.”

Digging down deep, Mary Jane clung to the despair she felt when Canelo and Soledad abducted her. There were so many emotions churning in her soul. Raw anger radiated through her, though her heart cried for him.

She pointed a stiff finger at him and channeled the actress Beasley’s goon had unknowingly gifted her with. Anya Randolph was so angry at Trent Winehouse for failing her. Mary Jane felt like shit for using the lines, but she needed Anya’s words. Anya’s actions. Anya’s broken heart. “Let’s talk!” She shoved her index finger against his chiseled chest with each statement. “So, you said you care. I waited for you, just knew you’d come. Put my trust in you.”

“And I fucked up. I love you, Mary Jane. I’m fucking crazy in love with you, but I fucked up.”

No, Wulf, you didn’t! It felt like a shot to the heart, her being unable to say it back. But Mary Jane had to stay strong in order to save him, give him the better life he deserved.

This next part was all her own but made Mary Jane’s guilt grow exponentially, because the man she loved didn’t deserve it. “And then when I figured you wouldn’t arrive, I almost ended my problems myself.” She nodded, tears in her eyes. The hatred Mary Jane had for herself—for being manipulated by Peter Grienke—was directed toward Wulf. “Yeah, Megan and Keegan came along and presented a good enough past. I can return to the life they’ve offered me, Wulf. I’ll give you that. But in the company of those crazy fucks we just left, I realized something. I’m kind of getting used to the bullshit. I put too much faith in you, Wulf. No more putting faith in you.”

No more putting your life on the line.

“Yes, I’ve disappointed you, Mary Jane. Yet, you’d conclude that not one person in the world gives a damn? Set me aside.” He gestured with his hands. “Reminisce on your family. Somewhere in your mind you remember them. I’m sorry about all the crazy shit Peter put you through. Man, I can say that until my face turns blue. Somehow, you recall your mother, your father, your sister. And, damn, I told you I made a mistake, but your parents haven’t. Your mom—”

“So, I tried to kill myself,” she said, not wanting to hear anything he had to say about the Portmans. Every word he spoke was like shit slinging against her face. Wulf was a good man, and he deserved better than her guilt trip. Mary Jane spoke again—no compassion, no empathy, just strings of coherent words, “I took the bedspread and cut it up into strings then tied it together.”

“Oh, baby.” He tried to wrap her in his arms but she pulled away. Needing his pain to lift herself up. She had to be on her toes, ready to abandon Wulf. Didn’t he understand that he deserved a better life?

“So I tied it to the light fixture, stood on the bed, and let go. Wulf, I let go.”

“What happened?” He breathed heavily.

Her eyes cast downward.

“What happened?”

“I…” Her hand went to her belly. “I might be pregnant.”

Mary Jane’s body shook. Tears coursed down her cheeks. Why had she spoken these words? Telling Wulf that she was pregnant was counterproductive to pushing him away. She was a walking plague and a baby would only compound matters no matter how dreamy the thought sounded.

“But how? You said Peter was outraged when you couldn’t have children?”

“That’s all a part of the deception, Wulf.”

He engulfed her in a hug before she could even push him away. The pure strength of him pacified her heart, calming the erratic beat. “You’re pregnant?”

“Wulf, once we confirm if I’m pregnant or not.” She began the ultimatum. He pulled her at arm’s length, giving her all of his attention. At the mere thought of it, she just couldn’t finish the sentence.