Lulu

I didn’t park in the hospital parking lot, but a little ways down the street. Since I wasn’t sure what was wrong with my car, I didn’t want to risk breaking down out in the open. That would be extremely bad. And if I allowed myself to think about the cost of getting it fixed, my head would explode. We needed to get back on the road before morning. Staying in New York was too much of a risk. I’d just have to pray to the car gods, beg them to keep my car sputtering and smoking forward until I hit the next town or city, and that it wouldn’t use up all the money I’d put aside.

I’d managed to scrimp and save just over six hundred dollars. It’d taken two years. Money for a new permanent life in a safe place. I’d already used some to get home, and more would go toward an apartment, wherever we ended up.

But what choice did I have? All I could do was keep running, keep moving forward.

I’d dressed light. Carol was going to give me a set of nurse’s scrubs so I could move about unnoticed, since I wasn’t on the visitor schedule. I’d thrown on black cotton shorts and the first tank I’d found in my duffel. It was white and had “Hooters” stretched across the chest. I’d worked at the restaurant right after I ran away.

When I left the prison, after my visit with Hunter, I’d had no plan. I’d just driven until I ran out of gas. I ended up in Bloomington. I’d never been to Minnesota and it was as good a place as any to stop for a while. But my time as a Hooters waitress hadn’t lasted long. Van, Hunter’s older brother, showed up two weeks after I started. He walked in, expression hard as stone, and I ran before he saw me. After that, I made sure the jobs I got didn’t require more than my name, or the name I chose to give them.

I shoved my hands in my pockets. All my efforts not to think about why I was here fell away as I neared the hospital’s entrance. What was I going to say when I saw her? I had no idea. I hadn’t allowed myself to think about that either.

The doors slid open and I scoped out where I needed to go. Head down, I strode toward the cafeteria.

It was 11:00 p.m., so not crazy busy. I found a table and took a seat. Pulling my phone from my back pocket, I fired off a text to Carol, telling her where I was and what I was wearing. I pretended to play with my phone after that. The chances of anyone recognizing me were slim, but I didn’t want to risk it, and kept my eyes down and hair forward.

Fifteen minutes later, someone slid into the seat beside me. Carol was an older woman with soft brown eyes surrounded by smile lines.

“Here you go.” She placed a white paper bag on the table in front of me and pointed to one of the exits. “The bathroom’s out that door and to the right. The elevator’s just down from that. The hospice is on the seventh floor.” She placed her hand over mine and squeezed. Suddenly the emotion I’d been suppressing welled up like a geyser and tears stung the backs of my eyes. “Your mom’s in room fifteen.” Then she stood and walked away.

When I reached the bathroom, I locked myself in a stall and quickly pulled on the brightly patterned scrub top. My breath was coming fast and shallow as I shoved my feet in the pants, heart racing, palms sweaty. Splashing water on my face, I blinked at my reflection in the mirror. There were no smile lines around my eyes. My skin was smooth. But I looked tired, worn out, used up. Older than my twenty-four years. Would she recognize this face? Yes, my features were the same, but the last three years had taken their toll, had marked me. I looked into my own eyes and shivered at the pain and hopelessness staring back at me.

Pushing away from the sink, I shut it all down, all of it, the swirling emotions clawing at me, the relentless nightmares of my past. I dried off and headed down the hall to the elevator.

When the doors slid open on the seventh floor, the sign on the wall opposite told me where I’d find rooms one to twenty. I turned right, my green Converse sneakers squeaking on the shiny linoleum with every step I took. Nerves rolled and twisted in my gut, so strong I felt physically sick.

The next thing I knew, I was standing in front of her room. I stared at it, frozen. I don’t know how long it took to muster the courage I needed to knock. But my hands shook when I did. There was no reply from inside, so I pushed the door open and walked in, closing it behind me.

The room was dim, lit only by a bedside lamp. My breath hitched, sticking in my throat when I saw her. She was asleep. There was a yellow scarf tied around her head, and her chin was dipped to the side. She looked pale, small. My mother was petite like me, but she’d lost a lot of weight since I’d last seen her. She looked so frail, utterly fragile. She looked exactly like what she was—a woman who only had a little time left.

I moved to the bed and looked down at her, tears running hot down my cheeks. I took her hand in mine. Her skin was cool and soft. So soft. My mother always had the softest, most beautiful skin. I lifted my gaze from her hand, back to her beautiful face, and her eyes blinked open, focusing on me.

Her fingers tightened around mine. “Baby?” she whispered.

I choked back a sob. “It’s me, Mom.”

“Lucinda.” She reached up, cupping my face, brushing her thumb over my tear-soaked cheek. At the same time, tears started spilling from her own blue eyes “You’re here.”

“I’m here.”

“You’re really here?” Her breathing increased, fingers squeezing mine restlessly. “Pierce and I have been so worried. He’s been looking for you since you left.”

I shook my head, tried not to let her see how her words affected me. Fear and sadness all rolled into one jagged ball of emotion, bouncing around, battering my insides. I shoved it down, smothered it. “I’m sorry, Mom. I’m so sorry I hurt you.”

I couldn’t tell her why I left, what happened. I didn’t want her to live her last days on this earth knowing the man she married, the man she loved, was nothing but a sick fucking asshole, a criminal, and the reason I’d bolted. That he’d been more interested in the inheritance she’d gotten from my dad and my trust fund than in how beautiful, sweet, and loving she was.

Oh, he loved my mom, in his own way, as much as a man like that was capable. But it was a twisted, unhealthy kind of love. When they’d married, we’d become his possessions. I’d found out the hard way Pierce didn’t like sharing his possessions, and Hunter had paid the price for daring to take what was his.

I ran the back of my hand over her smooth cheek. “I can’t tell you why I left, Mom. But I need you to know it had nothing to do with you, nothing. I never wanted to leave you.” I’d left her a note when I ran, telling her I’d fought with my boyfriend and needed to get away. She’d never met Hunter, didn’t even know I was seeing anyone, but it was something I thought she might believe. At least I’d hoped she would. It was all I could come up with at the time.

She reached for her phone beside the bed. “Pierce. Let me call him. The two of you were always so close. Thick as thieves. He’s been so worried. He can help, baby, he’ll take care of you. He’s been so busy lately, but I know he’d come for you.”

A cold wash went through my veins, and I wrapped my fingers around hers, stopping her. I shook my head. “I just want to visit with you. We’ll call him tomorrow, okay?”

Her body seemed to relax and she smiled. “Okay, sweetheart.”

What did she mean, he’d been busy, but he’d come for me? Hadn’t he been here for her? So many questions fired through my mind, but I bit them back. I didn’t have long, and I didn’t want to waste that time talking about him. Staying here for more than a few minutes was a risk, but I lingered, unable to leave. When I walked out that door, that would be it. I’d never see her again. And that thought was too much to bear.

We talked for a while, but not once did she mention the scrubs I had on. I guessed she was too happy to see me to notice. I told her about some of the places I’d worked, making it sound like some grand adventure, full of friends and fun. Not dingy apartments, long hours and shitty pay, and fear. So much fear. But what hurt worst of all, was not telling her about Josh. Not telling her that she had a beautiful two-year-old grandson. Withholding it from her felt like a serrated blade to the chest.

I was talking quietly, rambling really, when she slid her hand up my forearm and squeezed, stopping me.

Her gaze held mine. “You’re not staying, are you?” she whispered.

The lump in my throat swelled and forced it down. I shook my head. “I can’t.”

“Lay down with me.” She shuffled back, making room for me in front of her.

I climbed up beside her, lying down, and she wrapped her arm around my waist, threading her fingers with mine.

“I love you, Mom.”

“Love you too, baby.”

She relaxed into me and eventually fell asleep. I stayed where I was for another hour, unable to bring myself to let her go. A nurse would come soon to check on her and I couldn’t be here when they did. I turned in her arms, leaned in, and pressed my nose to her shoulder, breathing in her scent. There was a hint of her favorite perfume lingering, a smell I would always associate with her. A smell that even now made my heart ache.

I kissed her cheek, then pulled my arm away, and slid off the bed. “Bye, Mom.”

Then I walked out the door, knowing that was the last time I would see her. The last time I would ever hold her. The last time I’d hear her soft voice calling me baby.

I walked down the hall on autopilot, feeling numb and cold, broken. I didn’t think it was possible to break any more than I already had, but I’d been wrong. I used the closest bathroom, pulled off the scrubs, leaving them in the stall, then left the building.

People moved around me, the hospital grounds still busy even at one in the morning. I barely noticed them, didn’t remember walking out the door, only realizing where I was when I spotted my car a short distance ahead of me.

I’d parked it down a side street, where it was quiet, only the occasional car driving by. I pulled the keys from my pocket, walking around to the driver’s side.

I had my hand on the door handle when someone grabbed me from behind, slamming me into the car.

I grunted, the wind knocked from me, my head colliding with edge of the roof from the impact. A rough hand grabbed my hair, fingers tugging and fisting the strands. I reached back and scratched the arm attached, sucking in pained, gasping breaths.

Eyes watering, I let out a shriek and kicked back as hard as I could, connecting with something.

Whoever held me growled and spun me around. I sucked in a sharp breath when familiar blue eyes burned down at me.

I started to shake.

And before my brain had time to fully process the consequences of Hunter’s presence here, pure joy rushed though me.

It only lasted a second, because I quickly became aware of how hard and cold those eyes were. The dark edge, the disdain. The joy was instantly replaced with dread, and another round of adrenaline fired through my veins. I jerked out of his hold, taking him off guard. Ignoring the pain in my head, and the ache in my gut, I ran. Ran as fast as I could. I had no idea where I was going, just that I had to get away.

Strong arms came around me from behind, yanking me off my feet. I struggled, but it was useless. Still, I fought for all I was worth. He spun me around again, pressing me into the cold steel of the car behind me.

He was breathing heavily, those piercing blue eyes boring into me, that hard body a relentless wall, blocking me from escape. “When you run away, you make me think you aren’t you happy to see me, Lulu.”

I was shaking violently now. “I . . . I . . . Hunter . . .”

He shook his head. “Shut up.”

“Let me go . . . I . . .”

He covered my mouth with one hand, pinned me to the side of the car with his body, then pulling his phone from his back pocket, keyed in a text. When he was done, he grabbed my upper arm and pulled me away roughly, leading me across the road. Opening the driver’s side door of a black SUV, he shoved me in, then kept coming, forcing me to scramble over to the passenger side. He slammed the door shut, fingers still gripping my arm, and flipped open the glove compartment to pull something out. Taking my wrist, he latched on . . . cuffs. I started to struggle again.

“Come quietly or I’ll stun gun your ass.”

I stopped struggling. I didn’t doubt he’d do it.

He attached the other cuff to something below the seat, so I was forced forward, my face resting on the dash. This position made my head throb harder and put pressure on my aching belly. I was this close to puking.

He started the car and pulled out into the street. I thought about my car, unlocked behind us, then thanked God I hadn’t brought Josh with me. He was safe. What I didn’t do was think about why I was handcuffed to the floor of Hunter’s car, or what he planned to do to me.

I was facing him. I didn’t want to, but it was either that or rest the aching side of my head on the hard dashboard. The muscles in his forearms jumped and bunched as he drove. He’d added more tattoos. They hadn’t been full sleeves before he went to prison, and now his arms and hands were completely covered. My gut tightened at the sight of his scarred knuckles. How he must had gotten those scars . . .

My gaze traveled higher, to his neck. More ink. As familiar to me as my own reflection. His eyes were focused on the road, but I knew him well enough to know he wasn’t as calm as he was trying to appear. For one thing, his square jaw was hard as stone, and the muscle at the side was jumping every now and then, like he was grinding his teeth. For another, those inked fingers were gripping the wheel tight enough to turn his skin white.

“What are you going to do?” The words just popped out of my mouth, without my say-so.

He didn’t answer, just kept his eyes fixed ahead.

“Hunter . . .”

His gaze slashed to me. “Shut the fuck up.”

I shut the fuck up. Nothing I could say at this point would make him let me go. I knew that much.

I thought about Josh, tucked up in that big double bed, so small and defenseless. God, what if he woke and got upset because I wasn’t there? Aunt Sara would be worried out of her mind. She’d agreed not to call the cops, but I didn’t know if she’d stick to that promise faced with the reality of me being MIA.

Oh God, Pierce would find out I was in the city. He’d go to my aunt’s, he’d find out about my son. I squeezed my eyes shut, tried to slow my breathing. I was on the verge of a panic attack. I needed a phone. Somehow, I had to convince Hunter to let me call her.

We drove for what felt like forever before we finally stopped. My neck hurt, I had a cramp in my side, and pins and needles in both feet. Hunter slid the keys from the ignition, then looked down at me. “You can scream all you like, no one will hear you.”

On that comforting note, he climbed out, came around to my side of the car, and pulled open the door. Un-cuffing me, he dragged me out.

The smell of earth and pine hit me before my eyes could figure out where the hell I was. Trees surrounded us—a forest. There was a small cabin a few yards away.

Hunter gave me a shove, pushing me up onto the front porch, opened the door, and crowded me inside. He flicked on the light, but I didn’t see much because he kept moving me forward until we reached another door.

“Get in.”

I did as he said, scrambling into the small bathroom.

He flipped the lid closed on the toilet. “Sit.”

“Hunter . . .”

“Sit the fuck down,” he barked.

I sat.

He attached the cuff, still dangling from my wrist, to a pipe below the sink, and I shot back to my feet, or tried too. “No. Please don’t . . .”

One minute I’d wrapped my fingers around his forearm, the next I was up against the wall. Hunter stared down at me, nostrils flaring, eyes hot, wild, absolutely terrifying. He pressed against me from chest to thigh, breathing heavily.

A cold tingle slithered down my spine, a gasp escaping when an unsettling warmth hit me low in the belly, tiny pulses of pleasure firing to life. It felt like my body was waking from a deep slumber, like one touch from Hunter had awakened those sensory memories, the ones I’d locked away. Things I’d tried to forget every day for the last three years.

But my body remembered. It remembered exactly how he’d made me feel.

What the hell is wrong with me?

Hunter hated me. It was all there, the betrayal, the anger, the disgust. No, I hadn’t just burnt that bridge—I’d decimated it then torched it for good measure. At the time, it had been my only option. I believed that still. If I allowed myself to believe differently, I thought I might actually go mad.

I’d always known he’d come for me. It was only a matter of time, and I’d known there sure as hell wouldn’t be a happy reunion.

An eye for an eye, babe. Someone fucks with me, I’ll fuck them back, harder. Always.

His words echoed through my head, words he’d said to me many times when I was his. That was the life he’d come from, a motto he lived by. I knew that and still did what I had to. Now I had to face the consequences of my actions.

I didn’t care about myself. The only thing that mattered to me was getting back to Josh in one piece.

Hunter leaned in so we were nose to nose, his cold eyes fixed on mine as he wrapped those long, thick fingers around my throat. He didn’t squeeze hard, but the threat was there, and the heat of his rough skin lifted goose bumps on my arms. “Do not fucking touch me,” he growled.

Swallowing painfully, I shook my head, since answering was out of the question. There was an entire forest just beyond the front door, plenty of places to dump my body. If I didn’t make it, at least Josh had my aunt. Right now, only Sara knew about my beautiful son, and I knew she’d take care of him. As long as she didn’t call the cops, everything would be okay.

I was under no illusion that Hunter would spare me because of our past.

I didn’t believe in magic, or fate, and if you actually thought about it, fairy-tales were some of the darkest, most fucked-up stories there were.

My prince certainly didn’t want to kiss me awake, rescuing me from three years of nightmares—no, he wanted to smother me in my sleep.