CHAPTER THREE
Jillian
ZEEK’S FOREHEAD CREASES, as he presses his hand into my shoulder, pushing me backwards until the back of my legs hit the closest bed. Applying pressure on my shoulder, he forces me to sit down on one of the motel beds.
“Zeek, are you even listening to me?” Ignoring me he unlocks one of the cuffs and my hand regains blood flow, causing it to tingle unbearably. I sigh with relief, my mind now on my wrist instead of the fact we just held an elderly couple at gunpoint. Taking the empty cuff¸ he fastens it to the old bed post.
What the hell?
“You can’t cuff me to a bed, Zeek!” I object, my eyes wide. Anger licking up my limbs, replacing my need to protect and serve the elderly couple.
“You stay in the cuffs, and they stay attached to the bed. If they’re on you, then you can’t punch me in the face again.”
“I’m sure I can work around them,” I snide.
“You.” He points the gun at the couple, ignoring me. “Over there, where I can see you.” He points to a table with two stained chairs.
“Alright now, Sonny, you ain’t got to aim that at us. We’ll listen to whatever you ask of us, just don’t hurt us.” Donald ushers his wife toward one of the chairs.
My chest pains that Zeek is doing this to them.
Looking around the room it’s small. There are two beds with floral blankets, and one lopsided night table in between them. It has stained burgundy carpet, which match the drapes, and the wallpaper on the wall peeling in such a way that could only be compared to a horror movie scene.
“You expecting company?” Zeek pulls a curtain back, peering outside the window that has so much buildup on it, you can barely see out it.
“No, no company.” The man shakes his head, holding his wife’s hand tightly.
“We’re visiting our Leslie, she’s such a fine young lady.” Mildred beams with joy, and I can’t help the bewildered look crossing my face at her cheerful demeanor considering the circumstances. “Ya know, she was nominated best in her class.” She nods her head excitedly, looking between Zeek and me. “She gets that from me. I used to be a teacher.” Donald rolls his eyes with a heavy breath, as if Mildred does this often. “My doctor told me I have empty nest syndrome, but I say bull snot to that.”
Zeek turns and looks at me like the woman has lost her mind, as he closes the curtain.
“Are you two hungry? We have leftovers.” She lets go of Donald’s hand, and steps toward Zeek with a takeout box in her hand, not caring that he’s pointing a gun at her. I can’t help but narrow my eyes in shock. She’s crazy.
“Mildred, sit down, don’t you see he has a gun, woman?” Donald spits, shaking his head in concern.
“Oh, don’t be silly, dear.” She dismisses her husband with a throw of her hand. “They’re still warm.” She smiles up at Zeek, who stands over her fragile frame by almost a foot and a half. Her eyes trail up his arms, and down his legs. “Though, I’m sure you don’t need the extra protein, with your build and all. You look like you’re doing just fine.” Her cheeks flush, and she starts to fan herself.
I almost feel for the poor woman. Looking at Zeek, you can’t help but be affected, even if he has a gun pointed at you. The physicality of this man is a distraction to his violent nature.
“Here you go, sweetheart, this one has a little more. Donald never was a big eater.” She sits a box next to me on the bed. Standing upright, she runs her hands along her dress.
“Why are you being so nice to me?” I whisper, the words sticking in my throat. Zeek just took them at gunpoint and I did nothing to stop it, I could have done a lot more than I did in saving this couple from the wrath of Zeek, but I didn’t.
“She’s nice to everyone.” Donald answers for her.
Looking over her shoulder she sneers at him. I think it’s the first time I’ve seen a sour look cross her face.
“I was a teacher. I have a knack for finding troubled kids, and you, my dear,” She looks at Zeek, and then sorrowfully at me, her hairy eyebrows pulled together, “Look like you’re troubled.” She pats my hand. “Oh, I got just the thing.” Turning quickly she shuffles her feet toward the window, and Zeek aims his gun at her. Mildred pulls up a bag, one that people who don’t want to use plastic bags at the market use.
“What are you doing?” Zeek asks warily.
Smiling a big toothy smile she brings an apple to my bed.
“When I was a teacher my kids would bring me apples, oh so many bright red apples. I’d have so many they’d just line the counter behind my desk. So when a kid was feeling down, or blue, usually after getting into some trouble, I’d grab one and give it to them saying, ‘An apple a day chases the blue monsters away.’” She nods proudly.
“Umm,” I begin to tell her I don’t think that’s the way the saying goes, but I catch Donald shaking his head over Mildred’s shoulder. Obviously the fight is pointless.
“Ooh, how clever.” I smile, trying to sound convincing.
“So, where are you kids from?” Mildred prods.
“Nowhere,” Zeek answers unfriendly, sitting at the foot of the bed, his gun settled right next to him. Placing the box of food on his lap he grabs the remote from the dresser and flips the TV on. He’s acting as if he’s visiting old friends, not taking two random people at gunpoint. Meanwhile I’m over here with cold sweats and counting every law we’ve broken in the last ten minutes. I feel like I’m going to have a heart attack.
Looking over his shoulder at me, he scowls. “Eat. You need to eat.”
“Don’t tell me what to do.” I frown, trying to kick him. I’m so sick of him being fucking bossy.
I’m angry and don’t want to eat. But I’m hungry, and the smell of whatever is coming from this box is not helping my rebellion against Zeek’s controlling demand.
“Who knows when we will eat again. Eat.” Taking my eyes from the box I find him looking right back at me. His dark eyes softer than before, showing me that glimpse of the man I came to know when we were locked away in my house.
Using the one hand that is not cuffed, I flip the lid open, finding half a steak sandwich and fries.
My stomach growls, clinching to the point I feel sick.
“This just in, authorities are asking for your help in finding two suspects on the run this evening that may be in our area.” My head snaps to the TV. “Deputy Jillian McAdams is responsible for shooting a Lieutenant who was in the line of duty at the time of his demise, we’ve been informed that Zevin Deluca, the notorious president of the Sin City Outlaws was last seen with Deputy McAdams. They are armed and reported to be very dangerous. If sought, please call Crime We Stop. We will update you as we get more information.”
My body slumps against the headboard, my free hand covering my mouth. They even have a reward for any information about us in black bold lettering underneath our pictures.
“That’ll be enough television.” Zeek sighs, turning it off.
Closing my eyes, I shake my head. I can’t believe this. Before I thought maybe they got some intel wrong, it’s happened before. Witnesses get confused, but this…there is no doubt that my department is fucking filthy, and turning on me. It said I killed my father. My eyes drift to Zeek’s, expecting his face to convey an ‘I told you so’ look. It doesn’t though, his face is sincere, his brows narrowed with concern.
If he was right about my department, then he may be right about my dad. A pain slams in my chest, my head refusing to believe it, but my heart knowing it’s probably true.
“Seems you two got yourself into some kind of trouble,” Donald pipes up.
“It’s not true. I didn’t do that!” The words come out harsher than I intended, my head shaking back and forth like a mad woman as tears pour from my eyes so hard I can barely see straight. Donald doesn’t respond. Eyes that are dull with age, focus on me, his mouth pulled into a tight line. He doesn’t believe me. I wouldn’t believe me either, not after Zeek just took them at gunpoint. After we took them at gunpoint.
“I believe you.” Mildred grabs my hand, giving it a squeeze. “My Leslie says the news likes to fabricate things, that drama is their selling point.” I swallow and give a reassuring nod. Mildred’s blue eyes that look as vibrant as a child’s smiling back at me.
Zeek puts his food down and gets up from the bed. He steps behind Mildred, ushering her out of the way and sits on my side of the bed. His face is tight, and his hand rubbing the stubble on his chin. It’s grown since we’ve been on the run. It’s dark, and rough. My hands want to touch it; palm it. Pathetically, I want to curl up in his lap and cry my eyes out. There is something about having those hard tattooed arms wrapped around me that drown out the rest of the world.
“I’m going to fix this, Jillian.” He doesn’t look at me as he stares at the floor. “I know this is my fault, and I don’t blame you for hating me.” Looking up at me his eyes are laced with sadness. “I took everything away that ever mattered to you, especially when I took you.” I close my eyes, willing myself to go deaf. His words are smooth, his face holding regret. “I don’t regret taking you though.” His face softens, his eyes remaining serious. “I’d take everything you ever cared about away all over again if it meant you got to breathe another day on this fucked up Earth next to my side.”
“You call this breathing?” I mutter, my eyes fluttering with unshed tears. “You think I’m living right now?” My hand pulls on the cuff to emphasize my point.
“Your heart is still beating, isn’t it?”
I scoff, and fall back against the headboard.
“Maybe, but it’s severely broken.”
“If I didn’t take you, Jillian, Frank would have his claws deep inside your head right now. Deciding on whether or not he can use you.”
I close my eyes, wishing he’d stop. I can’t take the truth anymore, my world is spinning and falling at my feet faster than I can pick the pieces up to salvage them.
“How about a nice shower? Hmm?” Mildred claps her hands together, cutting the tension between us. Pulling my eyes from Zeek, I glance at her, she’s smiling again. Seriously, what is wrong with this woman?
Zeek reaches over and grabs his gun, aiming it at them.
“You two get on the bed.” He gestures to the other queen size bed, his tone back to criminal mastermind.
“Excuse me?” Donald asks, looking at the bed.
“Your wife offered a shower, I’m accepting. However, I can’t just go get in the shower and expect you and Mildred here not to run off and call the cops. So, get on the bed so I can cuff you,” Zeek explains.
“That won’t be necessary. We aren’t going anywhere. You know, our Leslie got in some trouble some time back, and we had to come up with an alib—”
“Mildred, just get on the bed, dear.” Donald interrupts his wife’s rambling.
I watch as Mildred climbs on the bed, Donald right behind her. Once in place, he grabs her hand and squeezes it quickly before releasing it. They look picture perfect. Like the kind of love you’d hope for when you got older.
Zeek undoes my cuffs, and my hand falls like a dead weight. I rub at my wrist, where a little red circle is indented into my skin. It’s going to bruise.
“You know, Donald, this is like our anniversary back in nineteen seventy-three. Do you remember that?” She raises her shoulders, a shy smile blushing across her face. God, why can’t I find that kind of love?
Donald chuckles. “I do.” Zeek handcuffs them putting both of their small wrists in one cuff, and the other to the bed. They seem oblivious to what is going on, lost in their own little circle.
“You.” Zeek points at me. “Up.” He grabs me by the wrist and I wince. His eyes widen, and he eases his grip on the tender flesh.
Looking over his shoulder he looks at the couple.
“If you so much as make a peep, I’ll come out here and shoot you both.”
“Zeek!” I shout, my mouth wide open.
“We don’t want no trouble. We’ll keep quiet.” Donald gives a reassuring smile.
“You two go get some alone time. You could use it.” Mildred smiles, and Donald rolls his eyes.
Zeek opens the bathroom door, and guides me in. It’s small. It’s lined with off-white, cracked tiles on the floor and walls. The ceiling chipped and yellow.
The tub is anything but welcoming, I have no idea what that black crap is near the drain. There’s a bubble bath bottle sitting on the edge, and it takes me back to mine and Zeek’s first bath together. The smell of candy, the way he paid such attention to me. I miss that day so much I wish I could go back in time.
Shutting the door behind us Zeek stares at me with a look of concern, his eyes focusing on my hand.
“Let me see your wrist.” I tuck my hand into my chest, and frown.
“Why?”
Fisting my forearm, he tears it from my chest, and looks it over.
“I’m fine.” I mumble, trying to pull from his grip.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t realize I had them so tight.” His thumb rubs small circles along the bruising line, the act contradicting his behavior over the last few hours.
It’s soft and gentle, sparking little butterflies in the pit of my stomach. I hate this, the way he acts like a fucking animal, then turns around and acts like a human being who cares. This is all a game to him, one I can’t comprehend.
I pull my hand from him successfully.
“I can’t, I don’t trust you.”
“Maybe you shouldn’t have killed a Lieutenant then, because now we can’t trust anyone!” I raise a brow, my words sharp. His nostrils flare, and he slams his hands into the tile on either side of my head, making me jump as he boxes me in. His arms bulge with tanned muscle, the smell of manliness coming from him making my body flush with desire.
“Yeah, well, it wasn’t the first one!” He roars out of anger. My mouth pops open, and before I can think thoroughly, my hand slaps him across the face. I yelp after realizing what I just did, and cover my mouth with my hand. I hit him before, punched him before, but that was out of anger, this slap was personal.
He pulls away from me. Lifting his chin, he pushes the sleeves of his shirt up as if he’s frustratingly hot, revealing his hard biceps in the process. He turns, resting his hands on the back of his neck, inhaling an audible breath.
We’re both angry, both exhausted and confused. I’ve never been on this side of the law before, it’s raw and pure evil.
My chest constricts, the small room closing in on me. Zeek and I lived in a world of pretend for so long, we never thought about what would happen when everyone found out about us. And now, my life has been ripped right out from under me. Zeek’s way of life, gone. We gambled it all to be together, and lost it all.
Now we have nothing but each other, and we can’t even stand to be in the same room as each other.
I slide down the wall, my knees coming up to my chest. “You might have been right about my department, and maybe my father wasn’t the best Lieutenant, but he was a good man,” I mutter, my hands tangling in my hair. Memories of him giving money to homeless veterans, or helping me study for my police academy test spin in my head.
“I didn’t mean to say that. You’re just being really fucking complicated.” He looks down at me, his voice sincere. “But you don’t know your father as well as you think you do.”
My head snaps up. “Why don’t you enlighten me then?”
He shakes his head, looking away from me.
“Doesn’t matter now. Just know that I am doing everything I can to keep your ass alive, and it’d be nice if you’d stop fighting me so hard.”
“No, tell me. What is it you think you know about my dad that I don’t?” Ignoring me, he turns the shower on. “Why won’t you just tell me!?”
“Because you can’t handle the truth!”
My stomach falls, and I blink rapidly.
If my father was involved with the Outlaws then Zeek’s right, I’m not sure I can handle the truth.
Would I end up dead because of my father’s actions and decisions?
“Be honest with me about something, is your uncle going to catch us?”
He squats in front of me, a finger turning my chin to where I’m eye to eye with him.
“If anyone can save your stubborn ass, it’s me, Jillian.” The look on his face takes me aback. Digging things from a place unknown deep inside of me. His eyes hold a committed look of love and adoration, but they’re also darkened with a promise of obsession and the fuel to cut someone’s throat if they so much as glance at me wrong. It’s obsessive, like he might lose me tomorrow, and it’s hard to resist.
Something clatters to the floor from my pocket, catching mine and Zeek’s attention.
“What the hell is that?” I look to where Zeek is pointing next to my hip, and see the cross that I found in my hand after Zeek pulled me off my father.
“It’s yours.” Zeek bends down and picks it up, his hand running across his neck as if he just realized it was missing. I forgot I put it in my pocket. “I didn’t mean to break it,” I mutter, wiping the tears from my eyes. He palms it, his thumb rubbing it. It means something to him, I can tell with the way his forehead wrinkles, and his eyebrows pinch together.
“Just—Just get in the shower,” he mutters, pulling back the shower curtain.
“Why are you doing all this?”
A pensive look crosses his face. “All of what?”
“This!” I wave my hands around. “Holding that nice old couple at gunpoint, in here with me. All of it?”
His eyes rake over me, and he shrugs. “So you could shower.”
“So you kidnapped a little old couple so I could shower?”
“Yep!”
It’s wrong, so wrong. Yet, I feel my chest tighten with longing and adoration. I like it. WHAT IS WRONG WITH ME? I can’t help my attraction to him. His stare is cold, his calloused hands rough, but his draw is soft and alluring.
“You going to get in?” He flicks a brow at me.
“Not with you,” I respond defensively.
“I’m not leaving you by yourself.” His tone tells me he’s not to be messed with.
“I need some time, Zeek.” I hang my head, wringing my hands tightly. “To process everything. I just—I’m not getting in that shower with you.” My heart beats passionately, it hurts me to hurt him. Which is stupid considering everything that’s happened.
His shoulders tense, his jaw ticking.
“Fine.”
He opens the door, and slams it shut.
Zeek
STEPPING OUT OF THE BATHROOM, I rub the back of my neck. Regret and shame spreading uncontrollably through my chest to the point I can’t breathe. I am losing my mind, my temper, my fucking handle on everything. My arms strain wanting to rip something to shreds. My arm smarts, the pain becoming almost unbearable. I really need to get a clean rag on it or something.
Leaning over the vanity just outside the bathroom, I undo the material I found from the truck, and blood begins to trickle out of the wound.
Clenching my teeth I hiss, and grab a clean rag, wetting it I dab at the blood around the wound.
I need to get that bullet out now.
Glancing around the room I don’t see anything that I could sterilize and stick far enough in there to get it out.
Best I can do is keep it closed, and clean for the time being. Snatching a folded towel off the counter I rip it long ways, and wrap it around my bicep a couple times. It hurts to the bone, causing my forehead to sweat from the amount of pain rippling up my shoulder. My skin at two extremes because it feels like a knife of ice cold on one side, and searing hot on the other slicing through my arm until it hits bone.
I need some fresh air, and some alone time.
Marching through the small hotel room, I check on the old man, and the bat shit crazy lady. They haven’t moved.
“Is everything okay?” The lady questions, her eyes worried.
“Yeah, everything is fine.” I rub at the back of my neck. The man’s face uneasy as I fist my gun. “I just wanted a place to stop and let her clean up, maybe get some sleep and we’ll be out of your hair.” Why am I comforting them? What the fuck is wrong with me? Jillian is in my fucking head!
His face lessons with worry as I explain, his wife cupping her face like I just told her an amazing fairytale.
“It’s like you’re Bonnie and Clyde,” she coos annoyingly.
“Oh, Jesus, Mildred.” Donald huffs, shaking his head while he pinches the bridge of his nose.
“Uh, don’t they die in the end?” I raise a brow. She throws a hand at me as if it’s ridiculous. “Look, I’m just gonna step out for a few minutes. Don’t try anything stupid, and if she needs anything−” I start to say, but am cut off by Mildred.
“We’ll call for you right away,” she states cheerfully. This chick ain’t right.
Stepping outside I lean against the hotel door, slipping the cross to the missing rosary beads in my pocket. Jillian hates me. Every time I look at her, her gorgeous eyes are filled with tears of pure hatred, or maybe it’s fear.
Stretching my arm a little too much I hiss with pain.
Closing my eyes, I see Jillian’s face, her naked body underneath me and her beautiful smile beaming up at me. It’s a memory from one of the days we locked ourselves in her house. The day I realized I wasn’t just starting to care for Jillian, but fucking loved her. Her blonde hair splayed out from underneath her like a goddamn halo or some shit. I’d do anything to hide away with her in that little house again, where reality and judgment conjured outside the walls of my crazed obsession for her.
I miss her. The way she gave all of herself to me.
The smell of her hair.
The feel of her silky skin against mine.
I’m not about to give up on any of that. I will drag her across the states kicking and fucking screaming if I have to.
Love is an ugly thing, it changes you even if it’s for the worse. I was fine with the way I was before. Some could say I wasn’t human, but at least before Jillian I didn’t know what the hell I was missing. Now that I’ve felt what it’s like to have Jillian’s soft, warm body tucked into my arms at night, and her breath tickle against my collarbone while she sleeps...I can’t forgo that solace now that I’ve had it.
I will slay anyone who tries to step in front of that.
Even if that means neither of us are standing in the end.
Letting my head fall in my hands I exhale a breath. I knew my uncle was up to something the way he acted before everything went down. All he cared about was me pulling the trigger on Lieutenant Oaks, ending the life of the man who supposedly crossed him. Uncle Frank just kept repeating that if I did this, everything would fall into place. What I didn’t realize was he knew about Jillian and me, and he was teaching me a lesson, because that Lieutenant ended up being Jillian’s fucking father. He wanted to remind me of not only my oath to my club, but my place as his nephew. The job of being his bitch. I played that game before, I wouldn’t do it again. I won’t now.
I can’t get over that Lieutenant Oaks was Jillian’s father, how did she come from that piece of shit? I want to tell her everything about the man he was, but I’m not that big of an asshole. I can see she’s barely hanging on to reality by a goddamn thread. If she knew the truth about everything there is no telling how she would react.
She needs time to process one loss at a time, first the loss of her department. If I’m not careful I could not only lose her for good, but that stubborn spark that ignites deep inside of her.
“Hey, man. Why so bummed.” I glance up, finding a young hipster staring down at me. He has on some fisherman looking hat, blond hair spilling out from under it.
“Fuck off,” I growl.
“Hey, make peace, not war, bro.” He lowers his hand, offering me a smoking blunt. “Go ahead, you need it more than me obviously.” He chuckles.
I take it, and take a long drag off it. I hold the smoke in, before blowing it out into the night air.
It’s good shit, it smells of skunk with tones of earthy green. I’ve had better though.
“Names Ducky,” he informs, as he sits down crossing his legs.
I scrunch my face. “Ducky?”
“Yeah.” He smacks his lips together looking off into the night’s sky, not offering a reason why he might be named after a fucking duck.
“So, why ya so angry?” I take another drag from the joint, and ignore him. I shouldn’t be out here. I should be in there securing my face in Jillian’s space, letting her know I’m here to stay regardless of how hard she tries to push me away.
“I get it, not the talkative type.” Ducky interrupts my thoughts.
Exhaling a cloud of smoke, I hand it back to him and stand.
“Well, it was nice meeting you,” I tell Ducky, watching him scramble to his feet. “Thanks for the weed.” I leave not giving him a chance to respond.
It’s not because I’m a dick, well, I am, but that’s not why I am leaving. I just don’t trust easily, especially outsiders. Those who are not bikers, or know the code that I live by.
Stepping back inside, Jillian is standing in a towel in front of a cracked mirror. Her dirty blonde hair dripping wet, as she attempts to finger comb it into submission. Little beads of water slip down her back, and my dick strains against my jeans. It feels like years since I’ve been in that tight little cunt of hers. I want to bend her over that bed and fuck her while the old couple watches. My palms twitch to claim every inch of her skin, to have her moan against my neck and insure myself that she still belongs to me.
I hate feeling this insecure, but she did this to me. I hate being this messed up over someone…someone I threw everything away for and she doesn’t even realize that. If that isn’t love, or fucking romantic, then I’m screwed as far as women and relationships go.
“Dear, I have some clothes I was going to give our Leslie, but I just know she’d want you to have them. You look to be about the same size.” Mildred offers, pointing to a bag on the dresser.
“Oh, I can’t do that.” Jillian turns, shaking her head. She’s so humble, so nice that she would rather be in her bloody clothes that are stained with her father’s death, than take an offer of clean clothes from a little old lady.
“That bag?” I point toward the one I think she’s referring to. I’m not so nice, I’ll take those clothes and put them on Jillian if I have to. A piece of me hopes she’ll fight me so I can put them on her. My dick twitches with excitement.
“Yes, that one,” Mildred confirms.
Striding toward it, I grab it and toss it at Jillian. She glares at me, her eyes red from crying.
“You can’t run around in that bloody uniform, you’ll draw attention.” I inform her, trying to keep my tone soft so I don’t upset her more than I have. She yanks the bag open and looks inside.
“Are we leaving after I dress?” Her eyes peek up at me from under her wet bangs. Her cheeks red from the hot shower.
“Just put something on for the night. We’ll leave in a few hours, we need sleep.”
Clutching the bag, she purses her lips, and steps back into the bathroom.
Jillian
DROPPING THE TOWEL, it pools at my feet. I reach into the bag and pull out a white button up blouse, and pull it over me. It’s big. How Mildred thought we were the same size is beyond me. It’s three sizes too big, fitting as a nightgown, but it’ll work for a few hours of sleep. It’s actually pretty comfortable, even if the cuffs of the sleeves hang off my fingers by at least two inches.
Tossing the bag on the counter, I stare at my reflection in the mirror. I hate that we’re staying here, but the bags under my eyes disagree. Zeek has never steered me wrong before, and as bitter as I am about everything happening, I do love him. He said he loved me before, but I lost sight of that after everything that happened. Him picking me over his club speaks volumes, reminding me of the reason why I fell for him in the first place. I may not understand what happened with my father, but he was right about my department being as dirty as they come. If I want to live to prove my innocence, I’m going to have to get with the program and stop being such a pain in the ass. Even if that means I’m going to have to get my own hands dirty to do so.
My heart strikes with fear just thinking about it, fear licking up my limbs.
Shaking unclear thoughts from my head I kick my bloody clothes in the corner then grab my badge that I had set on the counter before showering, my finger thumbing it. I used to think it held so much power before. Just holding it up to a civilian you’d instantly get a look of respect. Now though, this badge doesn’t have any power. It’s just a piece of metal. I shove it in the bag, not wanting to look at it any longer. I saunter out of the bathroom and notice Zeek has a chair propped up against the front door, his head leaned back. The couple on the bed are rubbing at their wrists, and eyeing Zeek like the Devil. Well, Donald is, Mildred looks like she wants to comb his hair while she tells him all about her life.
I climb into the bed, and scurry under the over-starched covers.
“If you’re smart, you won’t try anything,” Zeek rasps. He has one eye open, his hand grasping a gun sitting on his knee. Slowly I look at the couple, and they glance my way, neither of us sure who he is talking to. “Sweet dreams.” Zeek smiles, flipping the light off behind him.
Sitting in the dark I watch him. He’s leaning back in the chair, his head lolled back with his feet kicked up on the dresser. His boots are untied, and his shirt is sticking to his toned chest from sweat. I shift in my spot, becoming aware of how uncomfortably hot I suddenly am.
His chest rises, as he nibbles on his bottom lip soundlessly. His facial hair has grown. I like it. A lot, actually. His eyes are closed, sealing off the deep hardness in the pools of his irises hiding the transparent anger outlining his face. The light pouring through the edge of the hotel curtain casts a glow along his body, illuminating beads of sweat that have formed on his skin. With the gun in his lap he looks just as insane as he does sexy. The emotions rising in my chest are unsettling as I look at the man I am so in love with. I hate him…I think?
However, I’d do anything to have him in bed with me, the scruff of his cheeks rubbing against my shoulder as he pulls me close. Of course I’d pretend like I hated it, but secretly I need him more than anything right now.
Isn’t that ironic. The only cure for my heart being broken is the one who caused the damaged.
One of his eyes pop open, and my stomach drops with the realization that he caught me ogling him.
Quickly I turn and toss the sheet over me. My heart pounding. Now he knows I’m conflicted, I saw it in his eyes, even if briefly. He knows that I want him…
Fuck!
***
HOLLOW BROWN EYES plague my dreams. Blood pouring over my vision as I continue to run through my viscous nightmare.
“Jilly Bean, I want you to know I love you. I know I don’t say it much, but I do. When you came into our department, I hoped a new leaf would turn for our workforce. I want you to promise me you’ll keep that spitfire that burns so bright inside you.”
“Dad.” I cry out, my hands clutching his chest.
He dissolves in my hands, falling to the desert floor before sifting away with the wind.
“Nooo!” I sob, trying to grab the ashes.
“Jillian!” The voice of the Devil booms from behind me.
I clench my eyes shut, trying to will it away. A hand mimicking a scaly demon clamps down on my shoulder. “Jillian! Wake up!”
My eyes pop open, and Zeek is holding me in his arms tightly. My borrowed shirt soaked with sweat, my hair everywhere.
Quickly I shuffle myself backward till I nearly fall off the end of the bed. Zeek stands abruptly, and runs his hand through his hair as he looks downward. His posture and frame mimicking someone in pain, or sorrow.
“Sorry, you were crying out like you were in pain. I tried to wake you up and you clung to me like someone was chasing you or something. I couldn’t help but comfort you.” His voice is deep, and throaty with sleep. Fuck how can he be so attractive this early in the morning?
“You okay, honey?” Looking past Zeek, Mildred is undoing her rollers, looking at me with worry. Donald sipping some coffee behind her. Glancing at the clock on the bedside table I spot the cuffs, Zeek must have taken them off of them. Which means I’m about to be placed in them, I’m sure.
“Yeah. I’m fine,” I croak. My heart beating so fast my vision blurs. I close my eyes, trying to erase the blurriness, before reopening them. Zeek is giving me a sideways glance, his fingers wringing each other. Only, he isn’t looking at my face. He’s looking downward. Following his stare, I notice I have my legs open, the shirt not covering nearly enough and my pink lace panties are on full display. Shit. At least I don’t have my period panties on, I guess. Shutting my legs quickly, I swallow hard.
Warmth floods my lower half, and my nipples perk. I like that he’s looking, that he wants me.
Zeek winks, a devilish smile fitting his face. His playboy demeanor is sexy, but I can’t help but roll my eyes.
“Not being a pain in your ass doesn’t include sex,” I inform curtly. Sliding off the bed I head into the bathroom to get dressed.
I just need time to process everything before I go climbing back on Cock-a-saurus Rex.
***
“WE NEED ANOTHER CAR,” Zeek informs, looking out the corner of the curtain.
“Sonny, I know I’m just an old man, but my wife and I drove across the country to see our daughter and I think we’ve been more than compliant.” Zeek looks over his shoulder, eyeing the old man. “All I ask is, please, don’t take our vehicle.” The old man looks down, before grasping his wife’s hand.
Zeek looks at me, and I try to convey everything I’m thinking by the look on my face. “Please don’t take their car.” Zeek nods, and looks out the window.
“I’m not taking your car, old man.” Zeek pulls out the cuffs from his back pocket and strides toward me. My heart sinks, even though I’m agreeing not to be a pain, he’s still putting them on me. Surprising me, he grabs the sheet from the bed and tears two pieces of material from it. Taking my wrist, he wraps the torn sheet around the sensitive skin to protect it from the metal rubbing it raw. The gesture is simple, yet speaks volumes about his respect for my well-being. His eyes never leave mine, as the metal clinks into place.
Grabbing onto the chain linking the cuffs, he pulls me behind him.
Walking out the door, the morning sun is barely rising.
“Good luck!” Mildred hollers as Zeek shuts the door. He looks around the parking lot, the only other vehicle a rusted old Volkswagen van. Its blue paint chipped revealing an ugly orange. The windows holding neon green curtains.
“Looks like we’re taking the stoner’s ride.” He yanks on my cuffs, and marches toward the ugly van.
Opening my door for me, like a gentleman, the smell of pot and body odor is overwhelming.
“You’ve got to be kidding me?”
“It’s either this, or the old couple’s car.” Glancing at him, I can’t help but furrow my brows with anger.
“Don’t you think you’ve terrorized that couple enough?”
A smirk slowly spreads across his face, and his hand rests on the van next to my head.
“Baby, I’ve only just begun. That shit back there, that was mere child’s play compared to what I’m capable of.” He narrows his brows together. “Now get in the fucking van.”
I don’t know if I’m turned on, or horrified. Biting my tongue, I turn and get in.
Glancing around the van, it’s lined with orange shaggy carpet, and has food everywhere.
Zeek shoves empty chip bags from the driver’s seat, and climbs in.
“Fucking moron.” Zeek thumbs the keys in the ignition, starting it right up. I shake my head, and cross my arms. Who just leaves their keys in their car? Seems a lot of people do out in the middle of nowhere.
“How long till we get there?” I yawn, ready for this trip to be over. Ready for everything to be over with so I can go back home. To my mom, my house, and my cat.
“Seeing as we gotta take the backway, and we’re in this piece of shit, who knows?” He stills, catching my attention. “Just so you know, the only reason I didn’t kill that couple and take their car…was for you.”
My nostrils flare, as I take a shallow breath in, my eyes never leaving his. Who the hell is this guy, and why do I love him again? “I would have killed them any other day, but whether you realize it or not, you’re changing the way I see things.”
Who the hell is this guy, and why do I love him again?
My mouth opens, my mind racing with thoughts so fast I can’t grab one to reply back with so I turn and look out the window.
Maybe there’s hope for us after all…