“Yes,” he finally says. “There.”
I angle my neck to see a shopping complex that abuts the creek, a strip of multicolored townhomes renovated into boutique shops. “I don’t think we’ll get the best customer service. I’m sure our faces are plastered all over the news by now.”
He smirks down at me as he treks up the embankment. “Don’t worry,” he says. He releases a low groan as he sets me down. “Stay here.”
As if I could escape in my current state. Liquid fire singes my veins, threading every muscle. Nausea twists my stomach. Even so, I’m moments away from forcing myself upright when the rumble of an engine turning over cuts through the night.
Grayson is stealing a car. I hate the relief that washes over me. But I remind myself he’s not doing so for me—this is part of his plan, the only way he’ll escape the state within his calculated timeframe.
I let my eyes fall closed and count to ten.
I block out the pain, my reckless desire for Grayson, and force myself to focus on the aftermath. When we’re no longer running, what happens then? If I couldn’t walk away from him on a rooftop with the world closing in, how will I be strong enough to deny him anything?
In every dysfunctional relationship, there’s always one partner who’s codependent, who surrenders their control to the other. I need to decide right now who that will be: me or him.
“Let’s go.”
Grayson’s strong arms surround me, and I’m again swept up, being carried toward a destination only he knows. The passenger door of an outdated Ford Taurus hangs ajar, the engine idling. He places me inside, leaning over to buckle my seatbelt.
The chilly night envelops us, providing enough darkness to conceal our escape, and I relent to this sparse comfort. Right now, we’re alone, and I’m so tired of fighting...everything.
My eyes shut, and sleep pulls me under.
An intense spike of pain rouses me awake.
I try to reach for my back, but my arm catches. A prickling sensation bites into my hand and I groan, turning my head to find my wrists cuffed to the door handle.
Panic floods my system as I yank at the restraint.
For a brief moment, I fear we’ve been caught—until I realize Grayson is behind the wheel, driving.
As grogginess lifts and my head clears further, I take stock of my surroundings. It’s still night, headlights illuminating the grimy windshield.
“Why am I handcuffed?” I demand. “Where did you even get them?”
Keeping his gaze ahead, he says, “We’re almost there.”
I twist in the seat, trying to face him. “That’s not what I asked. Why am I restrained, and where isthere?”
He glances my way and tugs at his belt—the officer’s belt he stole. Then he reaches between the console and grabs a bottled water. “Here, drink this.”
With a frustrated sigh, I jerk at the cuffs until my wrists are scraped and stinging.
Grayson looks over and cranes an eyebrow. “Finished?”
“Oh, fuck you,” I seethe.
He still holds the water outstretched, and suddenly thirst grips my throat. I wriggle my fingers, and he removes the cap, placing the bottle in my hand. I tip it to my mouth and guzzle. When I’m done, he sets the water in the cup holder.
“You said you’d release me at any point,” I say.
“I never said that.” He glances over, a smug smile pulling at his mouth. “I said I would release you afterward, and I will. But we have a lot to do first.”
“I’m not your hostage, Grayson.”
“No,” he says, his voice a rough tease, “you’re a hostile prisoner of your own making. Once you’ve freed yourself of that, you can go. But you have to pass your test first.”
My breathing shallows. The way he saystestices my blood. “I won’t run,” I say, trying to reason. “I made a choice to be here.”
