I opened my mouth. Closed it. Then opened it again. "Okay, no, we're circling back to 'abandoning me in a motel' because I feel like that's wildly being under appreciated."
Buck's laugh rumbled low and unexpectedly cut me off mid rant. And annoyingly it helped. Even if it was just a little.
We drove in silence for a while after that. It was the kind of quiet that let your brain keep talking even when you wish it wouldn't. By the time the gas station came into view I was emotionally exhausted from going over everything that happened in the last twenty four hours.
Which felt unfair, considering I had felt like I wasthrivinglike just three hours ago when I was on my way to my Daddy.
Well, the man I thought would be my Daddy.
Nope. Not going there.
"Do you want anything?" Buck asked, indicating the gas station.
And I did.
I wanted enough chocolate to make myself sick, and a slushie big enough to drown in.
"Please," I muttered, refusing to think of the last time I found myself in a gas station with a big, burly man who drove a too-big truck. "I'm gonna hit the bathroom first," I added, already unbuckling as he pulled to a stop.
I made a beeline for the bathroom, pushing the door open with my shoulder.
Empty. Goody.
I stepped inside, letting the door swing shut behind me, and finally—finally—let my shoulders drop.
“Okay,” I murmured to my reflection, gripping the edge of the sink. “We’re fine. We’re hot. We’re—”
The door creaked.
I frowned, glancing up.
“I thought this was a one-person-at-a—”
Something cold and sharp pressed against my side.
My breath hitched.
“Don’t,” a voice said quietly behind me. “Not a sound.”
Well.
That was new.
My heart slammed against my ribs, every instinct I’d been aggressively ignoring suddenly screaming at full volume.
Slowly, carefully, I lifted my hands.
“Okay,” I said, because apparently my coping mechanism in life-threatening situations was stilltalking. “So this is already not my favorite gas station experience, and I once got food poisoning in—”
“Turn around.”
Right. Yeah. Probably a bad time for jokes. I swallowed hard and turned around as ordered.
He was tall, which I immediately hated for some reason, and the stubble on his jaw looked like it would win in a fight with a chainsaw. He grinned at me. His teeth were beautifully white and dangerously pointy. The smell of something chemical clung to his jacket. I couldn't see the blade, but I didn't doubt it was there, pressed against my ribs just under the hem of my shirt.
“Hey, friend,” I said, raising my hands a little higher and turning my head so he could see my profile. “Look, I really do need to pee, but I can totally come back in like, five minutes if—”
He pressed the blade harder and the grin vanished. “You’re coming with me.”
