I take him in. He’s tense, like a coiled spring. There are dark bags under his eyes. We drove straight from the motel where he found me to Vegas, stopping only twice to use the bathroom and get some food. I slept for a few hours here and there, but he’s been up for at least two days.
I don’t know how he’s still functioning.
A tinge of concern for him appears in the back of my head, and it makes me so angry that I bite down on my tongue hard enough to make it bleed.
What is wrong with me? I shouldn’t care if he lives or dies given what I know about him now.
And yet you do.
He takes a bottle of water out of one of the plastic bags. “Turn this way and scoot to the edge of your seat. I need to clean the scrape on your knee.”
“Just give it to me. I can do it.” I try to take the bottle, but he pulls it out of my reach.
“I’ll do it,” he says, his eyes glued to the wound.
“Why?” I demand.
His jaw tenses, and he won’t look at me. “I’m going to get us a room for the night. We both need to get some sleep before we drive to New York.”
The promise of a bed makes the fight go out of me, and I shift in my seat like he asked. He tips the bottle, pouring the water over the bloody scrape. I hiss at the sting.
He winces. “I’m sorry. I know it hurts. I’ll be quick.”
“Why are you still acting like you care? Your ruse is up. You don’t need to pretend anymore.”
He puts the water down, rips open an antiseptic wipe, and gently cleans the wound. “I never pretended to care about you,” he says quietly.
Lies.
A tear slips down my cheek. All my life, I’ve been surrounded by liars. By people who have let me down.
I thought he was different.
But he’s just like the rest.
CHAPTER 2
NERO
Blake and I cross into Arizona and pull up at a place called the Beaver Trail Motel. When you’re running on fumes, even a dump with a name like that starts to look hospitable.
One glance at the map tells me what I already knew—we’re in the middle of fucking nowhere, surrounded by nothing but miles of empty desert.
I’d prefer to keep pushing on to get to New York sooner rather than later, but I’m too damn exhausted to trust myself behind the wheel. The last thing I need is to have a car accident.
I’ve put Blake in enough danger as it is.
Her nostrils flare as I go through the routine of securing her wrist to the door handle. “Is this necessary? We’re in the middle of nowhere.”
She’s right, but I’m not taking any chances after her last escape attempt.
“I’ll be right back,” I say.
She doesn’t answer.
Guilt throbs inside my chest as I walk into the brightly lit reception area. I’m acting like I’ve got my shit together because I have to get Blake to safety, but I’ve never felt worse in my entire life.
I was so caught up in finding her and getting her away from Lyle that I didn’t mentally prepare myself for what would happen afterward.
