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“Thanks, man.” I walk into the spare bedroom and gently lay her down on the bed, brushing the golden locks of hair off her forehead, taking a moment to look her over. Seems like that’s all I’ve been doing lately, laying her down on beds, and mending the broken pieces. I shake my head, poor thing. Her breathing seems fine, and the swelling is no more than usual. I grab an extra blanket from the closet, shake it out, and lay it over her, then bend down to rest my lips against her forehead. “Goodnight sweetheart.”
When I step into the living room, Stryker has a beer already cracked open and waiting for me on the coffee table. I think I’m in heaven. I grab the cold brew and let the cool fizz soothe my dry throat and quench my thirst.
“First thing on the agenda,” Stryker starts, already having the shit out of the medical bag laid out before him, placing them in order, “I need to label these for you.”
Swallowing another sip of beer, I set the bottle down. “What? Not gonna give me any shit first? Like, ‘What the hell are you into this time, Travis?’”
“Nah, I know you’re in some shit, Trav,” he pauses to eye me down and lifts a brow, “especially when I see you’ve rescued a damsel in distress. I’m more worried about that scenario than I am about any bad asses coming after you. I know you can handle a gun; however, I’m not sure you can handle a woman.”
“Yeah, well, the jury is still out on that one. She may not want me rescuing her.”
“It’ll work out, Trav. You just keep working that charming smile and those special, manly maneuvers, and she’ll be eating out of your hand in no time.”
I ignore his comment, because I know just how much I’ve been manipulating her, and I’m a bastard for it. “Let’s go over this medicine, create a schedule for her, and then we can get some shuteye.”
Stryker nods his head. “No problem. Tomorrow will be a brighter day; you’ll see.”
I let out a deep sigh and hope to hell he’s right. I pray I know what I’m doing. I always know what I’m doing, and I always stay ten steps ahead of everyone else, so why does this feel like I’m in uncharted territory? Possibly because there’s another person’s life involved with mine now, adding a new level of complexity to the mix.
I can only hope I was truly perceiving her to have the same kind of feelings and emotions for me that I was for her when we were at the facility. I’ve taken a big gamble here in presuming so, a damn big gamble. Everything I’ve ever worked for is hanging precariously by a thin thread, and I pray to God, she doesn’t try to snip it. Otherwise, it may very well be more than just she and I falling to our demise. Either way, my gut instincts tell me getting her out from under Nick was the right thing to do. There is something bigger here; murky waters are surrounding her, and I can’t see myself letting her go anytime soon, if ever.
~Jules~
I stretch my sore, and tired limbs as I slowly come awake. I feel as if I’ve been beaten from head to toe with a pair of nunchucks. My eyes flutter open, and then my brows draw together in confusion as I look around at my surroundings. I rub my bleary eyes, trying to wake up and clear my vision. Natural sunlight filters into the room behind drawn curtains, and I tilt my head to the side as I listen to a variety of birds chirping and singing a light and airy melody outside.
Where the heck am I? Everything seems hazy, and I feel like I’ve been out of it for days. Judging from my surroundings, however, I believe I’m in a cabin of sorts. Large logs make up one wall, and all the furniture is rustic. It’s not an old and dilapidated type of rustic, but a well-planned kind of rustic, one an interior designer would create. Its designer meant for it to look pastoral, but it’s nice, something one would find in a featured house magazine. I look down and notice I’m lying in a queen-sized bed with an intricately made quilt as it showcases a complex design, hosting a multitude of colors. Who put me here, or better yet, how did I get here?
A low, soft snore catches my attention. I turn my head toward the sound to find Travis slumped down in an overstuffed chair, sleeping at the far side of the room. I’m reminded of the crazy day we had yesterday, and why I’m sore. Now that he’s out, I take a moment to gaze over his physique. I can ogle him without embarrassing myself. I shake my head; how did I get so lucky to snag this handsome man? I mean, he’s so breathtakingly gorgeous and masculine; I wonder what he could possibly see in me. I’m sure he could have any dream model of his choice, especially one who’s not battered, bruised, wrapped in bandages, and in danger. Therein lies another question altogether. Why would he want to risk his own safety to help me?
