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“I was so worried you weren’t gonna come back,” I stutter through sobs. “They were sent here to kill me. I heard it through the radio.”
“You okay?” he pulls away from me so he can check me over again. Something is comforting in the way he does it, concern looks frightfully good on him.
“I’m fine but, you… you’re not. You’re bleeding.” I notice the wound just above his hip.
“It’s fine, just a scratch. We haven’t got much time.”
He bends down to one of the bodies and pulls the gun from the man’s belt.
“Government issue,” he talks to himself, pulling out the bottom of it and then snapping it back in place. He puts it on the table, then begins feeling around inside the man’s pockets. “CIA agent Darren Briggs.” He looks up at me. “Now, seeing as it’s the good guys that are holding the knives to your throat, sweetheart, I think It’s about time you told me everything you know.”
“I can’t, Brax, honestly I don’t know anything,” I tell him truthfully, and he shakes his head and barges past me, his fists clenched at his sides. I hear him charge up the stairs, returning to the kitchen just moments later with a cell phone pressed to his ear.
“Jessie, it’s me, we need to talk… Privately… Yeah, well considering someone’s already found us I think it’s a bit late for that.” Brax places two guns and what looks like official badges on the table, then moves into the bathroom, coming back with another gun and badge. He presses the phone against his shoulder, freeing up his hands to feel down the bodies on the kitchen floor until they are stripped of weapons and wallets.
“Get your old lady to work, I need her to run these IDs,” he says, lifting up the badges and reading one of the names.
“CIA agent Darren Briggs… Yeah, Jess, ya heard right, CI-mother-fucking-A…” he looks at me coldly as he listens to the person on the end of the phone. “I don’t know what Prez has told ya, but I’ve got a girl with me, I’m supposed to be holding her until I hear from him…” More silence follows his words and I feel my whole body shaking.
“I got that shit covered, Jess, I’ll take her somewhere I can guarantee she won’t be found, somewhere you fuckers don’t even know about, and considering this has rat written all over it, I suggest we keep it that way for now.” He looks around the room and grabs his black hoodie off one of the chairs, tossing it at me then tipping his chin as a signal for me to put it on. “I’ll be in touch in a few days, and whatever Prez has got planned, you tell him to hurry it the fuck up. This bitch is doing my head in.” He looks right at me as he says that, and for some pathetic reason, it makes my heart take a plunge.
Panic had me forgetting for a moment that Brax may be the good guy among these men who just tried to kill me, but he’s still the Dirty Soul that took me from my home without knowing a reason.
“I’ll send you some snaps of the badges so Maddy can get to work, and you best send Grimm out here to clean up this mess.” He pauses to listen to whatever is being said on the other end of the phone.
“Tell him, four. Two snapped necks, a knife in the back, and a real messy shower situation…” He hangs up without saying goodbye, seeming completely unfazed by the scene around us.
Using his phone, he takes pictures of the IDs that are laid out on the table, before lifting up his duffel bag from the corner of the room and pushing everything inside it. He flings it over his shoulder, then places one foot on the dead man’s back, using it as leverage to pull the knife out of his back. I watch him wipe the blade clean on the man’s bullet-proof vest before he reaches out for my hand.
“Where are we going?” I ask him as he drags me out of the house. He ignores my question, making a loud whistle when we reach the truck. Duke comes trotting out behind us and jumps up onto the bench seat when Brax opens the door.
“Can you drive stick?” he asks.
“I can actually, why?”
“Good…” he tosses me the keys. “’Cause you’re driving.” Holding on to the roof of the truck, he pulls himself inside, and I race around to get in the driver’s seat.
I’m in no fit state to drive but I have little choice. My shaky fingers manage to get the keys in the ignition and I pull off, heading up the long track. Brax reaches into his duffel bag and his blood-stained hand slams one of the guns on my lap.
“We run into trouble, you shoot first and ask questions later,” he tells me.
“And how do you know I’m not gonna shoot you?” I ask, and despite being in obvious pain, Brax manages to laugh, it’s the first time I’ve got a glimpse of happy outta him and it’s kinda beautiful.
“Because even you ain't that stupid,” he says, reaching into the glove box and pulling out a first aid box and a bottle of liquor. He snaps the top off the bottle and takes a long swig, then hissing through his teeth he pours some of the liquid directly over his wound. I try to focus on the track that leads us on to road property, but I can’t stop watching him.
“Fuck,” he curses, knocking back another mouthful. “Take a left up here,” he directs me, at the same time as he takes some medical tape from the first aid bag, and rips it into strips with his teeth. He wraps himself up, best he can, managing to stop the bleeding.
“I think you should get that looked at,” I suggest, my eyes darting between him and the road.
“I told you, it’s fine,” he growls, but the way he clutches at his side and pushes his head back into the seat tells me differently.
“There’s a motel, about two hours from here. We can rest up there,” he instructs me through gritted teeth.
“Who were those men, why would the CIA want to hurt me, Brax?” I need answers, tonight I came close to dying. I’d like to at least know why.
“I don’t know, Gracie, but we’re sure as hell gonna find out,” he promises.
Gracie? He’s never called me that before. My dad sometimes called me that when I was younger, and hearing it puts a warm feeling in my chest, which slightly dilutes some of the fear.
