Page 5 of Captive Heart

I look up at her, willing my heartbeat to slow down. “I’m fine.”

She gives me a pointed look. “Get in my fucking car, honey. You can’t be walking anywhere dressed like that.”

I look down at my lacy bra and the barely-there shorts I’m wearing. She’s absolutely right. Swallowing, I nod and follow her to her car.

Judging by her rusting Chevy Malibu, you would never guess that Jazmine is one of the more popular entertainers at The Pink Pony. As I climb in and buckle my seatbelt, I am sad to realize that it’s probably the last time I’ll get a ride home from her.

She sucks in a deep breath and starts the car, pulling it slowly out of the parking lot. I watch her carefully. There is a ton of glitter on her face, and it makes her dark skin seem to glow for a moment as we pass into the dark country roads.

Eyeing me, Jazmine gives me a small smile.

“You really gave Mike the business.” Her lips twitch. “That’s good, honey. I’ve seen a lot of girls put up with his shit. The ones that do never seem to stay at the Pony for long.”

Abrupt laughter bubbles up from deep inside me. “He cornered me. I had no choice.”

“Yeah, well. Maybe he’ll think twice before he backs some other bitch up in a corner.” Her laughter is somehow both mean and melodic at once.

“I still have rent to pay. Even out here in Cameron Parish, you still gotta pay the bills every month.” I push out all the air from my lungs and scrunch up my face. “I’m going to have to find a new job, I guess.”

She shrugs one shoulder. For a half minute, silence stretches between us. I pick at my spandex booty shorts.

Mostly, I’m thinking about how this is the third job I’ve been fired from in the last two years. This town is tiny so if I’m not careful, I’m going to run out of places to work soon.

“You know, I came here to escape my ex-husband. He was a real mean son of a bitch. Especially when he was drinking.” Jazmine looks straight ahead, pursing her lips. “He was almost always drunk by noon.”

I blink, looking at Jazmine. My heartbeat, which has only just returned to normal, takes off at a gallop again. My mouth goes dry.

What does Jazmine know? Is it possible that Constantine somehow got to her?

My whole body begins to tremble.

“Err…” I stammer. “That’s good. That you escaped him, I mean. I’m not sure what that has to do with me though.”

The lie feels like sandpaper on my tongue.

“Relax. I can see you tensing up.” Jazmine frowns, looking away out the window. “I’m just telling you why I’m here. When I first got to this town, I jumped every damn time anyone raised their voice. I shook any time that I smelled gin.” She looks down her nose at me. “My ex liked gin.” She shakes her head and purses her lips. “And most importantly, if a man laid his hands on me, if I thought a stranger was going to hurt me… I went nuts. Scratching at his face, kneeing him in his balls… anything to get away.”

Perspiration breaks out across my forehead. I can barely breathe, much less make eye contact. What if I say the wrong thing and Jazmine somehow finds out that I’m on the run from my ex?

Worse, what if she digs a little bit deeper and finds out that I am wanted for questioning in a murder?

She pulls the car up outside of my house, looking me up and down. “I see you, sis. That’s all I’m trying to say. You didn’t say anything. I’m not asking you to either. But I just want you to realize that you can reach out to me if you need to. You hear me?”

I nod stiffly, reaching for the door handle. “Uh huh. Thanks.”

I open the door, starting to get out. Jazmine reaches her hand across the seat, tapping the upholstery by my thigh. “Whoever you’re running from? You’re safe here in Cameron. Ain’t nobody looking for nobody. And if you ever feel like talking, I’m here.”

I pause, wavering for just a moment. On one hand, I want badly to grab the olive branch that she’s clearly extending to me.

Her story might even be every bit as real as mine.

But in the next second, I know that it would be stupid of me to tell her anything. It’s just too risky to tell anybody anything about my past.

So I offer her a fleeting smile. “Thanks, Jaz. See you around. Okay?”

She nods, her smile a little sad. “Be safe, Cora.”

I climb out of the car and slam the door. The wind coming off the beach is hot and stale as I approach my little house. One teeny tiny story of dingy white clapboard and a metal door that’s long ago rusted from the salty air. This place sat empty for years before I rented it under my brand new assumed name. It has dark water marks all over the outside, signs of hurricanes past. Hey, at least it sits right on the beach.

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