Page 53 of Killing Emma

I don’t show it externally, but it feels like I’m finding his texts to Melanie all over again, and I don’t want Luca to know how bad it hurts. I don’t love Jared, but it doesn’t change the shock of what happened—and maybe that’s why I don’t want him to die yet.

Maybe I do want to rub myself in his face and make him live a long, pathetic life knowing that he failed… Or maybe I want him to die at the hands of the man who kidnapped me.

But I want to make the decision. When I’m ready.

“So, not hungry?” Luca says when I realize how lost I am in my own thoughts.

“No,” I repeat myself. “Sorry. It’s just been a long day.” The words sound just like the ones I used to tell Jared when he’d get home, and I’d be lost in my grief.

But this is different.

I’m not grieving, I’m just… processing the last twelve hours.

Luca crosses the kitchen to me, and I instinctively step away from him—just like I did when he first approached me afterward. I brace for a negative reaction, but his expression doesn’t change. It doesn’t fall with disappointment.

“I have an idea,” he says, his voice soft. “Come on.” He doesn’t reach for my hand, but turns away, heading across the kitchen to the other door, which I’ve learned is the garage.

“You said we have to lay low,” I say carefully, as I step into the three-car area.

“I know.” Luca smashes the opener, the early morning sun peeking through as it opens. There’s a black SUV and a Ducati motorcycle parked there. Jared always said he was going to ride a motorcycle, but he never had the balls.

Just like he didn’t have the balls to kill me himself.

“Here,” Luca retrieves a black full-faced helmet hanging on the wall. “Put this on.”

“Where are we going?”

“You and your questions.” He eyes me as I take it from him. “Just trust me on this.”

“Says the man who tried to kill me,” I joke, but Luca’s frown only deepens. I fumble with the chin strap and then freeze as Luca is suddenly standing behind me, his fingers in my hair. Excitement, fear, and… confusion thrum through me. “What’re you doing?”

“Braiding your hair,” he answers flatly. “It’ll keep it from getting too windblown.” I stand there, somewhat awestruck as he finishes. I didn’t even know the man had a hair-tie, let alone the ability to braid.

And the thought makes me wonder who came before me.

“Where’d you learn to braid hair?” I ask as he walks back to the bike and leans over it, turning the ignition on.

“Group home when I was a kid—before all this. I haven’t since then, and you can tell,” he chuckles. “So maybe avoid mirrors until we get back.”

I run my fingers over it. “It feels fine to me.”

“Because it is fine.” He shoves his own full-faced helmet over his head and swings his leg over the bike. “Come here.”

I hesitate for a couple of beats, but then slide the helmet he gave me over my head. He grabs my hand when I’m in reach and then tightens the chin strap and snaps it in place. The warmth of his fingers and the closeness of him sends a shiver down my spine.

Maybe I’m not ruined.

He pats the seat behind him and then starts the motor. My heart skips a beat as I climb onto the back, sliding up against him. I wrap my arms around his torso, and he wastes no time taking off from the garage.

I turn my head to look behind us, and see the door is closing. Luca navigates the driveway to the gate, and as he pulls out, I peer around, taking in the scenery. It’s clearly secluded, which makes me wonder where the hell we are, but as he takes a left and zips down the road, more and more houses come into view. But it’s the rolling mountainous hills, the thick trees, and the fresh air that makes breathing suddenly a little easier.

Where are we?

Luca continues to navigate the roads, and I recognize something about the place. I know we’re in the southern half of California—somewhere just north of Los Angeles if I had to guess. However, I don’t nitpick past that and choose to close my eyes, resting my head against him. His hand slides down my thigh, gripping my leg as we cruise at highway speeds.

My body relaxes against him, and the chaos of the day slips away. I don’t think about Manny or all the blood—or the strange friend, Jude, who looked at me like I was an alien. I just breathe, and when I do finally choose to see where we are, I catch sight of the Pacific Ocean, rolling and crashing into the beach under overcast skies.

I stare out across the waves, realizing I have a beach house probably only fifteen minutes from where we are. How long have we been riding? I know the place doesn’t have cameras. We could stop there. I hadn’t been in years, and it was even a place Jared had never touched.

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