Page 23 of Red Flag Bull

“You don’t need something stronger?” she asks with a watery smile.

“I’m driving.”

She closes her eyes in a pained wince and nods. “I remember the rules. It was a stupid thing to say. I’m stupid. I didn’t mean…” She shakes her head, and her chin trembles. Her eyes dart around the room, as if she’s expecting an attack from any direction, and she looks more overwhelmed with every second that passes. She tugs at the collar of my leather jacket and gulps down air. “Is it hot in here? It’s loud. I can’t think straight.”

“Take off the jacket if you’re hot.”

She stills. Slowly, her fingers release the leather, and she lifts her chin, as she strokes a hand down the front of the jacket. “I’d rather not. If that’s okay with you?”

Interesting. Instead of trying to seduce me with her curves, she’d rather keep them under cover. “Suit yourself,” I reply with a shrug. “What do you want to drink?”

She shifts her gaze to the rows of cheap liquor behind the bar and breathes a little faster. “Water,” she blurts out, like she’s in an argument with me.

“Water?” I ask.

The bartender gives her a strange look, and I narrow my eyes and look her over again. “You sure?”

She nods. “Yes. Please.” She’s more nervous than ever, and I get a sinking sensation in the pit of my stomach.

“How long have you been sober?” I ask.

“Two years and three weeks,” she whispers, wiping at the beads of perspiration that have gathered on her forehead.

I took a suicidal alcoholic to a bar. What a fucking asshole. If I was paying closer attention, I might have picked up on it the moment we walked in here, but I’ve been trying not to look at her. Don’t want to fall under her spell again.

I throw ten bucks on the counter, grab her hand, and pull her back outside. I get on my bike, start the engine, and toss her my helmet. “Get on the fucking bike, Amanda.”

She stands on the curb and pulls the helmet on, hands shaking as she tightens the strap. She stands there a moment before she walks over to climb on, and I can tell she’s crying when she sits up behind me. She’s working so hard to keep quiet that the tension is rolling off her. I can practically feel the sobs she’s suppressing, through the bike.

It’s hard not to stop everything, pull her into my arms, and let her know that — no matter what she’s done or how angry I feel — I could never leave her to suffer.

I check that she’s holding onto the back grip and try not to mourn the memory of her small frame snuggled against my back, as I head for home. I’ll feed her there. Give her a safe place to sleep that’s not the cold, wet ground under a fucking shrub.

And in the morning, when she’s feeling stronger, I’ll make her talk.

10

MANDI

I follow Jason inside a large, beautifully decorated home. He takes me down the main hall, past four bedrooms, a living room and a library, and into a large country-style kitchen.

He points to a stool at his counter, and I sit while he makes a simple grilled-cheese sandwich. He slides it in front of me, and supervises me while I eat it.

It tastes so good, he must have used some exotic cheese or something. I look around as I devour it. “You have a beautiful home,” I say, covering my mouth, because I forgot to swallow first. “You’ve done well for yourself.”

He sets a glass of water and a napkin next to me. “Is that why you’re here?”

His sharp tone makes me lower my last crust to the plate. “No,” I squeak.

He grunts, turns his back to me, and starts assembling another sandwich to grill.

“Is that what you think?” I ask, insulted.

He’s quiet a long time, and his movements are jerky when he flips the sizzling sandwich. “I don’t know what to think,” he says eventually, when he slides it onto my plate from his pan.

I move it away. “Thank you, but I’m not hungry.”

“Yes, you are,” he growls, as he sweeps crumbs into his palm. “You ate your crusts.” He gestures at the tiny piece of the last sandwich I left uneaten. “You never eat your crusts. You’re too good for crusts. If you eat them, you’re starving, so have another fucking sandwich.” He throws the crumbs into the sink and storms out of the room.

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