Page 32 of Reclaiming Adelaide

He sighed as I shut the door, his shoulders sagging. I stepped back as his door opened, and he made his way around the car, his gaze fixed on the blade angled at him. “Really?” He pointed to the offending weapon.

“Just let me go.” I bit back the never-ending tears burning my eyes. “I don’t want them to kill you, too.”

“They may kill me,” he said, stepping forward. “But you know who won’t?”

I swiped the blade in front of me. “Who?”

“Stupid little girls who think they can pull a knife on me.” He held out his hand as he advanced on me, forcing me back toward the curb. “Give me the knife, Adelaide.”

Another strategic cut into my beating heart. Tears blurred my vision before rolling down my cheek. He might as well have left me to them. What purpose did he have in saving me? Why was he here right now if he held nothing but disdain for me? “Please back up.” I swung the knife side-to-side. “Don’t make me hurt you, Jake. I love you too much.”

“You love me?” he asked, his feet planted on the ground. “Then give me the knife, Adelaide.”

Taking another step back, I shook my head. “You don’t get to save me, Jake. You can’t use my feelings for you and twist them against me.”

I shouldn’t have divulged my fucked up feelings, but I thought maybe he’d understand if I did this out of love for him, he’d let me go. He’d let me put distance between us to keep him safe. Despite everything he’d said to me, despite the look in his eye when he nearly choked the life from me, I’d still chosen to protect him.

What a maddening epiphany.

“Give. Me. The. Fucking. Knife. Adelaide,” he said through gritted teeth.

“I can’t.”

“You can. Now stop playing games.” He advanced, resuming the chase, and I stepped back, my heel kicking the curb behind me.

His car dipped from view as I went hurtling toward the ground.

Jake reached out, his hand gripping the knife’s sharp blade, his fingers grazing my hand. “God dammit,” he hissed as the blade slipped through his palm.

My ass hit the cement with a pained thud.

Jake bounced back, holding his hand against his thigh as his palm turned red.

The blood rushed from my face as sanguine fluid slipped to the ground. “I’m sorry,” I said, gasping, my mouth gaping at the sight.

He growled and lunged forward, plucking the knife from my fist with his bleeding hand, then hauled me up from the ground as though I were a mere child.

My ribs worked double time as my chest throbbed violently. “I-I…” I shook my head. “I didn’t want to hurt you. I swear.”

He closed the knife, tucking the blade into the metal, and pocketed it. “A little late for that, don’t you think?” Jake pulled me back to his car, my escape attempt foiled by carelessness.

He tossed me inside again and buckled me in, assuring an extra step if I tried to escape again, then slammed the door shut. Jake rushed to his trunk and rummaged around inside before hurling it shut. When he slipped into the driver’s seat, he tossed a first aid kit on the console and wrapped his hand in a cloth, disrupting the deluge of blood spilling down to the tips of his fingers.

My head wobbled as the car spun all around me, sending my stomach on a tilt-a-whirl along with it. I tipped my head back and fanned my face, beckoning for a reprieve. “I think I’m going to pass out.”

“Put your head between your knees.”

I fanned harder against the stagnant air. “What?” I said breathlessly. “How will that help?”

He squeezed the towel around his hand and opened the first aid kit. “It pushes blood into the brain and prevents passing out,” he said, ripping a piece of tape with his teeth and securing it around his hand. “If you’re gonna puke, turn your head sideways, so you don’t aspirate.”

“Why do you care?”

I whimpered, tucking my head down as he said, “I don’t.”

He closed the box and tossed it into the backseat.

His admission singed my heart strings until it floated freely in my chest, knocking around forcibly against my ribs.

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