Page 10 of Runaway Hearts: Seduced by Danger

I try to focus on driving, but the thoughts of this stranger consume my mind. Listening to Michael Jackson’s best hits, I yelp when a dull sound from the right wheel snaps me out of “Thriller.”

“What was that?” Stranger Danger asks, gasping.

“The safety bands. I’m sorry.”

“What?”

“It’s the safety strips on the road to warn people they have exited the lines. I’m sorry; I rarely go out of line. Did I scare you?”

He chuckles, making his Adam’s apple pop. “You’ll need more than that to scare me.” A condescending gleam lights up his sunrise eyes.

Ah, I bet I can.

“Did you walk for long?” I ask.

The question makes him shove away any emotions I might see in his gaze. “I walked for thirty minutes.”

I frown. The biggest city around here, Winnipeg, is at least two hours away, and that man doesn’t look like a small-town citizen. “Are you from Palco Springs?” I ask, my brows furrowed as the hitchhiker’s response lacks the precision I’m hoping for.

“No, I’ve been traveling for a few days.”

Inappropriate thoughts pop into my mind as we drive, and I can’t push them all away.

Does he have any other tattoos... elsewhere?

I salivate at the thought, but I ask nothing else. Maybe it’s because of his intimidating disposition or the fire in his eyes when they’re set on me. I can’t believe I’ve gotten myself into this position. I intended to go to Nay to leave my problems behind, but I picked up a hitchhiker instead. Why am I doing something so foolish?

Because I can’t fight my need to help. Or because my mind goes into the dirtiest places when I look at him.

“Do you have children?” he asks.

My breath gets caught in my throat, and I cough. “What?”

“I’ll take that as a no. A boyfriend?”

I snort and laugh, thinking of Eric—a nervous, painful, weak laugh. I don’t have to spill my guts, though. “No,” I let out, wondering if I was about to get murdered by a sexy man.

“That’s hard to understand.” His hoarse voice is just a whisper, running through my ears and enveloping my heart in a gentle caress.

“I beg your pardon?” I mutter.

“You’re young; you have…”

“Stop!” Cutting people off midsentence is rude, but I can’t bear the thought of discussing my loneliness. It’s a conversation I can’t bring myself to have. It will only make me suffer, and his remark makes a swarm of ants crawl in my fingers.

“I may be a psychopath who killed her last conquest to escape the police,” I quip.

His vivid gaze hooks onto my right cheek, commanding me to look at him. “Are you?” he asks, like it makes actual sense. Then his eyes narrow, and his lower lip softens. “It’s not something to say when you pick up a hitchhiker.”

I know.“Sorry.”

I scroll through my music library to distract myself and choose an old anime soundtrack. Memories of watching these shows with Uncle Corey flood my mind, transporting me back to my teenage years when I spent hours engrossed in anime and manga books. The stories all blur together in my head, creating a vibrant world where I lose myself and breathe freely, where even villains live rent-free, and everything is possible.

“Anime fan?” he asks, breaking the brief silence as my fingers tap to the soundtrack’s beat.

I nod, trying to keep my focus on the road. “Yeah, I grew up watching some with my uncle. Old times.”

He scoffs. “Funny coincidence. I’m half Japanese myself.”

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