Page 15 of The Wrong Drive

Nodding to myself at that scenario, I sling my bag over my shoulder and take a deep breath. Fear and apprehension pulse through my veins as I emerge from the bathroom, stepping intothe dark bedroom. He’s not there, and for some reason, that’s all the more unnerving. I don’t know what I’m supposed to do.

I just wish I wouldn’t have come here at all.But there’s no point in dwelling on the fucking past and my stupid decisions. I’d thought all this time that Adam and I’s holiday getaway might be an actual fix. It was a joke, and really, maybe I knew it all along.

My bare feet creak across the floors as I start down the hallway. I squint in the dim light. My stomach lurches violently as I remember the man seeing me naked through the glass.

Would he hurt me? Well, I mean, beyond shooting my hand and knocking me unconscious.

A chill rolls down my spine, and I continue forward. Lingering in the hallway seems dangerous—like he might jump from the shadows and grab me. I step into the living room, passing what I assume is the back door. The glass is covered with a curtain. All the windows have large blackout curtains.Maybe he’s just paranoid. Or fucking psychotic.

Yeah, I’m going with the latter.

“I’m making dinner.” A voice startles me, and I jump sideways, slamming my shoulder into the wall. He doesn’t react to my jerky movement, and his stone-cold demeanor is fucking terrifying.

“I have the granola bars.” I nod to my bag. “I don’t want to impose. Actually,” I pause, meeting his deep, dark brown eyes. “I was thinking if you have a spare room, I can just stay there. You’ll never know I’m here, then when things clear up, I’ll be out of your hair. Give me a shovel and I’ll dig my way out.” I let out a stilted laugh, and he, once again, doesn’t react in his facial expression.

“Mm,” he grunts. “You can eat dinner.”

I hesitate, tempted to repeat myself but hold off. “Okay. Can I put my things somewhere?”

He nods to the place by the door. “Back where I set them.”

“But it’s blocking the door,” I reason. “I can put them in a spare?—”

“I don’t have a spare room for your use,” he snaps, cutting me off. “Set the bag by the door.” His harsh tone silences me, and I merely nod, ducking away and walking past him.

I set my duffle back on top of my hard suitcase and drop my shoulders as I push the bags against the outer wall. He’s forcing me to be in his sight. All the fucking time. I glance back over my shoulder, noticing the kitchen light is on with a pan on the stove. It gives me a better view of him, and I see his muscular form clad in a worn out henley and black sweats. His physique is attractive, and his dark hair is clean cut, longer on the top with a fade. So, he might be psychotic, but at least he cuts his hair?

He turns to me, and I drop my gaze away. “I don’t have a lot of variety.”

I run my tongue over my bottom lip, forcing myself to meet his eyes. “That’s okay,” I say, assuming he’s talking about food. His expression shifts slightly, and I catch my breath at thealmostsoftness in his gaze. He appears embarrassed or…guilty?

Regardless, it draws out his handsome features. A strong nose and jawline. Deeper set eyes and dark brows. His hair has a tinge of gray, and I wonder how much older than me he is. Notthatmuch. It’s then I notice the ink, scrawled up to his chin. I hadn’t seen it in the shadows. Depictions of violence areeverywhereon his skin. I swallow hard, hating how it goes straight to my core.

“You can sit at the table while I finish,” he gestures to a small round breakfast table tucked off the kitchen by windows with more curtains covering them. There are two chairs, and I opt for the one that faces him. I run my fingertips across the smooth dark grain as I try to keep my breaths steady, my heart racing.I’m going to give myself a fucking heart attack if I can’t get control of it.

He returns to the stove and throws two steaks into the pan. He then grabs another pan and a sealed bag from the freezer. I watch him in the plain light, wondering how someone, who appears increasingly more handsome by the moment, could be so incredibly terrifying.

“You’re from Oklahoma?” he asks, not looking at me as he speaks.

“Yeah,” I answer him.

“Never been.”

“Not missing much.” I force a laugh, and he cocks his head in my direction. I instantly shut up, my eyes falling to my clasped hands.

“I’m from Utah originally.”

I nod at the tidbit of information, stealing a glance back up at him. “Never been.”

“Not missing much.” His lip curls up slightly—he’salmostsmiling.

I can’t help it. A real laugh slips through, and heat flushes my cheeks. My heart rate slows slightly, but the flutter in my stomach remains. The aroma of the steaks and vegetables fill the cabin, and my body relaxes slightly. He might be batshit crazy and dangerous, but inthismoment, I breathe a little easier. Besides, there’s no escaping here… At least for now.

“Why were you coming here?” he asks, surprising me by continuing the conversation. “Nothere, but Colorado.”

“Oh,” I pause, the reminder sending a squeeze of heartache through my chest. “I was coming to spend the holiday with my boyfriend at his family’s cabin. We, um, broke up over the phone when I was almost here—er, something like that.” I don’t know why I add it, but there’s no taking it back once it’s out.

His brows furrow as he flips the meat in the pan. “What was the address? There aren’t any other cabins on this road for miles.”

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