Page 22 of I'm Not in Love (I Promise)

“Keep pressure on it,” I order, gunning the engine as we peel away. My gaze darts between the road ahead and the rearview, scanning for potential followers the entire drive home. I can’t let anything happen to him. I fucking refuse.

“Let’s get him upstairs,” I say, pulling as close to the steps as I can. “I have a plan.”

Jasper moans at my side. His face is so fucking pale. “I’ll be okay. I can walk.”

“The fuck you can,” I tell him. “Sit your ass down. Leon, go make sure Mrs. Langston isn’t out.”

“It’s 2 AM, I think we’re okay,” Leon says. How the hell did it get that late?

It’s a struggle, but we manage to get him upstairs and into his room. Jasper lies on his bed, bleeding onto his sheets while Leon grabs our one clean towel to staunch the wound. He pulls me to the side. “What now?”

“Stay here and keep him comfortable. I’ll be back soon.”

CHAPTER NINE

BLAKE

I finally fellasleep after a few hours of tossing and turning. Every time I closed my eyes, I’d picture Ethan’s face as the ambulance took him away. He wouldn’t look at me, wouldn’t say a word to me.

Something happened after he found me in the hallway, but I still have no idea what that was.

My eyes jerk open from the sound of a car engine outside. Is it Ethan? Possible, but unlikely. He’s probably still at the hospital, unless something's changed. I check my phone and it’s just as blank as when I went to sleep. My ears perk up for the sound of someone coming to the door but when I hear nothing for a few minutes, I roll back over to face the wall.

I’m in that magical place between sleep and dreamland when I feel something cold and hard press against my head. I freeze, unable to say a word. Everything inside me is screaming to move… to do something. But my muscles lock and my throat constricts.

“Blake,” a voice—clear and deep—speaks, breaking the stillness in the room. “Listen closely. I’m not going to hurtyou. I’d never hurt you, but I need you to come with me. It’s important.”

My heart pounds so hard I can feel it in my throat. I’m still frozen, disconnected from my body, but somehow I find my voice. It’s like speaking through a tightened windpipe. “Who are you? What do you want?”

“I’ll explain on the way. There’s no time.” He pulls the gun away from my skin and I finally gather enough courage to turn and face him. He’s wearing a black fabric mask. It covers everything but his eyes. I can’t make out much in the dark other than his large frame and black clothing. Even so, I memorize whatever features I can. It’ll be important for later… if he lets me live through this.

Channeling the same energy I use with Ethan when he’s not himself, I speak slowly, but my voice comes out shaky. “N-no. I’m not going with you.”

“I’m not asking you, I'm telling you. We need to go.”

My pulse pounds like a drum in my ears. “If you’re not going to hurt me, then why do you have a gun aimed at my head?”

“If I put the gun away, will you come with me willingly?” He’s so calm, like holding a gun to a sleeping woman’s head is an everyday occurrence.

I have a choice to make. A choice that could cost my life. God, I wish I’d let Brennan give me those self-defense lessons.Brennan. He’ll flip out if something happens to me. I can’t leave him, not after losing mom and Bryan. Hesitating, I nod and clear my throat.

He fixes his amber eyes on me as he puts his gun behind his jacket. There’s something familiar about those eyes, but I can’t place them. “You have five minutes to get ready. Do you have a medical bag?”

Wait, what?

“No—I’m only a student. What is this about? Who are you?” His phone vibrates from his pocket and he finally breaks his gaze away from me. It might be the only opportunity I have to run.

“Leon,” he says into his phone.

With him distracted, I dart up and kick him as hard as I can in the balls. Brennan may not have taught me much, but I know you can’t beat a ball beating when it comes to these situations. He groans and drops into a hunched crouch while I run like I’ve never run before.

I’m out my door, and instead of heading through the front, I stop in the kitchen and grab the first knife out of the wooden block on the counter. Clutching it to my chest, I sprint through the rest of the house and out the back door.

Cold air hits my bare legs but I ignore the discomfort. I know my feet will be ice soon, but I’d rather risk frostbite than death. I’d take any number of injuries over death. My pulse screams in my ears and my chest heaves as I run across the backyard.

“Blake,” he calls. From the sound of it, he’s just left the back door. “Come on, I’m not going to hurt you.”

Says every serial killer, everywhere.

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