Page 3 of Catching His Runaway

Tommy doesn’t take long to recognize me. Despite the years I’ve been away, I’ve got the same cursed appearance as the rest of my siblings. The same dark hair and black eyes. The same resting bitch face. A family trait, unfortunately.

He must recognize me as easily as I recognized him. However, he’s not as shocked to see I’m still breathing. There’s only one thing this man is feeling, and it’sanger.

When a harsh frown forms on his lips and his brows come together, I don’t have to guess what is going to happen next if I keep standing around like a deer caught in headlights.

Turning, I book it and run like my life depends on it. From the heavy steps growing louder from behind, it feels like it really does. He might’ve gotten meatier since the last time I saw him, but the added weight is not to his disadvantage. The muscle has to slow him down.

I used to run laps around this place, letting this man try to keep up with me. It was his job, after all. Couldn’t make it easy for him to keep me tied to this place.

He was never allowed to let me out of his sight. Yet, one time, he had. Seeing that he’s still alive, my family had to be a little forgiving toward him.

Well, turns out, Tommy’s gotten a little quicker since the last time I gave chase. Reminds me of a rattlesnake. He makes no attempt at stealth, preferring to advertise his approach before delivering a lethal strike.

I’m not going down easy, I swear to it.

Turning at the right time, right when I know I’m within his reach, I try to punch him. Do I think I stand a chance against this brute? Hell no. Still, if I can disorient him or something, I can give myself the chance to scatter away and hide until everyone thinks I was a figment of their imagination.

I can’t afford to leave this estate empty-handed. I need something with value, even if it means I have to stoop to the level of stealing from my family.

Tommy is far bigger than I remember him to be. He’s a wall of muscle crashing directly into me. Rather than losing his footing and letting us both stumble to the grass below, he’s suddenlyeverywhere.

His tree-trunk arms lock around my body, and I’m crushed against his chest. His shirt smells of blood, but not even the scent of death is enough to ignore just how warm he is.

Sixteen-year-old me would be jumping for joy if Tommy grabbed me like this.

Twenty-five-year-old me is wiggling and trying my damned hardest to get free.

When I shove the heel of my shoe into his foot, he grunts but doesn’t release his grip. I scratch his arms harshly enough to catch his skin beneath my nails, but all I get is the same outcome.

Reaching behind me, I resort to my last tactic. There’s no way in hell I’d come here unarmed. While there’s no chance I’d shoot someone here, I’m not shy of stabbing. Knife wounds heal better than bullet wounds. He’d have to pull away if I made him bleed.

Once I’ve got a good grip on the handle, I swing my arm, hoping to make contact. Unfortunately, the only thing I hit is his palm as he catches my wrist.

His nostrils flare as he takes in the small blade almost like he’s insulted that I think such a weapon can hurt him. A deep growl forms in the pit of his chest. “Drop the knife.”

For a moment, I’m distracted by his hand. Not that he’s touching me, but by the thick fingers wrapped around my limb. Three fingers and a thumb. His pinkie is gone. Well, it’s hardly a nub, scared over from the damage done. My eyes flick over toward his other hand. The very same.

My stomach clenches, and I try to tell myself that he probably lost them in a way that doesn’t revolve around me.

My family didn’t kill him for letting me slip away. However, they’ve definitely punished him.

Taking my distraction as refusal, he squeezes my wrist hard enough to make a cry leave my lips and my hand open so the blade hits the grass.

“Stop,” he growls when I try to reach for it with my other hand, the command coming out straight from the pit of his chest.

I obey, but not because of him. Fighting and struggling have left meexhausted. I don’t normally have to fight for my life here. I’ve just been on a streak lately.

My luck can’t possibly turn more terrible than it already is.

This is embarrassing. Out of all the people I left behind to see what kind of woman I’ve turned into, it had to be him.

The man who’d judge me the most.

Seconds pass, full of silence. He’s scanning my appearance like he’s trying to figure out if I’m a threat or not. Not to him, but to this entire place.

I shouldn’t have come back here.

Instead, I should’ve used what money I had and tried to escape my current life. Fake my death and take on a new name.

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