Page 3 of The Runaway and the Rugged
Nathaniel wasn’t a violent man.
He wasn’t a mean one either, but whenever I didn’t agree with him, or questioned his actions, he’d raise his voice. And it wasn’t just the loud, forceful timbre that frightened me, it was the evident warning that laid heavy beneath his words.
As if recognizing the tone he had just used, he took a deep, resounding breath before whispering softly, “Sweetheart.”
The endearment sent a chill down my back.
“I’m going to be your husband. The one you trust above all others, yes?” He paused, waiting for an answer.
Heart hammering, I responded. “Yes.”
“Good. So, there’s no need to worry about anything. All you need to focus on is having a bag packed and getting your cute little behind onto that airplane.” His tone softened, but an underlying edginess warned me against pressing the issue. “Andsince I have no idea when I’ll be able to meet you there, I was going to arrange for Melanie to go with you.”
The mention of his sister had me tensing all over.
Melanie Bettencourt, the bane of my existence.
“No!” I shouted, creating a stagnant silence through the phone.
Crap.
“What I mean is, with her busy schedule, I’m sure she already has plans for the day.” The last thing I wanted to do was spend the day with Satan's spawn. “I could invite Clarke, I'm sure she’s not too busy.”
He scoffed.
“Well, of course she isn’t, all she does is ride around on motorcycles all day,” he mocked, while I was now tempted to ask the last time he’d ridden a motorcycle.
The answer was never.
“If she’s available, then that’s fine,” he answered reluctantly. “If you need anything, call me. I love you, sweetheart.”
I mumbled an “I love you” back, but he quickly ended the call before he heard it.
Once I was off the phone with Nathaniel, I immediately dialed Clarke. Thankfully in only a few rings, she answered.
“Emelia’s best friend speaking,” Clarke’s warm, throaty voice purred through the phone, immediately enveloping me in a blanket of comfort.
“Please tell me you aren’t busy right now.”
In the background I could hear the evident sound of tires squealing on pavement, followed by the deep, growling roar of an engine running.
“Shit,” she grumbled. “Give me a second to get away from this asshole, hold on.”
Immediately, the mention of ‘this asshole’ piqued my interest. I knew it wasn’t just some stranger driving recklessly, because normally Clarke was the one leaving the burnouts.
“Clarke Burns, are you with who I think you’re with?” I teased, knowing damn well I was right before she could weasel her way out with a lie.
“What! No, of course not!” She scoffed. “I’m definitely not with… him.”
As soon as the lie had fallen past her lips, I knew she regretted it.
“Shit, okay. You’re right, I am, but for a good reason!” she defended as I had already come to my own conclusion as to why she was with him.
“If this good reason involves his dick, then it’s definitely not a good reason.”
Her ex was the definition of a scumbag. I'm talking bottom of the barrel, with too many red flags to count, type of man that would never be good enough for my best friend.
Her daredevil antics and volatile temper often foreshadowed her true nature: a woman with a heart of gold and a compassionate soul, and oftentimes the men she dated felt intimated by her.
