Page 14 of The Wrong Drive-
“Um,” she sniffles, her eyes red and puffy. “Yeah. I can make myself food. I don’t want to be a burden.”
“Impossible to prevent that.”
She winces at my response, her eyes dropping to her hands. “Okay, well, I can do my best to belessof one.”
“I don’t like people touching my stuff.”
“You have granola bars,” she reasons, eyeing me. “I can just have one of those.”
So she’s been in my kitchen.Anger tugs at me, but I push it off. I can’t decide if she’s a manipulative brat, or if she’s being sincere. “Okay,” I finally say. I sidestep into the kitchen, keeping my eye on her as I open the pantry and grab two. She needs to eat and drink. Basic human needs.
Oh shit. She should also need a bathroom?
I blink twice at that as I return to the living room. There’s only one bathroom in the cabin. It’s through my room. I don’t like that idea.
It won’t last long.The moment she triggers me, or I get annoyed, she’ll be dead. This courtesy won’t last forever. I hold out the granola bars for her, and she’s careful not to touch my hand, grabbing them by the very end. Her instincts must be kicking in, sending her signals that I’m a danger to her wellbeing.
That won’t save you,I want to tell her, warn her of what’s coming. But then again, it might be better to bring her death without such warning. I don’t want to give her the false hope she’ll survive me…
No one ever does.
“Thank you,” her voice cuts through my thoughts. “Can I use your bathroom?”
Again. Basic human needs.
“Yeah, okay.” My muscles tense as she stands to her feet. I take in the fragility of her, and the way she staggers when she takes a step.
Fuck, one hit and she’d be done… I could easily pummel this woman. She stands maybe five-feet-four. She’s not skin andbones by any means, and while I think she’s got some fight in her, she’d be no match for me. That’s the difference between her and those before her.
They were different. They werechallenges.
She’s no fucking physical challenge, and it’s got me hung up.
She clears her throat. “Where is it?” She smooths at her hair, though her brown locks are a matted mess. She needs a shower. Would I have to sit in the bathroom to make sure she doesn’t try anything? My body reacts to that thought, and I let out a grunt.
“Last door on the hallway, through the bedroom on the right. Your suitcase is over there.” I nod to the bags by the front door. I went through her purse enough to know she’s Emersyn Lewis. Thirty-one years old. Her current address is in Stillwater, Oklahoma. She’s a writer of some sort.
Which confirms that she is, indeed,weak.
And once upon a time, I would’ve beat my chest thatIwas the fucking lunatic protecting people like her, Mr. Special Ops out to keep weak little American writer girls safe. But now, I don’t think so. She got herself stuck here. I owe her nothing.
“Is there a shower?”
Jeez. She asks the stupidest questions.
“Yeah,” I say flatly. She watches me warily as she makes her way to her luggage, picking up her black duffle bag. My gaze drops to her sweatpants as she bends over. I changed her jeans in a haze of duty, but I still recall the way the glow of the fire lit up her bare legs as I did. I could’ve stared at her longer.
I suddenly wish I would’ve.
My body reacts once more, and I watch her disappear down the hallway.Fuck,if I let her live, will I want to touch her? Get close? I know I probably won’t. But there’s this deep, buried part of me thatlikesthe idea. I’ve been holed up here, living the cycle of my broken psyche for years. Maybe Icouldfind some pleasure.
No, bad idea.My thoughts stand to reason with me. I don’t know what would happen if I tried. And what if I got attached? I swallow that thought. It’s dangerous for me to get attached. And there’s no way I could let someoneknowme….
‘You don’t need to be alone,’My brother’s voice in my head hits me right in the gut.‘I want better for you. You fucked up, but it’s not over, Turner.’
You had no fucking clue, Tommy. No clue.
My poor older brother thought I got an honorable discharge when I left the Marines. He had no idea that I snapped the way I did. And I only made it out uncuffed because Bradford, my commanding officer, had some sort of sick pity on me.
