Page 39 of The Wrong Drive-
I sigh as she walks away.What the hell am I supposed to do?If I let her go, she’ll go to the police about Adam. If I keep her here, she’ll end up buried next to my brother… Is there any way out of this?
Chapter 16
Emersyn
It’ssince gone dark outside, and Turner still hasn’t come in. I’m not sure if what happened between us is the reason—and I did something wrong—or if it’s entirely unrelated. When the moment started, I thought of it as survival. When it ended, I wanted more of him.
Why do Istillhave a soft spot for him?I flip back the covers and crawl into bed, mulling it over and wincing at the ache between my legs. His story is so freaking sad, and maybe that’s where my empathy comes from—but also, I’mtrappedhere. He’s tried to kill me. He murdered Adam.
But maybe it’s part of his mental health issues?
I snort. All murderers have mental health issues, and I don’t feel sorry for most of them. I turn over onto my stomach and bury my face in the pillow, letting out a frustrated sigh. It shouldn’t feel this complicated, but then again, it was complicated between us long before he killed Adam and I willingly spread my legs for him.
It’s out of survival. That’s it. That’s all it is.
But as I hear the cabin door creak open and Turner and Gunner step inside, my heart skips a beat—and my thighs clench. I lay there in silence for the next thirty minutes, waitingfor what he’s going to do next. Finally, the bedroom door creaks open, and I brace, waiting.
Once the shower starts, I roll over onto my side, facing the wall. This bedroom is about as bare as they come, furnished with just a queen-sized bed, one nightstand and a dresser. It reminds me of a hotel, except the bed feels more broken in, the sheets are flannel, and there’s not one single piece of art on the wall—not even the shitty kind.
I close my eyes, willing myself to just fall asleep. I mean, the best way to die would probably be in my sleep, if he’s going to kill me, right? Wrapping my arms around my body, I listen to the water shut off, Turner’s footsteps creaking across the floor, and then a dresser drawer opening.
He’s gone through these motions before with me in bed, and then he always leaves, disappearing somewhere upstairs… But not tonight. I feel him lingering, and the heat of his gaze burns into my body, heat flickering through my core. I swallow my nerves, waiting for his next move.
“I know you’re not sleeping,” he says, rustling with the covers on the opposite side of the bed. “You’re holding your breath. What for?”
Heat creeps into my face.How the hell does he know? How often has he watched me sleep?I choose silence, and he lets out a sigh, crawling into bed beside me. The heat from his body is a nice touch, given the cold nights I’ve spent alone, and I have to physically force myself to stay put, rather than move toward him.
“So we’re back to silence now?” His voice is flat, but there’s a hint of emotion there—enough to cause me to roll over and face him, taking in the way he’s lying on his back, his hand pressed against his forehead.
“No, we’re not. I just don’t know what to say.”
He cocks his head in my direction, and even in the dark, I can make out his eyes focused on mine. “When you got here, you had a lot to say. All the time. I’m sorry I fucked that up for you.”
Why is he suddenly acting like a decent person?I take a deep breath, the scenes in the kitchen of us dancing coming back to mind. Emotions bubble up in my chest, and I squeeze my eyes shut. “It’s fine.”
“It’s not.” His fingers brush my hair out of my face, sending tingles through my body and consequently relaxing me more than a murderer should. It’s so hard to hate him, especially knowing so much about him. I slide my hand over his, where it’s resting against my cheek, and breathe in, the woodsy masculine scent of him strangely comforting. He scoots closer, his legs brushing mine.
My eyes flutter open. “Why am I not scared of you, Turner?”
“I don’t know.” He searches my face. “But I liked you better when you were.”
I frown. “Why?”
“Because now, even though you let me fuck you, you’re indifferent. Maybe pissed. Sickened. It’s all of the things that I don’t want you to feel toward me. Fear can be exhilarating, and I can turn it into excitement for you…” His voice trails off. “But I can’t change you thinking I’m a sick fuck.”
A knot grows in my throat, surprising remorse funneling in my chest. “I shouldn’t have said that to you. I’m sorry. I didn’t know…”
“No, I killed your boyfriend because I wanted to. He was a prick, and in the five seconds I heard him speak, I knew he didn’t understand what he had. So, I’m not sorry for it. I’m only sorry that I hurt you. I think that qualifies as a sick fuck.”
I purse my lips, trying to process everything he’s saying to me—and why the hell it makes me feel so warm and fuzzy inside. “Okay,” I force the word out.
He chuckles quietly, removing his hand and rolling onto his back again. “Goodnight, Em.”
I lay there in silence for a few moments, and then reach for him, giving into the part of me that wants him—the part of me that started out small and seems to be slowly taking over. He catches his breath as I draw myself into him, snuggling up to his body. Turner wraps his arm around me, holding me tightly.
“I don’t hate you,” I whisper to him, letting the warmth of his body and thud of his heartbeat lull me to sleep.
I feelhim leave the bed early in the morning, and I scoot into the spot he was sleeping in, soaking in the heat until it grows cold. After laying there for a few minutes longer, I flip the forest green quilt back, giving up on getting anymore sleep.
