Page 46 of The Wrong Drive-
“Turner,” I whimper as he grabs my ankles and drags me toward him. He wastes no time as he plunges into me, and I let out a cry with the force behind his movements. “Slow down,” I cry out as he pounds into me, his iron grip painful around my waist. “Turner,” tears well up in my eyes as I try to push against him.
He finally lifts his gaze from where we’re joined to meet my eyes, and he lets out a heavy breath. “You’re an angel, Em, and I’m so fucking sorry you landed in hell.”
My lip trembles as I push myself upward, grabbing his jaw and forcing his lips to mine. He’s hesitant at first, but then attacks my mouth, devouring me with a coercive kiss. I taste his anger, pain, and something else, as he returns to thrusting into me. His hips slam against mine, and I moan into Turner’s mouth as he lifts me from the bed. He uses me like a rag doll, his strong arms jarring my hips back and forth.
I fall into motion with him, grinding against his body and catching my own high. Pleasure begins to build as his movements shift from forceful to passionate, his growls morphing to groans.
“Oh shit, Em,” he rasps, breaking our kiss and holding my gaze. “You’re everything. You’re fucking everything.”
I orgasm at his words, a wave of intense pleasure rolling over my body as my pussy clenches around him. I cry out his name, and his eyes close, his face growing peaceful. My fingers latch around his head, and I pull his mouth to mine again. He pumps into me, his kisses slowing as he moans, exploding inside of me.
He rests his forehead against mine. “Thank you for saving me, Em.”
I catch my breath, my heart jumping to my throat. “Turner…”
He shakes his head. “You’re special, Em, and for whatever reason you ended up here, I’ll spend eternity thankful for it.” With that, he rolls off me abruptly, slides off the bed, and starts to get dressed again.
I watch him, slowly climbing out of bed myself. I desperately need a shower, and as I make my way to the bathroom, Turner reaches for me, threading his arm around my waist. I peer up at him, and the somber expression on his face sends a wave of panic through my body.
“What’s wrong, Turner?”
“Nothing at all,” he smiles, leaning down to press a kiss to my lips. It’s charged with emotion, and I allow myself to linger it in for a few moments. As he pulls away, he kisses my forehead. “Merry Christmas, Em.”
“It’s Christmas Eve,” I say carefully.
“Might as well be Christmas, angel.” He brushes his fingertips along my jaw and then disappears from the room, heading upstairs. I step into the bathroom, a strange feeling hanging over my body as I turn on the water. Something is wrong… Or maybe I’m just being paranoid?
I spend the next forty-five minutes standing under the hot water until it runs cold. My mind replays the entirety of my time at the cabin, and I wonder what life is like outside of the cabin—what my family is thinking right now. Are they worried? Are they pushing for people to look for me? I mean, I know Adam would’ve told them, right?
A sigh escapes my lips, and I find myself unmoved by the thoughts, more consumed by the silence in the house. I dress in a pair of fleece leggings and red sweater, leaving my damp hair down. When I step out of the bedroom, I find Gunner, sitting by the backdoor.
“Turner,” I call out. “I think Gunner needs to go to the bathroom.” I glance around the cabin, not seeing any signs of him. Turner wouldn’t go outside without Gunner, and so I figure he’s upstairs, which brings along some sort of alarm in my head. I start to think about the pills, and I head back to down the hallway, spotting the folded clothes on the first step of the stairwell.
Ours from last night.I step over them, noting the still-full pill bottle sitting beside my shirt. I head upstairs, my heart rate picking up as I reach the top. The door to the spare room is…open.A cold draft rushes around me, and I brace myself for whatI’ll find, but when I step inside, I only see an open box in the middle of the floor.
I furrow my brow as I walk over to it, seeingTurner’s Keepsakesscrawled on the side. Half the contents are spilled on the floor, and as much as I want to sit and go through them, the sight triggers an urge to find Turner instead. I spin on my heels, but not before catching sight of the open drawer at the desk.
Rushing over to it, I don’t see anything missing, but Idosee a beautifully hand carved wooden heart on a chain. I pick it up, seeing the intricate flowers carved, and anEright in the center. I roll it over in my palm, emotions welling up in my chest. My eyes then drop to the small, folded card stock. I unfold it, reading the note.
Merry Christmas,
Em, I hope you find this. You reminded me of the person I once was—and wish I could still be. You saved me, and now, I have to save you from me.
I think I love you,
Turner
I shove the note in my pocket and grip the locket in my hand as panic washes over my entire body. My mind takes me back to the peaceful expression on Turner’s face, and I sprint from the room, thundering down the stairs. Gunner breaks into a bark at the door, as I shove my feet into my shoes. I stop to fasten the chain around my neck, and then grab my jacket, tearing through the open door.
“Find him,” I scream to Gunner. “Find him,” I repeat, my voice breaking. I scan the area, and that’s when I spot a single wooden cross, uncovered by the winds blowing from the east instead of north. As I tug on my coat, I run toward it, my stomach sinking as I come close enough to read the name etched on it.
Thomas Robert Martin
05/17/1980 – 12/25/2013
A sob tears from my chest. Thomasneverleft, and I don’t have to ask to know the answer to this question. Tears slip down my cheeks, as I spin around, searching for Gunner. He scratches at the barn walk-through door, and I rush for it, turning the knob.
It’s locked.
