Page 2 of My Cowboy Salvation
My heart instantly slams against my chest, and I bolt upright, whipping my head around the dark room. Maybe I’m still sleeping. Maybe this is nothing but my brain playing a trick on me.
Click—
I whip my head in time to see the small flame from the lighter before, with a quick flick of the wrist, the lighter closes with a final click, putting the flame out.
Adrenaline surges through my body, and blood rushes to my head, becoming the only thing I can hear for a few seconds other than my breathing.
He’s found me.
“Good-evening, chérie.”
I flip the switch on next to me, flooding the room with light. It takes a few more seconds for my eyes to adjust, and I look into the face of the monster I thought I’d put behind me.
Simon.
Nausea rolls over me as I stare into the familiar smug face of my tormenter—a face I once thought was devilishly handsome, distinctive even, before I realized it was only a mask.
“You know, you really made it all too easy to find you, Dylan,” he says, his voice dangerously low. “Almost as if youwantedme to bring you back home where you belong.”
He flicks open the lighter again, and the hiss of the flame follows, before he clicks the lid down. His dark brown eyes haven’t left my face.
If I wasn’t so terrified at the imminent punishment coming my way, I would almost find it comical to see such a dashing gentleman, dressed in a bespoke suit, black Italian loafers, and crisp white shirt that costs more than my car sitting here in this crappy room in some dusty town in the middle of nowhere.
“I think you’ve played this little game to its end, Dylan. If you come home quietly, I promise I’ll be merciful in meting out your punishment.”
Almost involuntarily, I shake my head. “Please, no. Just let me go.”
His eyes blaze in anger, and I sink back into the bed, anticipating the feeling of his hand against my cheek, or maybe his fist in my stomach. Then he seems to think better of it and laughs softly instead. “I know you too well to fall for that trick. No, Dylan, sweetie. I’ll wait to deliver your punishment for after we get home. Not here in this room with paper-thin walls that will only result in some misguided fool calling the police to some domestic event I can’t risk reaching the news. I think it’s time you grab your things and follow me to the car.”
If I leave, I know it will be the end of me. Maybe not immediately, but one day when his anger is too hot and too quick, he’ll do something he can’t take back. Like maybe hold my head under the water or keep his hand around my throat for just a second too long.
And God knows, Simon Beaufort has enough well-connected friends who will make sure nothing comes of it. They’ll twist the facts, just like the judge did when I filed for a protective order, resulting in being chided and warned against making frivolous and fraudulent charges.
“I’m not going with you, Simon,” I say, hoping to sound strong and firm but only sounding terrified.
“What are you going to do instead, Dylan? Run to another town in the middle of nowhere and hope I won’t find you again? I’ll always find you. You know, it only took my private investigator one week to locate you.” Immediately, the man from the diner comes to mind. I knew he seemed familiar. “I almost came out here to get you straight away. Before I decided that letting you fend for yourself out here without the benefit of my protection or the comforts of the life I’ve provided you would be a better lesson. I had hoped you would be relieved to see me. To be welcomed back into my arms.”
“Not a chance.”
His smile tightens, and he slowly comes to his feet before walking steadily toward me. “You’ve made your point, chérie. But my patience is at an end.” He sinks onto the bed next to me and reaches his hand out—a motion that I steel myself for, waiting for the sting from a punch or a slap, but instead, I find him slipping his fingers through my hair. Almost caressing. “I love it when you wear your hair down like this. The fiery color is so irresistible to me.”
He leans over to place a kiss on my shoulder, and I can’t stop the trembling in my hand as I reach behind me.
“I wanted to wait until we got home, but maybe I need to give you a tiny taste of how much worse things can get for you.” In an instant, his hand wraps around my neck. Gasping, I stare into his dark, merciless eyes even as his grip tightens.
Air, I need air.
My instinct is to fight him, to claw at his face, but my fingers have almost reached it. I stretch my arm farther behind me, my fingers fumbling, even as dark spots obscure my vision, warning me I’m dangerously close to blacking out—or worse.
There. My hand fists over the long handle, and before I lose my strength, I slash my arm forward, sinking the edge of the blade into soft flesh, feeling it push through the skin until it hits something harder. His grasp on my neck loosens, and Simon’s eyes open in shock, and he stares down at his side.
There’s something warm and wet on my hand that I recognize as blood. Lots of blood—blood that’s flowing onto the white sheets. Simon seems to be similarly aware as he presses a hand over his side to staunch the flow.
I jump to my feet just as he tries to make one last effort to hold on to me. But he’s too weak and distracted with his injury, and I slip through his grasp. I don’t know how much time I have before he regains his strength or someone forces their way through the door to check on us, and I run to the window and pull the curtain back.
There’s a dark town car pulled in front next to my Toyota, and I can see Simon’s driver sitting in the front seat. There’s no way I can make it to the car and get out of here without him stopping me.
Pulling the elastic from around my wrist, I gather my hair up and back, then pull on a sweatshirt, drawing the hoodie around my head. My appearance might cause some suspicion simply because the temperature is still sweltering, but at least it hides my long red hair—hair I was too proud to cut or color before, but that I know I’ll have to change.
