Page 42 of Dirty Gambit

Not sure what to say when every heartbeat was a resounding drum between her ears and every vicious crack threatened to unleash the bile in her throat. Paralyzing fear kept her rooted partially on the carpet, partially on the cold linoleum. Her muscles quivered. The once comfortable temperature plummeted into the negatives, making her teeth chatter with every cold wave that swept through her. It was only the knowledge that he was watching her that kept her from spinning on her heels and throwing up in the toilet behind her.

“That’s you, isn’t it?” It was stated as a question, but they both knew there was no need for confirmation.

The sound of his voice released her of her incapacitation and propelled her across the room. With a smack that nearly sent the TV off the stand, she shut it off, plummeting the room into silence and hazy darkness broken only by the mute light filtering in from the porch lights outside creeping in through the blinds. Lena stood there, allowing that moment of privacy to suck in several hard breaths and wrestle down her clambering emotions. It took everything in her not to fall apart in hysterical and terrified sobs. There was nothing worse than a cop killer, except a child killer. There wasn’t a judge or jury in the world who would give her a fair chance to explain what happened. No one would ever believe her, not with her past record; even sealed, they were evidence of her checkered past. No one would listen. No one would believe her. And Jessie, what would she think when she got older? Who would explain to her that it wasn’t true? That her aunt had been framed by the same monster who had raped and ultimately murdered Jessie’s mom?

“Lena, talk to me.” Jaxon shifted in the darkness, an awkward adjusting of his weight, careful not to disturb the tiny bundle nestled against his ribs. “Tell me what’s going on.”

She could tell him. She could vomit everything right there in the darkness without his eyes judging her, but to what end? He already thought the worst of her. He had no reason to believe anything she said.

She was alone.

Truly and utterly.

Biting back the sob building in her throat, Lena staggered into the bathroom and shut herself in.

Alone.

She was alone and slipping into a dark chasm without a soul in sight to save her, to stand with her, to protect her.

She was eight years old again and the world had already stamped her a waste, a disposable, worthless creature with no future.

She was twelve and told that girls like her were only good for one thing and if she told anyone, no one would believe her.

She was fifteen and standing in front of the judge, explaining why she’d stolen that car and begging him to understand she’d only wanted to see her sister for her birthday.

She was eighteen and was told her sister died giving birth. That that kind of thing happened all the time to girls like Lissa. That her thirteen-year-old sister was just another unfortunate statistic and Lena should be relieved it hadn’t been her.

All her life, she’d fought to keep standing, to keep moving, to never stand still so the world couldn’t see how useless she was. Learning about Jessie, thinking maybe she was finally being given a second chance had been the only time Lena felt a spark of hope for her future. Lissa would have wanted her to raise the baby. She would have wanted Jessie to be with people who loved her. Instead, Lena had put Jessie’s life in danger. She had failed Lissa again.

She snapped on the faucet and let the roar of running water muffle the collapsing of her world. She sank to her knees beneath the sink and willed the ground to open up and swallow her whole. Instead, the only thing coming apart at the seams was her. Her insides all but spooled across the filthy linoleum. She stuffed the end of her damp towel between her teeth to muffle the pain clawing out of her in surges of hot and cold waves. It amplified between her ears, clashing with the terror spurring her heart up into her throat. Even in the darkness, she could sense everything shifting around her, threatening to close in, but she knew she couldn’t concede. Not now. Not when she had Jessie and Jaxon to worry about. Somehow, she needed to pull her shit together and follow the plan now more than ever. She couldn’t fail. There wasn’t a place on earth she could hide now, but at least, if she were far enough away, maybe she stood a chance.

Gathering what remained of her sanity, Lena pushed unsteadily to her feet. She plunged both hands into the running water, not bothering to check which knob she’d turned. Frigid ice water splashed into her cupped palm and she used it to wash her face and all evidence of her breakdown. With numb fingers, she dried her cheeks with her towel, tossed the sopping material into the corner, and dressed. By the time she left the room and faced the man with all the questions, no one could tell she’d just been framed for murder.

Chapter Eight

JAXON

He didn’t miss it.

From the moment he opened his eyes to find Lena already dressed, their bags packed and Jessie ready to go, he’d spotted it — the change. It was in the way she avoided his eyes when she’d hauled him to the car. It was in the silence as she pulled away from the motel. It was in the way she gripped the wheel as if it were the only thing keeping her from falling apart. More than that, it was the anxious way she gnawed on her bottom lip. The vicious assault had droplets of blood dotting the chewed areas. It got to the point where Jaxon almost had to pry it free from between her teeth.

“You’re hurting yourself,” he said, breaking the silence for the first time in hours.

Lena made no indication that she’d heard him. Her dark eyes stayed fixed on the long stretch of road ahead, teeth ripping bits of skin layer by layer.

“Lena, stop!” he snapped a bit louder.

She blinked in his direction, seemingly surprised to see him there. “What?”

It was reflexive, he told himself later when his left hand lifted of its own accord and lightly cupped her chin. The area there glided like smooth silk under his touch, the skin warm. The pad of his thumb smoothed over a spot of crimson clinging to the full curve of her bottom lip. The gesture seemed to startle her; her eyes went wide against the pallor of her face, but she didn’t pull away.

“What are you doing?” she breathed instead.

Jaxon lowered his arm to show her the smear across his fingertip. “You’re hurting yourself.”

Her mouth opened in a shaky inhale, and she turned back to the road. “Oh,” she whispered.

A pink tongue poked out and swept over the damage she’d caused, clearing away the smudge of blood he’d left behind. She didn’t seem to notice the action.

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