Page 47 of Dirty Gambit

Jaxon recoiled. “Why does your mind always go to the weirdest, darkest places? We don’t even have pigs,” he added as an afterthought.

“I’m not afraid of you,” she bit out. “I’ve dealt with worse.”

Maybe it was the caged animal glint in her fierce eyes, or the hard defiance tightening her jaw, or the fact that she thought he could ever hurt her, but Jaxon lost the blunt edges of his anger. He couldn’t allow her to think he would ever put his hands on her in any way that would make his mother disown him. True, he’d wanted to throttle her more than once on various occasions, but he knew he never would have been able to do it. Maybe it wasn’t a smart play, but he’d rather she dig her heels in and fight him every step of the way rather than be afraid he might raise a hand to her.

“I’m not going to hurt you, Lena.”

Her eyes narrowed. “Why should I believe you?”

“You don’t have to.” He spared her a quick glance. “But I won’t.”

Neither of them said a word as they drove what remained of the wasteland. Patches of trees blossomed into whole forests that caged them in on both sides. Jaxon had never been so happy to be away from that alien planet. The dusty road curved into a neatly paved path adorned with signs he actually understood. The gas meter hadn’t moved, which was oddly comforting and terrifying, but he kept his speed even, taking no chances. In his mind, he wondered what exactly the plan was. He knew a normal person, in his situation, would have tossed Lena from the car, taken Jessie, and gone straight to the nearest police station. But the police had never even crossed his mind. His only goal at that moment was getting Jessie home, seeing his parents, and getting out of those damn clothes, and having an actual shower. A hot meal sounded nice as well. Everything else, he would deal with after, even if he knew he should at least have some sort of plan for her. He knew letting her go was out of the question. He didn’t know much about her, but he did know she wouldn’t simply go away. He also knew she had zero interest, or need for money, so buying her off wouldn’t happen. He wasn’t sure what else was left.

You could always feed her to the pigs,retorted the voice in his head.

Jaxon rolled his eyes at the ludicrous idea.Thathe knew he could never do. Not that murder was beneath him, yet, despite everything she’d done, he couldn’t imagine a world where she wasn’t somewhere in it. She was such a violent burst of energy and life, a necessary force. He couldn’t explain it any other way. Plus, she was a part of Jessie. He hadn’t figured out what part, but she was someone important in his sister’s life and he couldn’t take that away from her either.

Resigned, he exhaled the heavy knot in his chest. His shoulders lifted and his chest expanded, but the weight remained. He decided it was excitement to have that whole ordeal over with, but he knew better. It was dread and he had no idea why.

A palm lifted and rubbed at the folds leaving marks across his brow. His gaze drifted to the rearview and the tiny figure sleeping peacefully in her seat. All he could make out was the top of Jessie’s dark head and the bunched fist on one arm that twitched every so often, assuring him she was only resting.

In the seat next to him, Lena slumbered as well, albeit, at an odder angle. Her whole body was slumped drastically to one side, bringing the side of her head up against the cool glass. The connection left a hard twist in her neck that he knew she would feel once they stopped. Part of him wanted to reach over and adjust her, to uncuff her wrists and recline her chair a few notches, but he knew there was no way without waking her up, and she needed the rest. Besides, from the signs blurring past, they were mere minutes from their next stop.

The town, if it could even be called that with only a gas station, diner, and a matchbox-sized post office as its idea of a downtown, appeared on their right like a shiny beckon of pure hope. Jaxon could barely contain his excitement when he turned the wheel and sent the car rumbling over a dirt bump and onto the shoulder several yards away from the town entrance. The jostle jerked Lena awake. He knew when she sat up and gave a sharp cry. Her bound hand tugged as if to lift and rub the kink before realizing she was shackled. Her struggling ceased and she lifted a groggy face to the world outside her window. One dark eye squinted. Then two.

“Where are we?”

He couldn’t for the life of him remember the name of the place, but it was a stop and a place to stretch and get food.

“Where are the cuff keys?”

Brows pulled impossibly low over those stunning eyes, Lena turned her chin cautiously over to him. “What?”

“The keys to the cuffs,” he repeated, motioning with a nod towards her arms. “Where are they?”

She remained silent a moment, possibly still trying to process the entirety of everything that was happening. Maybe she assumed everything had all been a bad dream and she was still in charge. Whatever it was, she was having a hard time coming out of it.

“Baby bag,” she rasped. “The same pocket the cuffs were in.”

“And the gun?”

She stilled on that question. Her gaze shot up to his face, suspicion overshadowing her grogginess.

“Why?”

“Because,” he stressed slowly. “I don’t trustyounot to try and shoot me.”

Her eyes narrowed. “If I wanted you shot, you would be dead.”

“Yes, well, things have changed, haven’t they?” he reminded her. “You’re no longer the one running the show, so, gun?”

Her answer was a stubborn tilt of her chin and a deliberate flick of her gaze away from his.

Jaxon sighed, oddly amused by the game. “I could frisk you for it,” he said slowly, body leaning over the console until he could breathe in the delicious scent of her. “But I know you don’t have it on you, at least, nowhere to put it, if you did. So, I’m guessing it’s in the duffle, or the money bag, or the trunk.”

As a thought, he reached across her lap, ignored her abrupt jerk to avoid his touch, and flipped down the glove compartment. Hot air spilled over his hands, along with the stench of must and rot, but no gun. Only four pieces of crumpled pages of a notebook, a shattered pen coated in leaking ink, and a bent straw. Aside from the missing gun, there was no registration. He tried not to think about that as he closed it back up and faced her.

“Not the glove box,” he said. “So, you can tell me where it is, or I can look for it.”

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