Fugitive: A Bad Boy Romance (Northbridge Nights Book 2) (11 page)

“What if I promise I won't leave?” I asked.

“Nope.”

“So you're just going to stay up all night?”

“Yeah.”

“Suit yourself,” I said, turning over again. Obviously I wouldn't be able to sleep. How could I, given everything that'd happened? I needed to talk through my day with someone. One of my friends. I wished Terri was here. She’d make some crappy, inappropriate joke to cheer me up. And I could blame her for the whole thing. Hiring Kieran was her smart idea. Trusting Kieran because he was Cameron’s brother was the stupidest decision of my life. Now look where it got me. I needed to vent and rant and complain until I was too tired to say another word.

But I couldn’t.

“What happened to your Harley?” I asked. I decided to give up on sleep; it was obviously eluding me. I sat up and pulled the covers tight against my chest. It was freezing and I knew it was too much to expect a working heater in a place like this.

“It got stolen.”

“That sucks. I know how much you liked it.”

“If you're just trying to be nice so I can trust you and fall asleep, it ain't happening.”

“Do you want to talk about anything?”
Like why you’re running from the cops?

“No. Not tonight. I’m exhausted,” Kieran said. “Maybe tomorrow.”

I groaned. He didn’t trust me. “You're impossible, Kieran. You want me to listen to you, but you won't open up to me. Good. Night.”

Count, Rachelle. Fifty-five, fifty-two, forty-nine, forty-six…

A few deep breaths later, my eyelids drooped.

* * *

I
'd fallen
asleep without meaning to. Sometime in the early morning, I woke to the sound of someone screaming. It wasn't me.

Kieran was sitting upright in bed, crying out, “Trisha, baby! Trisha, no!”

“Kieran?” I asked in the dark. The room had grown icy; the darkness, foreboding. I groped around in the dark, felt the edge of the mattress and swung my legs over. I sat there, stock-still, back ramrod straight. Fear girded my ribcage, squeezing my internal organs hard.

“Trish, baby. Why didn't you wait for me?”

It took me a few seconds to realize he was having a nightmare and sleep-talking.

This was my chance. I could run.

But somehow, the panic in his voice kept me rooted.

Kieran was choking now. Loud, blustery tears streamed down his face, illuminated by the moon. His mumbles were incoherent, but the pain was real. In this vulnerable state, his tough exterior melted away.

He looked broken.

Helpless.

Exposed.

Who was Trisha, and what had he done to her?

“Kieran?” I asked again, voice shaky.

But he'd fallen asleep again, face buried in his pillow. His breath was a soft purr in the still night.

Damn it, I was in way over my head.

I stood up in the dark, the damp cold clinging to my skin like a wet sleeve. My blistered feet chafed against the rough carpet, itching to run for the door.
I might never get another chance to leave
. Frozen sweat prickled along the back of my neck and the little hairs there stood to attention.

I should run.

Or I could wait until we got to Seattle tomorrow.

Stupid brain. Why did it come up with stupid ideas like this?

Maybe he was telling the truth. Maybe he deserved my sympathy; needed my help. The way he'd cried out for Trisha was so raw, so human. In that moment, he wasn’t the monster he pretended to be in his waking hours. He was just a frightened young man with a chip on his shoulder. I wanted to know who she was. Maybe he was going to Seattle to see her. The least I could do was hear his side of the story first before handing him over to the authorities. Besides, it was in the middle of the night, and I had no way of making it back to Northbridge on my own, especially in the snow. If he wanted to kill, hurt or rape me, he would’ve done it already, right?

However, I could at least use his phone to reassure my family that I was okay. I hopped off my bed and waddled over to Kieran's like a walking popsicle. His phone wasn't on the nightstand. I checked around his bed and under it. Nothing. I picked up the motel phone, but the line was dead. Looking underneath it, I realized he’d cut the cord.

Kieran probably had his cell tucked away somewhere on his body. Damn it. It was hard to believe that last week I'd been ogling him as he swam naked in the Dalton. Now I was about to conduct a body search on him while he was unconscious.

I pulled back the comforter and Kieran shifted a little, flopping over onto his back. My breath hitched. Seeing him so exposed made my mind race. If I wanted to, I could have my revenge right now. Hurt him for abducting me at the altar. For humiliating me in public and threatening to kill Rob if he didn’t have his way.

But I was a good girl.

With a kind heart.

I could never sink to his level.

Don't wake up, don't wake up.

His faded Star Wars t-shirt rode up, exposing his belly button. I could see the edges of his wallet and phone peeking out from his jean pockets. Inches away. My fingers lowered and brushed against my prize, as delicately as if I were performing surgery.

“Don't leave me again,” Kieran suddenly said. “I need you.” His hand found my wrist and gripped it hard. I tried to shake him off, but he wouldn't budge.

“Kieran,” I hissed.

He began pulling me down onto the bed with him.
Oh, hell no!
I struggled against him, but my skinny arms were no match for his brawny ones. If I woke him, he'd realize he'd fallen asleep and that I was trying to take his belongings. He'd trust me even less than he already did. He’d never tell me his story, and he’d never let me go…

So with clenched teeth, I sank down next to him, feeling his warmth pressed against my back. He curled his arm around my waist and spooned me, murmuring something into my hair. I felt his warm tears against my nape. Thin, wet rivulets ran down my frozen back and I tensed.

“I'm never going to let you go again,” he whispered, kissing my right shoulder blade over and over. “I promise.”

What the hell did he do?

It shouldn't have felt so good, but it did.

Really good.

Too good
.

So good I felt an unwanted tingle between my legs. A tightening of my nipples. Butterflies in my belly.

Kieran’s lips rested against the top of my spine, radiating warmth down its length. His body heat erased the goosebumps on my skin, and quieted my chattering teeth. My jaws relaxed and the panic in my throat subsided. Kieran moaned against me, the throaty vibrations tickling my back. My body instinctively snuggled even closer to him. Until my ass was pressed against his crotch.
For warmth,
I reasoned, though I knew I was lying to myself.

Okay, so I was aroused. By my crazy kidnapper. I was definitely going to hell for this.

“
I
’m late
, baby,” Trish whispered against my ear. We were lying in bed on Sunday morning after fucking like rabbits for the past hour.

“What do you mean? Late for what?” I asked.

“You know, for my period,” she said, her face half-hidden underneath the covers.

“But you're on the pill, right?”

“Yes but—”

“But?”

“I might've missed a couple of days.”

“How?”

“I don't...I don't remember.”

I sighed, sitting up in bed and turning on the lamp. “Please don't tell me you were so drunk you forgot to take your birth control.”

“Kieran...”

“Fuck, Trish, when are you going to start acting like an adult?” I got up and made my way toward the bathroom to brush my teeth. “We need to take you to the doctor's.”

“I feel fine. It's probably nothing, Ki.”

“Or it could be something. We should check.”

“We can't afford—”

“Trish, we can't afford to wait. What if you are pregnant?” I voiced her biggest fear. She'd told me from day one she wasn't cut out to be a mother. She was raised by a neglectful and abusive one, and she didn't want to perpetuate that cycle. Trisha still bore mental and physical scars that would hang like a dark cloud over her head forever. I was also way too young to be a dad. No one should ever be a father at twenty-one.

We were not ready for kids. Not for a long time.

“I've been late before, it's nothing. C'mon, come back to bed, baby,” Trish murmured, pulling back the covers and exposing her smooth breasts and irresistible curves.

“Let's go get a pregnancy test then, just so we can be sure,” I said, ignoring her attempt at changing the subject.

“Later. I'll go get it later. Now come back here.” Trish patted the wrinkled bedsheets beside her.

“I've got to go to work, baby. Someone has to put food on the table.”

“When are you coming back?” she whined. “Do you have to go?”

“I don't know, nine?” I'd worked one to nine at the carwash for the past six months. The pay was shit, but it kept a roof over our heads and dinner on the table. Even if that dinner came frozen or out of a box most nights. We lived in a run-down shoebox apartment in the shoddy side of Northbridge. Moved in two months ago, after Trish had a run-in with Tommy Waller, the Kings’ gang leader. First night, rats chewed up our secondhand furniture. Second night, fat cockroaches crawled over our faces in our sleep. Third night, we heard gunshots and screaming downstairs.

Trish never complained about our situation. Not that she was in a position to. She’d never even held a job for more than a month, on account of the drinking. I had to support both of us, and it wasn’t easy. It broke my fucking heart, watching her destroy herself. No matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t protect her from herself. Couldn’t save her from her addiction. Couldn’t raise her up from ruin.

Two years ago, we’d united with a common purpose. We wanted to be a force of change. Be fucking modern day Robin Hoods, stealing from the rich and giving to the poor. Yet twenty-six months later, we’d done absolutely nothing but fall slaves to the system ourselves. Poverty enslaved us; hunger drove us to take debasing, mind-numbing jobs just so we could put food on the table. Hard to rise above when life was constantly pushing us down. Working against us. Kicking us in the shins when our faces were already buried in the dirt. Reality sank in, and our once youthful optimism did little to curb the weariness in our hearts. We were always so fucking tired. Tired of running, of hiding, of pain and suffering.

Trish’s gang spat us out like a storm drain ejected excess sewage after heavy rain. They purged us, and left us to fend for ourselves. Said we were too weak to fight alongside them. We were liabilities. Unwanted baggage. We weren’t ballsy enough to go on crime sprees the way they did. I drew the line at gunning down coked-up kids who owed them money. I couldn’t be ruthless like them. The only reason they didn’t silence us with murder was because Trisha was Tommy’s stepsister. So they let us go instead, to face the streets’ cruelty on our own. Broke and broken, Trish and I only had each other for support. It wasn’t much, but it was something.

The government didn’t want us poor people to ever break free from the shackles of debt. It wanted to control us, and it did. We became the lemmings we were trying to save, and Trisha was stolen from me. She became depressed, emotionally abusive, volatile and damaged. Beyond saving. A lost child. Alcohol drove a wedge between us, but I was determined not to fail us.

I would save her; then we could save everyone else.

“I love you,” Trisha said, voice trembling. “I love you more than anything, Ki.”

I finished brushing my teeth and rinsed out my mouth. Then I reached for my work clothes and started to get dressed.

This wasn’t the end of our story. I could still save her. We could still be happy together.

“I'm not pregnant,” Trish said. “I don't feel pregnant. I’m not pregnant.”

“I hope you're right,” I said. I leaned down and kissed her forehead. She helped me button the top button of my shirt. Then she traced my jaw with her index finger. “Miss you already.”

I gave her a quick peck on the lips before leaving. “See you later. Let me know how the test goes.”

“
W
hy are you
…in my bed?” I asked, staring at the sleepy angel beside me.

“Hmm?”

I stood up and fixed my mussed hair. “Rachelle, wake up.”

“Mmm, Rob, it's too early.” Rachelle curled into a ball, looking like a little kitten.

“Rachelle,” I said again, shaking her. “We need to get going. Come on, get up.” I swung my legs over the edge of the bed, stood up and stretched. My bed had been very lumpy; the mattress spring digging into my lower back all night. Plus, I'd fallen asleep pillow-less, and at a very awkward angle. I massaged the huge knot on my shoulder.

I had no idea how Rachelle ended up sleeping next to me last night. I hadn't even planned on falling asleep myself.

Did something happen between us? Something that I couldn't remember? I didn't think so but…goddamn, I wouldn’t mind if it did. This woman was fucking magnificent. Her skin was a milky pearl color, soft and supple; her bee-stung lips slightly parted. She was a vision to behold.

I cursed myself for not remembering what went down last night.

I also wished I had more time with her. I wished I could worship her the way she deserved. Be the kind of man who treated her right, instead of the man who destroyed her reputation and left her fragmented. I’d already fucked up all my chances with her, and I knew it. Even if she knew the full story, she’d never quite forgive me. She’d never understand what I’d been through to get here.

But I had no time to make amends.

Kara was waiting for me.

I rested a hand on Rachelle's shoulder and shook her. When her eyes finally flew opened, they were filled with fear and alarm. She looked down and realized that she was lying spread-eagle on my bed. Her right cheek was covered in pillow marks, and the pillowcase had a spot of drool on it.

“I—Shit,” she stuttered.

“It's okay, I know. You finally succumbed to your womanly urges and decided to sneak into my bed last night,” I said, smirking. “Happens all the time. Did we fuck?”

Rachelle tumbled out of bed, her hair sticking up at sharp angles. She opened her mouth, then shut it again. After rolling her eyes, she said, “No, we didn’t
fuck.
You were crying last night like a little baby. You grabbed me.”

I arched my brow. “Well, I haven't heard that one before.”

She bit her lip. “It's true. You were calling out for Trisha.”

I froze at the name. Was she telling the truth?

“Who's Trisha?” she continued, combing her hair with her fingers.

“She...”

“What did you do to her?” Rachelle demanded, her eyebrows pinched together. She was twisting my arm to force the truth out of me. A truth I wasn’t ready to share.

“What is this, some kind of interrogation?” I asked, taking a step back. “I need a shower.”

“We're going to be spending a lot of time together,” Rachelle said, standing up. “I'm going to find out.”

Shit. What the hell happened last night?
Rachelle knows about Trisha. That must mean I was sleep-talking last night.
I hadn't sleep-talked in years, at least not to my knowledge. Now that it's started up again, it could be a problem. I hated the thought of losing control when I was unconscious. I knew too much, and I couldn’t risk exposing my secrets.

I made my way to the bathroom and turned on the faucet to wash my face. The water came out ice cold. The bath faucet was the same. The pipes must've frozen last night. I decided to do a quick rinse anyway just to clear my head. Rachelle had questions. Should I give her some answers?

When I came out later, with a towel wrapped around my waist, I'd realized my colossal mistake.

I'd let my guard down. What the hell was I thinking? She’d attacked me, using Trisha’s name as her weapon, and I’d run away from her questions.

Now my phone was gone. My wallet was gone.

And of course, Rachelle was gone.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” I chanted under my breath. I sat down at the edge of the bed, feeling blood boiling in my veins. How could I have been so stupid? To think, for even a second, that Rachelle wouldn't leave at the first opportunity? My fingers curled into a fist and I swung it at the drywall beside me. Several punches and a few bruised knuckles later, I settled down on my bed.
She’s probably already called the cops. They’ll be here any minute. I need to go. Fuck!

I looked under the bed and let out a small sigh of relief.
At least she didn’t look inside my bag.
The duffle was still there. I wasn’t completely screwed.

My head was still cradled in my palms when the door creaked open. I twisted around to see Rachelle standing at the door. With the stupidest half-smile on her tired face. She was holding a tray with two coffees, and a greasy brown paper bag. After setting down breakfast, Rachelle unfurled the paper bag and took out two hot breakfast bagels. Then, she handed me a steaming hot coffee. “I didn't know if you wanted any sugar so—”

“You didn't run,” I said, staring at her in amazement.

“No, I didn't.”

“Why not?”

“You've piqued my interest. I want to know who Trisha is and what happened to you. I want to hear your story.”

“Seriously?” I asked. “You’re not just saying that?”

Rachelle sipped her coffee. “Seriously,” she said, tearing open a sugar packet and dumping its contents inside her cup. “Now eat up before the bagel gets cold.”

I snuck glimpses of her as she stirred her coffee and ate. The quirk of her full lips, the way her cheeks puffed out and moved in circles as she chewed...the dimple on her cheek...

She. Didn’t. Run.

I was still reeling from shock.

This woman was insane. She was actually taking a chance on me. Trusting me, when I did nothing to deserve it.

She was still off-limits though. And I was on a mission. I had to bring the money to Bianca. Then, I'd probably get thrown back in prison. Either that, or face a lifetime as a fugitive, always running, never safe. I didn’t want that for Rachelle. It was a shit life, and I shouldn’t have dragged her into it. She was so bloody innocent. And she didn’t leave, though I gave her every reason to.

Rachelle made me feel inklings of something I thought I'd never feel again. Something strange and unidentifiable. Something wonderful. Sure, I was attracted to her: not just to her body, but also her personality too. She was a fighter. And a good girl; a type I usually didn't go for, but with her, everything felt oddly…right. It wasn’t supposed to feel so damn right. She was the type of woman who could make an honest man out of me. An honest man out of any bachelor. And I stole her from her wedding ceremony. I was a selfish asshole. Yet somehow, she still ended up forgiving me and staying. That gesture alone should’ve been enough for me to share my secrets...but...

“So how do you plan on getting to Seattle?” Rachelle asked, swallowing her last bite of bagel and crumpling her paper wrapper into a ball.

“Hitchhiking might be our best option.”

Rachelle leaned against the wall, dunking her paper ball in the trash. “And what's our story?”

“We're engaged. On our way to see my dying aunt?” I suggested.

“How did we get stranded here?”

“Car broke down. Got towed.”

“Why can't we rent a car? Or call up a friend?”

“We're from Canada and we don't have much money.”

“Speaking of money…” Rachelle said, arching her brows. “Why are you carrying thousands of dollars around? Did you steal it?” She reached into her pockets, pulled out my wallet and tossed it at me. Then she kicked my duffle bag under the bed. “Spill.”

I frowned. The money wasn’t technically legal, hard-earned cash. A lot of it was obtained through blackmail. I was not proud of it, but that was all the leverage I had. Back when I lived at home, I was privy to hundreds of illicit political dealings. So I snuck several incriminating photos out of my step-dad’s office before leaving home at seventeen. I knew they’d be useful to me in the future. Though these scandals happened over a decade ago, if revealed, they could still devastate families and obliterate careers. All I had to do was send out a few anonymous letters and wait. I squeezed a few thousand bucks out of old senators who bribed my stepdad. Another few thousand from governors who didn’t want me exposing their infidelities to their wives. Even five grand from the mayor of Northbridge. Yeah,
him.
Langston Markey, asshole of the year. His secret passion? Kiddie porn.
Gag.
Of course, the rest I got from gambling in underground poker dens. And there was my meagre salary working at the Lucky Dragon: $180.19. Not that I’d tell Rachelle any of this.

“You looked through my stuff,” I said.

“I needed money for breakfast,” she explained.

“I'm going to Seattle to give this money to someone,” I said.

It was time. Her choice to stay made up my mind. If she chose to trust me, despite everything, I could choose to trust her back.

“Who is it? Trisha?” she asked.

“Her name's Bianca,” I said. “I'll explain everything once we hit the road.”

“I didn't bring anything,” Rachelle said, finishing her coffee. “I'm ready to go.”

“Okay, let me just get changed and we'll go.” I turned around, pulled off my shirt and slipped on a new one while Rachelle watched TV.

“Hey Rachelle?” I said, pulling on my socks.

“Yeah?”

“Thank you. For staying.”

“Don't thank me yet. I hope you were worth staying for.”

Her words struck me hard. Problem was, I
wasn’t
worth staying for.

I unzipped my duffle, counted the stacks, made sure my Glock was still there, then hiked it over my shoulder. “Let’s go, Princess.”

After returning the keys to Marvin, we stomped through three inches of snow to get back onto the highway. Everywhere we looked, we were blinded by white powder. The cold December sun blinded us in every direction, and dark spots danced across my vision. Neither of us were wearing the right shoes; and both of us soon suffered from wet, frozen feet. I grunted up the hill that led back to the highway, occasionally pulling Rachelle up when she lost her footing. Surprisingly, she didn't complain once, only followed my lead.

She’d changed since last night. Not just her mind, but her behavior too. She looked fearless and fiercely determined now. Maybe she would help me after all.

Once we reached the side of Interstate Five, I started waving at passing cars. It was about eight in the morning, and none of the cars paid any attention to us. We were two dark sticks on the side of the road, barely even noticeable against the barren landscape of naked trees.

“We'll freeze to death before someone stops for us. Maybe you should reconsider the carjacking plan,” Rachelle said.

“Look at you, already thinking like a criminal,” I said, my breath fogging up the air. I smirked.

“What's another crime, right?” Rachelle asked, deadpan.

“By the way, what did you do with my phone?”

“Destroyed it. They can track your GPS, you know.”

“It was a burner,” I said with a sigh. “But I guess I should thank you for thinking of me.”

“I'm just trying to think like a fugitive,” Rachelle said with the tiniest of smiles. “Am I doing a good job?”

“Excellent job, Fugitive-in-training. Now, how are your acting skills?”

“I did three years of drama club in high school,” Rachelle said. “What are you—”

“Pretend you're hurt. Get ready now,” I said. I stepped out into the middle of the road and forced a pickup truck to stop for us. The driver honked at me to get out of the way. I flailed both arms wildly, and after a few seconds, the man pulled over and hopped out.

“What gives?” he asked. He was a huge guy, even bigger than me. Hairy and built like a lumberjack.

“My fiancée is hurt. We need help, and our car was towed.” I gestured to Rachelle, who was lying on the ground, motionless.

“Where are you headed?”

“We need to be in Seattle by tonight,” I said. “But if you could drop us off at the nearest hospital...”

“Hop in, then,” the driver said. “Make it fast.”

I swept Rachelle up off the ground and cradled her in my arms. She was surprisingly light. She opened one eye and looked at me. Then she winked. I grinned back at her. The driver opened up the door and I placed Rachelle on the backseat, then slid in next to her. With a loud slam, the driver shut the door, went around and hopped back inside.

He gestured to Rachelle, who remained still. “What happened to her?”

“She twisted her ankle and had a panic attack. I tried to calm her down and eventually she kind of blacked out,” I said, hoping it sounded realistic. “My car broke down and I lost my phone. It's been a really shitty day. Thank God you came along.”

“I don't usually do this,” the driver said, “But I guess I need a little good karma in my life. My wife's going to give birth soon. Our first kid.”

“Congratulations,” I said, my lips set in a firm line. “When's the due date?”

“In four days. That's why I'm headed home, to be with her. I'm a long-haul truck driver. Been on the road with eighteen-wheelers for three weeks. Breaks my heart I can't be with her, but we need the money.”

I nodded. “Well, you're definitely saving us, and for that, we're grateful.”

“Whereabouts are you from?” the man asked, occasionally glancing at me through the rearview mirror.

“Northbridge.”

“Oh yeah? My wife's from there too, originally. Her name's Melissa. I’m Frank.”

I let out a sigh of relief. “God bless you, Frank. You’re a hero.”

We spent the next forty-five minutes chatting about his wife's pregnancy and his job. His five years as a marine. By the time we reached the hospital, I felt like I knew the man's life story already. I thanked him again before lifting Rachelle back out. We shook hands. His grip was tighter than an anaconda’s. He wished me best of luck and I returned the sentiment.

“Can I stand on my own now?” Rachelle asked, peeking at me through slitted eyes.

I nodded. “Yeah, he's gone.”

Rachelle sprang out of my arms, her feet gracefully landing on the pavement. “So now we're at a hospital. Next move?”