Fugitive: A Bad Boy Romance (Northbridge Nights Book 2) Page 9

  “So you hate me then,” I said.

  “No shit, Sherlock. But I'll hate you slightly less if you pulled over at the next exit.”

  “No can do, Rach, it's starting to snow. It could get worse, and I'll need a new vehicle. A less conspicuous one. You need to rent a car for me.”

  “I don't have any ID on me,” Rachelle said. “But even if I did, I wouldn't help you.”

  “I guess we'll need to hitchhike then. Either that, or steal a car. You down for some GTA?”

  “GTA?”

  “Grand theft auto.”

  “Kieran, I don't want to be an accessory to any of your crimes. I'm innocent. I—”

  “—Calm down, Princess, I'm not going to steal a car. I'm not that desperate. Yet.”

  Rachelle didn't say anything after that. Just fidgeted with her shaky fingers and bit back tears.

  She wore coral nail polish. It looked pretty on her delicate hands. Her delicate, trembling hands. Watching her so upset felt like a dagger to the heart. Shit. My impulsivity had ruined the one woman I didn’t want to hurt. Why did I hurt the people I cared about? I didn’t want to involve her in my shit. I was trying so hard to forget about her. Move on with my life. Find Kara. But for some reason, I just couldn’t let Rachelle go. I wasn’t sure why I was so preoccupied with her. It made no fucking sense.

  I’d taken her because I could. Because I wanted her. And I didn’t want any other man to have her. Period. It was a selfish move, but I couldn’t turn back now.

  I saw a convenience store and parked off-street so I could pop in for some bottled water. The goddamn heater made me sweat like a pig and I was parched. Maneuvering a limo into a tight alley was not easy. “Stay in the car,” I said. “I'll be right back.” I turned off the engine and tucked the keys in my back pocket.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Rachelle

  “Stay in the car,” Kieran said. “I'll be right back.” He stepped out and headed inside the convenience store. When I saw him talking to the clerk, I opened the door just a crack and slid bonelessly out of my seat and onto the ground. Did he really think I’d listen to him and not try to run?

  I crouched down and half-crawled, half-slithered toward the phone booths outside the store. My dress weighed heavier by the minute and I was thirsty and dizzy. I accidentally dragged the train across a puddle of water, which further bogged me down. Unfortunately, I didn't have any change to make a call, and the vicinity was deserted. The only person who might be able to help me was the gawky teen cashier who was talking to Kieran. I could also take my chances and make a run for it, but I suspected I wouldn’t get very far.

  Of course, Kieran noticed me right away. After all, I was flat on the ground wearing a $50,000 wedding dress and sweating profusely. My hair was already sagging and frizzing. A pity Marissa spent an hour styling it. I swallowed hard as Kieran flew out the door and walked toward me.

  “I told you to stay inside the car,” Kieran said, towering over me. He held out an ice-cold bottle of water. I stood up, took the water bottle from him and unscrewed the cap. “I was dying of thirst,” I said, hiding my real intentions from him. “It was too hot in the car.”

  “So you weren't about to call for help?” Kieran asked, taking a swig from his bottle.

  I shook my head and guzzled water for several seconds. “I need a change of clothes too.”

  “We'll figure all that stuff out when we get to a motel,” Kieran said.

  I scrunched up my face and gestured to the tight corset around my waist. “You don't understand. I can barely breathe in this thing. I'm going to pass out if—”

  Kieran spun me around and reached for the spaghetti straps cinching my corset together. With one sharp tug, he tore them apart and I felt the fabric expand. A rush of cold air met with my sticky skin and I shivered.

  “There,” Kieran said, “problem solved.”

  “This dress cost fifty-grand and my friend spent six months making it,” I exploded. “You could've just untied it like a normal person.”

  “But then I wouldn't have seen you pout,” Kieran said, taking me by the hand back to the limo. “Besides, I already ruined a quarter-million wedding. What’s another fifty-grand?”

  “What’s wrong with you?” I said. This man was clearly sadistic. “If you pull up to a motel in a limo, with a very unhappy bride, people are going to ask questions.”

  Kieran thought for a moment. “You're right. We have to lose the ride ASAP. And that dress.”

  Ten minutes later, we were sitting in a Walmart parking lot. I wanted to cry and scream and run for the hills, but I did none of those things. I just silently seethed and hoped karma would kick Kieran's ass for me. What goes around, comes around, Kieran. You better watch your back.

  “You've got five minutes to pick an outfit,” Kieran said. “Then we're catching a cab.”

  “People are going to notice me,” I said, gesturing to my torn dress. “This outfit isn’t exactly discreet.”

  Kieran made a small 'hmm'. “You're right.”

  His hand moved toward me and I swatted it away. “Stop. Don’t you dare touch me again.”

  “You need to take this off,” Kieran said. He reached over, grabbed something and threw it at me. It was the hoodie he'd lent me the first night we met. “Put this on and follow me.”

  I shook my head. “Make me.”

  Kieran's eyes narrowed. “Rachelle.”

  I sucked in a deep breath and let out a scream. His large palm flew over my mouth. “Don't, Rachelle. Let's not make a scene.”

  Once he dropped his hand, I stared straight at him. “Not make a scene? Not make a fucking scene? You won't get away with this, Kieran. I'm calling the cops as soon as I get the chance.”

  “Call for help and Rob dies,” Kieran said, panic quivering in his eyes. “Now don't make me ask again.”

  “And how the hell are you planning to do that when you’re here, with me?” I challenged.

  “Do you really want to push my buttons, Rachelle?” Kieran was starting to lose his patience, fast.

  “What the hell happened to you, Kieran? You weren't like—”

  “—Change first, talk later.”

  Humiliated and terrified, I peeled off my ruined dress and pulled Kieran's hoodie over my head. It still smelled like him and I wanted to retch at the thought of how I'd found that smell irresistible only a few days ago.

  “Done?” Kieran asked. He'd faced the other way while I was changing. What a gentleman.

  “Yeah,” I said. “Let's go.” I hoisted my dress up and over my head, stuffing it into the limo’s spacious backseat. Goodbye, dress. Tears stung my eyes, but I refused to let them fall.

  Kieran cleared his throat.

  “What? I'm ready,” I said.

  He nodded at my nude stockings and garters, his stubbly face tinged pink. “I don’t have any pants.”

  I tugged the hoodie down as far as it would go. It barely covered my ass cheeks. “I'll be humiliated either way. Let's just get this over with.” I exited the limo and examined my clothing. I looked like a stripper who'd gotten a hair and facial makeover but didn't get an outfit to match. In short, absolutely ridiculous. My hairdo was falling apart so I reached up and pulled out as many bobby pins as I could find, tossing them onto the ground. My long black tresses fell down in waves, framing my very pissed-off face. I also tore off my false eyelashes, the adhesive stinging my lash line.

  None of this felt real. It was if I was watching myself on a movie screen, going through all these motions, but knowing it was all pretend. As if I was an actor, playing a role. How could this possibly be happening to me?

  Kieran pressed a fifty-dollar bill into my palm and said, “Get yourself something nice. But don't try anything stupid.”

  I felt like a cheap whore. My skin crawled with humiliation. “You know you're going to hell for this, right?” I snapped. “At the very least you'll be doing jail time. My boss is a top notch lawyer and I’m a paralegal.”
>
  “I don't give two shits about your boss,” Kieran said, eyes narrowing. “Now get in there and buy some pants.” He prodded me like cattle toward the Walmart entrance and I reluctantly entered. I located the women's wear within minutes and chose a pair of hot pink yoga pants, a long-sleeve shirt and a thin sports jacket.

  I felt Kieran's hands curl around my shoulders, firm and possessive. His tall frame cast a shadow over me. “Taxi's here. Pay and let's go.” As we walked towards the cashiers, I tried to make eye contact with as many people as I could. Maybe if they saw the panic in my eyes, they'd notice my strange appearance and behavior and notify someone.

  Unfortunately the staff was overworked and too busy to care. The other shoppers were wrangling toddlers and focused on their grocery lists. In short, no one noticed us, and even if they did, they wouldn't think twice about how I was dressed. Walmart saw a lot of strange customers.

  “That’ll be $38.91,” the purple-haired cashier said.

  I handed her the fifty and she scooped over my change and receipt.

  “Have a great day,” she said in a monotone voice. I shot her a silent S.O.S, but she didn’t notice.

  Once I paid, I went into the bathroom by the exit to change. Kieran didn't follow me inside, thank God. I tore off the tags with my teeth and unhooked my black garter belt. After I unrolled my thigh highs, I bunched them up and threw them into the plastic bag. Then I took out the garish yoga pants and slipped them on. After I zipped up my jacket, I brainstormed potential escape routes. There weren't any windows in the bathroom and all the stalls were empty. Kieran stood guard outside and probably wouldn't let anyone enter until I came out. I didn't have anything I could use to scribble down a message. I could scream for help but Kieran would probably hear me first and whisk me away before anyone even noticed.

  Damn it!

  A knock on the door.

  “You done yet?” Kieran asked.

  “Almost. Just wiping my ass!” I cried. I rinsed off my hands and as I was throwing away the used paper towel, I decided to check out the garbage bin for anything I could use. Desperate times called for desperate measures. Unfortunately, all I could find nestled among used tissues were a few candy wrappers, old gum and some shredded flyers.

  I could use my blood...but the sight of it usually made me vomit and I doubt I could leave a useful enough message to make a difference.

  I hung my head low as I left the bathroom. Defeat weighed down my entire body.

  “Sure took you long enough,” Kieran said, taking me by the hand.

  I stuck my tongue out at him defiantly. “I was going number two, okay? Am I allowed to do that?”

  Kieran didn't comment further. Instead, he yanked on my wrist and pulled me outside, through the sliding doors and towards a waiting yellow cab. “Get in,” he commanded.

  I did as he said and minutes later, we were back on the highway. “Take us to the closest motel,” Kieran said. “Asap.”

  The bearded, turban-clad driver nodded. “That'll be Bains' Motel,” he said in an Indian accent. “About five miles from here.”

  “Perfect,” Kieran said.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Rachelle

  The entire ride, Kieran gripped my hands tight, shooting me warning glances once in a while. His threat echoed in my head. Call for help and Rob dies. I wasn't sure if it was an empty threat or not, but I decided to err on the side of caution. After all, he could be a wanted murderer for all I knew. I wanted to hate his guts, I really did. He'd humiliated me, torn my dress and forced me to walk around Walmart with my ass practically hanging out...

  So why the hell was my heart beating so fast? Was I on an adrenaline high? Why did I have butterflies in my stomach? And why did his warm hand feel so goddamn good on top of mine? Was this a symptom of Stockholm Syndrome?

  After a few minutes, we pulled into an abandoned motel parking lot. Bains Motel was a squat, one-story building boxed in on all sides by pine trees, some laced with strings of tacky holiday lights. Rob paid the driver in a large wad of ones and fives. Then, he pulled a baseball cap over my head to obscure my face. Hiking his duffle over his shoulder, Rob took my hand and we walked inside the motel.

  Why did he always have to hold my hand? And why did I like it?

  The reception area was all cracking lino and shaggy, seventies carpets with outdated décor. A low-class, utterly forgettable place. A place where questionable activity went unquestioned. Perfect. Just my luck.

  “Can I help you?” a pale man with long blond dreadlocks asked. He was focused on his computer, his passive face not even bothering to meet ours.

  “We need a room,” Kieran said.

  “With two beds,” I added.

  “Seventy-five bucks,” the man said, groping behind him for a set of keys.

  Kieran counted out a fifty, twenty and a five and handed it over.

  The man took the money and shoved it in his pockets. He twirled a brass-colored key around his finger. “Follow me.”

  Five minutes later, we were shown into our suite by the gap-toothed old Hippie. “Name's Marvin,” he said. “Check out by noon. Premium cable is extra. If you have any questions, I’ll be in my office.”

  “Thanks, Marvin,” Kieran said.

  After Kieran shut the door, he finally let go of my wrists. They were sore, so I rubbed them. I sank into one of the paisley print beds and folded my arms over my chest. “They'll be looking for me,” I said. “They'll find me. Then they'll put you away.”

  “Rachelle,” Kieran said, his voice sounding softer. “I'm not a bad guy. Trust me.” I’d heard that one before. He peeked through the blinds, then fastened the brass chain over the door.

  I scoffed. “You're deluded if you think I'll believe a single word that comes out of your mouth.”

  “Believe what you want.”

  I ran my fingers through my hair and yanked hard. “I did everything you told me to do. Let you rip up my wedding dress and abandon it, along with my limo, at a Walmart. Now you've taken me to some shitty motel and you want me to listen to you? Please.”

  “I'll explain everything when you're ready to listen,” Kieran said, flipping on the TV. He sat down on his bed and changed channels for several minutes. “Looks like you haven't made the news yet.”

  “My friends will call the cops. They know I'm not the runaway bride type,” I said. “They saw me with you minutes before I disappeared. They'll run the limo’s plates and track us using highway traffic cameras...”

  “You watch too many movies,” Kieran said. “By the time they even find someone to take your case, we'll be in Seattle.”

  “We? Why does your crazy plan have to involve me? You don't know me; I don't know you. Can't we just part ways and never see each other again?”

  Kieran shook his head. “On the contrary, I need your help, Rachelle. You’re my failsafe and my backup plan.”

  “Don't even say my name. It sounds disgusting coming from your mouth,” I spat.

  “Rachelle,” Kieran repeated, brows pinched together.

  “What did you do, Kieran?” I asked. “Why are the cops after you?”

  “It's complicated.”

  I angled my body away from him. “Stop these goddamn riddles, Kieran. Either tell me what the hell is going on or don't talk at all.”

  “I will tell you, bit by bit. As soon as you calm down and listen to what I have to say,” Kieran said. “You're mad, I get it. I—I know you don't trust me, and that's perfectly reasonable. But when your anger dies down a bit more, I'll explain everything.”

  I dragged in air for several seconds, speechless, perplexed and unbearably hot. Every pore on my body felt clogged and suffocated; my face especially. I stood up and walked to the bathroom.

  “Please don't do anything stupid,” Kieran called out.

  “Like what, escape through this impossibly tiny window?” I asked.

  “Something like that,” he said.

  “Go to hell.” I turned on the fauce
t and splashed my face with ice-cold water. My eyes stung, and my dry lips were cracked. After wiping the muck off my face, I looked up at the window. I was skinny, sure, but that one by two foot window wasn't big enough to fit a child through. I glanced at the mirror, barely even recognizing the woman who stared back at me. A light smattering of freckles on a rubbed-raw face. Stricken eyes, furrowed, over-plucked brows and swollen lips. Hideous.

  I was supposed to be married by now. On a flight to Bali. Not playing mind games with a maniac.

  I stepped out of the bathroom, my irritated eyes squinting from the pain.

  “What do you want for dinner?” Kieran asked. He had the motel phone cradled against his shoulder. “I'm placing an order.”

  “I'm not hungry,” I replied.

  “You need to eat, Rachelle.”

  “Or what, you're going to force-feed me now? Some kidnapper you are.”

  “I'm not a kidnapper,” Kieran ground out. “This is—fuck, never mind. I wouldn't expect you to understand anyway.” He cleared his throat then began placing an order for Chinese takeout.

  My best chance for rescue would be to wait until he was in the bathroom or otherwise preoccupied, then use the phone to call the cops. Until that window of opportunity, I'd have to play nice. And be strong. A herculean task, but not impossible.

  I patted my face dry with a hand towel before returning to my bed. “What did you order for me?” I asked.

  “You said you weren't hungry,” he replied.

  “Well I'm hungry now.”

  Kieran shrugged. “You can have some of my Orange Chicken then.”

  “I'm sorry I yelled at you earlier,” I said, trying my best to sound sincere. “You probably have a good reason for doing what you did. I was just acting like a bitch.”

  Kieran looked up at me with arched brow. “You really mean that?”

  “Mmhm.” I took a seat beside him. “Should we just start over? You know, on the right foot this time?”

  Kieran seemed wary. “What sparked the change in attitude, Princess?”