“Where?” Bobby asks frantically in my ear. “Meirna, I’m going to find you. I just need you to tell me where you are so I can send people out to get you.”
“If he wants to know where you are…” Bronte levels his face with mine. His green eyes fused with annoyance and anger. “He’d know you’d be here. Of all places on your honeymoon.”
I stare back at him because he must be out of his mind if he doesn’t think I’m not going to try and get out of here myself.
“Meirna,” Bobby forcefully coaxes in my ear. “Are you there?”
I notice the slightest of differences in their voices then. Bronte’s voice is a bit deeper, perilous. If I’ve been with him before…
“Do you remember…” I muscle through my ongoing growing anxiety. “The day we first met?”
Bronte’s grip on my neck loosens when Bobby claims, “Of course, I do. Best day of my life, babe. I knew my life was going to be forever changed.”
Apparently, that would be two of us.
Because, fun fact, I’ve adopted a stalker who claims he’s slept with me and now we’re allegedly married.
Fun times.
“I’m going to find you,” Bobby claims. “We’re going to get this straightened out.”
“I know,” I whisper, still holding Bronte’s heated gaze.
Then it clicks.
He gave me his phone to call Bobby to see how I was going to handle everything he brought forward.
Everything Bronte said were heavy accusations, and there wereseveral.
About Bobby, his family, and what he had going on in the background.
“Do you remember what you said to me?” I press lightly, holding on by a thread that he gets this right. That Bronte is wrong and way past help that any therapist can offer him.
“When?” Bobby asks softly.
“When I gave you the water. Because it was hot that day.”
He chuckles lightly. “Thank you? I don’t know. You were the prettiest thing I’ve ever seen. I knew I was going to marry you when you dropped that mulch.”
Right.
“What were you doing again? Before?—”
“Meirna,” he presses. “We’re running out of time, babe. I need you to tell me if you’re by any monuments. If anything looks familiar.”
“I dunno,” I lie, surprised that I’m not freelyoffering my position even though I could get it out before Bronte squeezed my neck into silence. “I just needed to talk to you.”
“I’m here. I’m here, babe.”
“I love you, Bobby.”
That has Bronte’s focus sliced back up to mine before he wedges himself deeper between my thighs.
“I love you, too,” Bobby quips. “We’re going to get this figured out. I’m going to find you. It’s all going to be okay.”
Bronte’s mouth quirks, as if he finds that amusing, before he dips forward and nestles his face between my free shoulder and my neck.
“Hurry,” I quickly reply. “I need—” Bronte’s mouth clasps over the sensitive space of my throat before his merciless tongue lashes out to taste my skin.
