Jameson exhales sharply, clearly reaching the end of his patience.I tense, expecting him to tug my hands free and carry me inside, but he surprises me and sets me down.
My feet land on the porch.I blink, stunned into silence.Before I can think about what to do, he’s there, shifting closer, too close, caging me against the wall with his body.
My breath stutters out as I stare up at him.He doesn’t touch me, but I feel him everywhere.
“You let me carry you here,” he says quietly.“That means something, Fern.You have to trust me.”
“I don’t,” I fire back.“You were just the better option in the moment.”
Something dark flickers behind his eyes, but he nods once.“I’m always going to be the better option for you.I’m the only option.”
I frown.“Let me go.”
“I can’t.It’s not safe out there for you.”
“I’ll be okay,” I say stubbornly, even though I know that he’s right.If those guys aren’t looking for me, my dad could be.
“We need to talk,” he says.
I glare up at him.“Out here.”
He growls again, clearly hating my idea, but finally says, “Fine.”
Jameson steps back and drops onto the porch steps, elbows resting on his knees.I stay standing, arms crossed tight over my chest, every nerve still buzzing with adrenaline.
The truth is that Iamwary of him, but the terrifying part is that he’s right.Idotrust him.As absolutely insane as that sounds.
“Why were you with those men?”he asks quietly.
The question cracks something open in me, and I debate how much I should tell him.I decide to go with the truth.Maybe he can help me if I’m honest with him.
“My dad sold me,” I say flatly.“Sold me into marriage.”
Jameson freezes.
I shrug, even though my throat burns.“I’m not sure for how much,” I say, and then wonder why I added that.
His jaw tightens so hard I hear his teeth grind.“You’re not marrying any of those men.”
“Yeah, I know.Hence my throwing myself out of the truck at you back there.”I hold up my hands, pointing back to the forest.
His eyes drop to my wrists then, and the rage that crosses his face is terrifying.
“Jesus fucking…”
He’s on his feet in an instant, pulling a knife from somewhere I didn’t even see.Before I can react, he gently takes my bound hands and slices through the rope.
The pressure disappears.So does the pain.
Blood rushes back into my fingers, and I gasp in relief.I flex my fingers as Jameson glares at the bloody rope in his hands.Blood drips from the cut on my wrists, and I wince as I roll out my hands.
“You’re staying here,” he says firmly, “where you’ll be safe.”
Then he turns and walks inside without another word.
I stare after him, debating what to do.I look into the darkening forest, then at the house—warm light, solid door, safety I don’t trust.
Running would be the smart thing to do, but my body moves forward anyway.
