He drove on for what felt like another mile and then abruptly pulled off onto a shoulder. Through the truck’s headlights, I saw nothing but trees, muddy road, and slants of rain coming down like bullets to pelt the cab.
He took another shot from the flask—whiskey, by the scent of it—then turned to look at me. He was much drunker than I’d realized, his bleary gaze grazing me up and down from my short dress to my ample cleavage. I tightened my coat around me.
“You wanted to talk,” I said, my heart pounding. “Let’s talk.”
“Nah, changed my mind.” He slowly put the cap on his flask, set it on the dash, and turned to me. “I’m tired of talking. I’m tired of being used. You used me, Emery, same way your dad used my family.”
“I know, Tucker, and I’m sorry. But that doesn’t mean—”
“I don’t want to hear any more Wallace bullshit,” he said, moving toward me. “I completed my service. Now it’s time I got paid.”
He took my chin in one hand, wrenching my mouth open for a kiss while his other hand slid up my thigh.
“No…stop it!” I cried, twisting and turning, pushing at his chest. It was like pushing on a brick wall. “Tucker, don’t…”
“Come on, Em,” he said, his breath stinking of whiskey, his huge body crowding me against the door. He undid my seatbelt and then reached for my thigh again. “Let’s have one good fuck before calling it quits.”
“No!” I stopped pushing at him long enough to bring my right hand around in a stinging slap that caught him full on the cheek.
“Fuck!” He reared back, holding his face. “Goddammit, Em…”
“I told you no,” I said, my voice shockingly steady. “Now take me home.”
He sat back, considering. “No. I don’t think I will. Get out.”
“What?”
“You heard me.” He reached across me and opened my door, giving it a shove. “Get the fuck out.”
“I…I don’t know where we are. And the rain…”
“Not my problem.” Tucker took a long drink from his flask, then glared at me. “Well? You’re letting water into my truck.”
“Tucker…”
“Get. The fuck. Out.” He cocked his head. “Or you can pay up. The choice is yours.”
I felt tears sting my eyes, but I gathered my coat around me and stepped into the downpour. The night was black with no streetlights. Tucker yanked the door closed and tore off in a muddy spray, his headlights revealing an oak tree in the distance.
I hurried for the tree, the mud soaking my shoes, the cold rain drenching me to the bone, plastering my hair to my cheeks and making me shiver until I thought my teeth would shatter. Under the relative shelter of the branches, I pulled out my phone to check my location. I was somewhere in the Bend, too far to walk home in the storm.
I called Harper. No answer.
With trembling fingers, I found the number I wanted first anyway—the only person I wanted—and pushedcall.
Chapter 22
Xander
Dad was playing the piano again, clunky chords on our rickety piano…
I came groggily out of sleep, then realized the sound wasn’t coming from downstairs but from my phone on the bedside table. The clock radio said it was nearly one in the morning, and outside my window, the rain was coming down in torrents. I fumbled for my spare glasses and instantly sat upright when I saw who was calling.
I slid the answer bar. “Emery? What’s wrong?”
Because I knew instinctively something had happened. Something bad.
“Xander,” she said tearfully, over the sound of the driving rain. “I need you. Can you…can you help me?”
