Escape, option A, was still the most preferable of the two available to her. Option B seemed daunting before she’d met Atticus, but now that she had… Her stomach flipped at the thought of those rough hands on her intimate places. Sex had never soundedgoodto her, but when she imagined doing it with him, there was a different sort of feeling that engulfed her.
It was a bit like the desire to stick one’s hand in a fire. Just once. Just to know what it felt like, even if it hurt.
But Carmine hadn’t come this far to get burned.
He didn’t stop her from entering the single occupant bathroom. He didn’t knock on the door when she flipped the lock. Her nerves jangled as she scanned the room. Reluctance made her slow. Gods, she wanted what Atticus promised her — the gentle touches, the smiles, the little house, the safety.
She didn’t want to crawl out of the tiny, grimy window above the toilet. She didn’t want to run into the night and be completely on her own. Sure, she was educated. She had skills in childcare, budgeting, household management, and a mortician’s certification. But Carmine had no experience in the real world, no contacts, nomoney.She hadn’t lived long outside of the crypt, but she remembered that much about the outside world: it ran on cash.
But staying wasn’t an option. She couldn’t put her fate into Atticus’s hands.
Carmine hiked her long white skirt around her knees and climbed onto the toilet. Her hands were sweaty and the latch on the window was rusty. It took four tries to open it, and one time she used so much force that she nearly threw herself off the toilet.
Flushed with exertion and knowing she was running out of time, she scrambled onto the tank and braced her palms on the metal window frame. It was thin and cut into her palms, but she forced herself up and out.
Her skirt caught on something, audibly tearing the thick white fabric, and several pieces of hair were ripped from the root, but she managed to wiggle her way out of the tiny window. Unfortunately, she didn’t think to calculate how far she’d be from the ground when she came out the other side.
Carmine swallowed a scream as she pitched herself out. The dusty, cracked concrete rose up to greet her as she flailed for something to hold on to. But momentum wasn’t on her side, andthere was no stopping the unfortunate meeting of her face and the ground.
At the last second, she closed her eyes and threw out her hands, hoping to at least spare herself a little damage.
The breath exploded out of her as her middle connected with something hard. A band of steel closed over the back of her legs and she experienced the oddest sensation of being suspended even higher above the ground than she was a second ago.
“Nice try, scamp,” Atticus rumbled beneath her. The sound of a plastic bag rustling came a moment before they began to sway with his long strides. “I should’ve probably told you before, but I’m pretty experienced with this stuff. Escaping through the bathroom window isn’t gonna cut it with me. Especially when you have the world’s worst poker face.”
Carmine opened her eyes to find Atticus’s back and tight, round backside staring up at her. He carried a plastic bag with one hand. It swayed in and out of view as he strolled back to the RV.
He had time to buy the synth?
A humiliated flush crawled up her neck and settled into her cheeks. “Let me go!”
“Not happening, doll.” She jolted at the feeling of his skin on her thigh when his thumb happened to find the tear in her dress.
Atticus’s step faltered. His thumb pressed a little more firmly into her flesh. “What’s this? Did you hurt yourself?”
“No,” she replied, mutinous.
He took a deep breath. “Good. Don’t do that shit again.”
“I can’t stay with you!”
“Why not?”
She wasn’t sure if it was all the blood pooling in her head or his tone that made her want to hit him, but she did. Not that it made a difference. Her fist bounced off his muscled back like it was made of rubber.
“Because,” she snapped, trying again.Smack! Smack! Smack!“I don’ttrustyou!”
“I’m picking up on that, yeah.” Atticus came to a stop by the edge of the parking lot. He dropped the bag on the ground, rummaged in his pocket for a second, and then something beeped. A moment later, she was upright again, swaying in the passenger’s seat.
Bracing his hands on the top of the vehicle, he stretched in front of her — all muscle and predatory grace. He filled the entire doorway, glowering at her with those heavy brows and intense eyes. “Listen, dollface, I understand how scary this is for you, and you’re damn smart not to trust anyone. Someday soon I hope you’ll see I’m one of the few folks who’ll never hurt a hair on your head. Until then, you’ve gotta get this straight — you arenevergoing to escape me, okay? Never. I’m a professional. I’m a hunter. I’m a bad motherfucker who’s done shit that’d turn all your pretty hair gray. I’ve tracked down people with more money than Glory’s Temple and meaner than the elves who run the EVP.”
It was a naked threat, but something was altogether scarier about the way he leaned in close when he murmured, “You don’t stand a chance, doll. Stop risking yourself. If you got hurt, I’d be an absolute pill to live with.”
He knew she had no idea what she was doing. Instinct alone wouldn’t help her. If he had experience hunting down people who had money and resources at their disposal, then how in the world was she supposed to escape him?
Damn.Carmine couldn’t look at him. She turned sharply so that her feet rested in the footwell and stared out the windshield. Hopelessness, a familiar, dreadful feeling, wormed its way into her chest.
Atticus didn’t push for a response. He must have known he won. Instead, he closed her door, picked up the bag, andwandered around to the driver’s side. He sat with the bag in his lap for a second. After some rifling, he reached behind him to drop it with a heavythwumponto the floor.
