Catching Sin, page 34
All I can see of it are those headlights as they hone in on me like a spotlight.
On the one hand, I’m relieved they stopped. On the other, I’m a young woman alone in the middle of nowhere, suddenly at this person’s mercy. They could rape and kill me and then dump my body in the brush. Right. There’s that scenario. Not a whole lot I can do about that now. Suppose I have to just see how this plays out and hope for the best.
Why didn’t I bring a gun? I’m from freaking Texas. We had guns all over the goddamn house. Why didn’t I think to bring one? Then again, knowing me and my luck, I’d probably shoot myself instead of any potential assailant. Especially since I have zero idea how to actually shoot one.
Perhaps they’d accept cash bribes in lieu of rape and murder?
One can hope.
The driver’s side door slams shut with a dull click and I watch through my side mirror as a tall, dark, hooded figure slowly strides up to my car. My heart is exploding out of my chest, my breathing erratic, my knuckles white from my grip on the steering wheel. I can’t move, nor can I tear my eyes away as the figure draws closer.
He reaches my window, staring down at me through eyes I cannot see. His hood obscures his entire face in shadows. All I can discern is that he’s tall and broad and could probably snap me like a twig in seconds. At first, he just watches me as I cautiously peer up at him, completely immobilized by his presence. I’m the goddamn pathetic equivalent of a deer in headlights.
“Are you okay in there?” he asks, and the way his smooth whiskey baritone rolls over me like it’s being poured from crystal on to ice has me releasing the breath I’ve been holding. “Do you need help?”
The last thing I want to do is open the door to this guy, but I don’t think I have a choice. Especially since my voice still doesn’t seem to be working. He steps back when the lock on my door clicks, giving me a wide berth like he’s expecting me to get out. My hands are trembling violently and I don’t know if my legs will support my weight if I attempt to stand. So instead, I sit, pressing my weight into the thin, lumpy fabric of the seat, turning slightly in his direction with the door partially ajar.
What the hell have I gotten myself into?
“Are you hurt?” he continues at my silence.
“No,” I reply as I stare down at his feet—dark stains on black hiking boots, and old, worn jeans covering his strong thighs—my voice soft, but loud enough to be heard over the vociferous engine of his truck that seems to be mocking my useless car.
“From the smell of it, your car is burning a lot of oil. Can it turn on?”
“No,” I say again, wrapping my arms protectively around my stomach as the meager contents inside swish and sway. I feel way too vulnerable and exposed right now. I’m ill at ease around men on the best of days and in the best of situations, and this is certainly neither of those.
He mutters something indiscernible under his breath and then says, “Come on then.” His gruff directive gives me chills and I can’t decipher if they’re the bad kind or not. But if he was going to hurt me, wouldn’t he have done it already? I don’t know. I have no frame of reference on the methodology rapists and killers employ with their victims.
“Where are we going?” I manage, my voice holding more weight than I would have believed myself capable of.
I lean back in my seat, my gaze finally traveling up. His hands are clean and well kept, unlike his jeans or boots. His face is shrouded in darkness, for which he takes no action to fix even though my intent must be obvious. His reluctance for me to see his face raises my fear factor to an eight. He could be mangled and getting ready to do the same to me. He could be the psycho from the Texas Chainsaw Massacre.
“I’m going to drive you into town,” he explains like it should be obvious to any sane, rational person. But I am neither sane nor rational right now. I’ve been driving for two days, practically non-stop. The only sleep I’ve had was when I pulled into a twenty-four-hour Wal-Mart and parked in the back to close my eyes for a few hours.
Town. He’s going to take me into town. Which town is he refering to? Is Las Vegas considered a town or a city? But if he takes me into town, that probably means he won’t rape and kill me, right? Or he could be lying, the girl in the back of my head reminds me. God, this situation sucks. I have no choice but to trust him.
I certainly can’t stay here.
I’m in the middle of the fucking desert.
“Okay. Thank you. I’d appreciate that.” He steps back further, like he’s just as wary of me as I am of him. I stand, the gravel and dried earth crunching beneath my riding boots. At least I’m wearing appropriate clothing. I look up at him, only able to catch a glimpse of his mouth and stubble-lined jaw. Angled lines and smooth, full lips to be precise, but the rest? “Can you, um…” I swallow hard, shifting my weight. “Would you mind removing your hood?”
He rumbles out a chuckle. “Want to make sure I’m not Leatherface or something?”
I laugh, too, but it’s awkward and comes out shaky, because he just echoed my exact thoughts. Right down to the creepy horror film.
He draws back his hood and my breath catches for an entirely different reason. He’s beautiful, which seems comical given how manly and rugged this guy appears, but it’s the first word that pops into my head.
“Satisfied?”
I just stare at him. Beautiful doesn’t mean safe.
A crooked smile quirks up the corners of his lip. His head shakes ever so slightly as his hands fly up in surrender. “I’m not gonna hurt you. I promise. But I can’t leave you here twenty miles from the nearest town.” Twenty? “You’re lucky, actually. I just so happened to be passing this way after going to the dam. I decided to drive around for a bit and took the very long way home. Good thing, too,” he emphasizes that last bit, running a hand across his jaw and eyeing me from head to toe. “You could have been out here all night without a car passing.”
What dam? Like, the Hoover dam? Where the hell am I?
“Lucky,” I parrot, tasting the sourness of the word on my tongue, because I don’t think I’ve ever uttered it in relation to myself before. It almost makes me want to laugh at the absurdity of it. “What’s your name?” I ask, staring up into his eyes. I think they might be brown. I can’t quite tell, but that’s what I’m betting on. His hair is slightly tousled, longer on the top and shorter on the sides. The color, barely decipherable in this light, appears as dark as his eyes. That strong, chiseled jaw is lined with a decent layer of lazy-man’s stubble.
He’s a lumberjack, I muse. A sexy one at that.
He smiles, and his teeth are perfect. White and straight. An interesting and welcome contradiction to his otherwise roughness. And that smile. Holy wow. It makes me relax for some odd reason. Like the quality of his dental hygiene and the fact that he has a gorgeous smile is an indication of character. When did I become this stupid girl?
“Jake,” he says, looking me over slowly, languidly, his eyes sweeping over every inch of me, before they find my face again. His expression shifts, becoming skeptical and cautious as they bounce around each feature on my face. I wonder if he recognizes me. I hope not. I doubt it somehow. I can’t imagine I’m known in this part of the world. “What’s yours?”
My name. And this is where I hesitate. Which name do I give him? Certainly not my real one. “Mia,” I blurt out, my eyes skirting his.
“Okay, Mia. Why don’t you grab anything you have in there that you want to keep and follow me? I have a buddy who can tow your car into town.”
I nod, but I don’t get a chance to respond before he stalks off, back to his truck, his impressive silhouette framed in a halo of light. I don’t waste any time to grab my purse from the passenger seat of the stolen car.
I bite my lip. Is there anything else in here I need? Anything that could link me to this car?
Other than where you got it from and your fingerprints?
I growl out a slew of curses under my breath. The moment this car is made, I will be, too. But this guy says he knows someone who can tow it, and maybe I can offer them cash to dispose of it. No one will be the wiser.
Walking around to the trunk, I open it and lift my suitcases out one by one, setting them onto dusty ground. Jake is already there, waiting on me, his headlights glowing across the back of my car, paving a path for me to see by. My license plate is also visible, and I inwardly cringe at that. The word TEXAS in bold caps along with the picture of the state. Too late now, I sigh. I can only hope he’s not the most observant of men.
Jake wordlessly lifts one of my suitcases for me. I follow after him, dragging the other behind me, the wheels catching on the cracked earth. We weave in between his truck and my car and then he opens the passenger side for me. Grabbing my suitcase from my hands, he effortlessly picks it up and tosses it onto the small backseat behind the passenger side with my other suitcase.
His impressively large hand reaches out to touch my arm, and instinctively, I jerk back like his fingers are made out of fire. “Don’t touch me,” I snap.
His hands fly up, dark eyes wide. “I was just going to help you up.”
“Oh. I’m sorry, but I believe I can manage it, thank you,” I say, feeling a small pang of guilt for my outburst.
I hoist myself up into the clean, cool cab and breathe in the enticing scent of woodsy cologne and new car. This truck is nice. Expensive, if I had to guess—given the soft leather of the seats, wood paneling and massive dashboard filled with buttons and dials and all sorts of technology.
Then it hits me. The guy who tows my car could look it up before I can even strike a deal with him. I need to get as far away as possible. Maybe it’s better if he doesn’t call anyone. If we just leave it here in the middle of nowhere.
“You don’t have to call your friend,” I say when he gets in the car, buckling his seatbelt. “We can leave the car here. I think it’s dead and it’s really old. Is there a place nearby where I can buy a new one?” It’ll be a risk, but what choice do I have? Then again, I have no idea what kind of car I can afford with my meager budget. Probably not anything better than what I was just in.
Jake stares at me, long and hard. Like he’s trying to figure me out. It makes me anxious and impatient to get out of here. It feels as though he can see straight through me with those eyes of his and it takes all of my concerted effort not to shift my position or my gaze. I was right about the brown eyes, but they aren’t just any brown. They’re warm, milk chocolate.
“If we leave your car here, the police will eventually pick it up.” He watches me intently for a reaction, and though my heart is pounding wildly in my chest, I’m doing everything I can to maintain my stoic mask. “And nothing will be open until the morning.”
My eyes close as my breath falters. I could take a bus or a train, but that’s a last resort and I doubt I can get one tonight. “I’m stuck here,” I whisper to myself. “Where am I?” I ask more out of curiosity at this point than anything else.
“Just outside of Henderson or Boulder city, depending on which way you’re headed,” he answers and my eyebrows furrow. “Nevada,” he adds.
Henderson, Nevada? I have no idea where that is in reference to Las Vegas, but those were the last signs I remember. Lord, I’m in trouble.
What the hell am I going to do now?
* * *
Want more of Mia and Jake? Pick up your copy of Touching Sin today!
Saman, J., Catching Sin
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On the one hand, I’m relieved they stopped. On the other, I’m a young woman alone in the middle of nowhere, suddenly at this person’s mercy. They could rape and kill me and then dump my body in the brush. Right. There’s that scenario. Not a whole lot I can do about that now. Suppose I have to just see how this plays out and hope for the best.
Why didn’t I bring a gun? I’m from freaking Texas. We had guns all over the goddamn house. Why didn’t I think to bring one? Then again, knowing me and my luck, I’d probably shoot myself instead of any potential assailant. Especially since I have zero idea how to actually shoot one.
Perhaps they’d accept cash bribes in lieu of rape and murder?
One can hope.
The driver’s side door slams shut with a dull click and I watch through my side mirror as a tall, dark, hooded figure slowly strides up to my car. My heart is exploding out of my chest, my breathing erratic, my knuckles white from my grip on the steering wheel. I can’t move, nor can I tear my eyes away as the figure draws closer.
He reaches my window, staring down at me through eyes I cannot see. His hood obscures his entire face in shadows. All I can discern is that he’s tall and broad and could probably snap me like a twig in seconds. At first, he just watches me as I cautiously peer up at him, completely immobilized by his presence. I’m the goddamn pathetic equivalent of a deer in headlights.
“Are you okay in there?” he asks, and the way his smooth whiskey baritone rolls over me like it’s being poured from crystal on to ice has me releasing the breath I’ve been holding. “Do you need help?”
The last thing I want to do is open the door to this guy, but I don’t think I have a choice. Especially since my voice still doesn’t seem to be working. He steps back when the lock on my door clicks, giving me a wide berth like he’s expecting me to get out. My hands are trembling violently and I don’t know if my legs will support my weight if I attempt to stand. So instead, I sit, pressing my weight into the thin, lumpy fabric of the seat, turning slightly in his direction with the door partially ajar.
What the hell have I gotten myself into?
“Are you hurt?” he continues at my silence.
“No,” I reply as I stare down at his feet—dark stains on black hiking boots, and old, worn jeans covering his strong thighs—my voice soft, but loud enough to be heard over the vociferous engine of his truck that seems to be mocking my useless car.
“From the smell of it, your car is burning a lot of oil. Can it turn on?”
“No,” I say again, wrapping my arms protectively around my stomach as the meager contents inside swish and sway. I feel way too vulnerable and exposed right now. I’m ill at ease around men on the best of days and in the best of situations, and this is certainly neither of those.
He mutters something indiscernible under his breath and then says, “Come on then.” His gruff directive gives me chills and I can’t decipher if they’re the bad kind or not. But if he was going to hurt me, wouldn’t he have done it already? I don’t know. I have no frame of reference on the methodology rapists and killers employ with their victims.
“Where are we going?” I manage, my voice holding more weight than I would have believed myself capable of.
I lean back in my seat, my gaze finally traveling up. His hands are clean and well kept, unlike his jeans or boots. His face is shrouded in darkness, for which he takes no action to fix even though my intent must be obvious. His reluctance for me to see his face raises my fear factor to an eight. He could be mangled and getting ready to do the same to me. He could be the psycho from the Texas Chainsaw Massacre.
“I’m going to drive you into town,” he explains like it should be obvious to any sane, rational person. But I am neither sane nor rational right now. I’ve been driving for two days, practically non-stop. The only sleep I’ve had was when I pulled into a twenty-four-hour Wal-Mart and parked in the back to close my eyes for a few hours.
Town. He’s going to take me into town. Which town is he refering to? Is Las Vegas considered a town or a city? But if he takes me into town, that probably means he won’t rape and kill me, right? Or he could be lying, the girl in the back of my head reminds me. God, this situation sucks. I have no choice but to trust him.
I certainly can’t stay here.
I’m in the middle of the fucking desert.
“Okay. Thank you. I’d appreciate that.” He steps back further, like he’s just as wary of me as I am of him. I stand, the gravel and dried earth crunching beneath my riding boots. At least I’m wearing appropriate clothing. I look up at him, only able to catch a glimpse of his mouth and stubble-lined jaw. Angled lines and smooth, full lips to be precise, but the rest? “Can you, um…” I swallow hard, shifting my weight. “Would you mind removing your hood?”
He rumbles out a chuckle. “Want to make sure I’m not Leatherface or something?”
I laugh, too, but it’s awkward and comes out shaky, because he just echoed my exact thoughts. Right down to the creepy horror film.
He draws back his hood and my breath catches for an entirely different reason. He’s beautiful, which seems comical given how manly and rugged this guy appears, but it’s the first word that pops into my head.
“Satisfied?”
I just stare at him. Beautiful doesn’t mean safe.
A crooked smile quirks up the corners of his lip. His head shakes ever so slightly as his hands fly up in surrender. “I’m not gonna hurt you. I promise. But I can’t leave you here twenty miles from the nearest town.” Twenty? “You’re lucky, actually. I just so happened to be passing this way after going to the dam. I decided to drive around for a bit and took the very long way home. Good thing, too,” he emphasizes that last bit, running a hand across his jaw and eyeing me from head to toe. “You could have been out here all night without a car passing.”
What dam? Like, the Hoover dam? Where the hell am I?
“Lucky,” I parrot, tasting the sourness of the word on my tongue, because I don’t think I’ve ever uttered it in relation to myself before. It almost makes me want to laugh at the absurdity of it. “What’s your name?” I ask, staring up into his eyes. I think they might be brown. I can’t quite tell, but that’s what I’m betting on. His hair is slightly tousled, longer on the top and shorter on the sides. The color, barely decipherable in this light, appears as dark as his eyes. That strong, chiseled jaw is lined with a decent layer of lazy-man’s stubble.
He’s a lumberjack, I muse. A sexy one at that.
He smiles, and his teeth are perfect. White and straight. An interesting and welcome contradiction to his otherwise roughness. And that smile. Holy wow. It makes me relax for some odd reason. Like the quality of his dental hygiene and the fact that he has a gorgeous smile is an indication of character. When did I become this stupid girl?
“Jake,” he says, looking me over slowly, languidly, his eyes sweeping over every inch of me, before they find my face again. His expression shifts, becoming skeptical and cautious as they bounce around each feature on my face. I wonder if he recognizes me. I hope not. I doubt it somehow. I can’t imagine I’m known in this part of the world. “What’s yours?”
My name. And this is where I hesitate. Which name do I give him? Certainly not my real one. “Mia,” I blurt out, my eyes skirting his.
“Okay, Mia. Why don’t you grab anything you have in there that you want to keep and follow me? I have a buddy who can tow your car into town.”
I nod, but I don’t get a chance to respond before he stalks off, back to his truck, his impressive silhouette framed in a halo of light. I don’t waste any time to grab my purse from the passenger seat of the stolen car.
I bite my lip. Is there anything else in here I need? Anything that could link me to this car?
Other than where you got it from and your fingerprints?
I growl out a slew of curses under my breath. The moment this car is made, I will be, too. But this guy says he knows someone who can tow it, and maybe I can offer them cash to dispose of it. No one will be the wiser.
Walking around to the trunk, I open it and lift my suitcases out one by one, setting them onto dusty ground. Jake is already there, waiting on me, his headlights glowing across the back of my car, paving a path for me to see by. My license plate is also visible, and I inwardly cringe at that. The word TEXAS in bold caps along with the picture of the state. Too late now, I sigh. I can only hope he’s not the most observant of men.
Jake wordlessly lifts one of my suitcases for me. I follow after him, dragging the other behind me, the wheels catching on the cracked earth. We weave in between his truck and my car and then he opens the passenger side for me. Grabbing my suitcase from my hands, he effortlessly picks it up and tosses it onto the small backseat behind the passenger side with my other suitcase.
His impressively large hand reaches out to touch my arm, and instinctively, I jerk back like his fingers are made out of fire. “Don’t touch me,” I snap.
His hands fly up, dark eyes wide. “I was just going to help you up.”
“Oh. I’m sorry, but I believe I can manage it, thank you,” I say, feeling a small pang of guilt for my outburst.
I hoist myself up into the clean, cool cab and breathe in the enticing scent of woodsy cologne and new car. This truck is nice. Expensive, if I had to guess—given the soft leather of the seats, wood paneling and massive dashboard filled with buttons and dials and all sorts of technology.
Then it hits me. The guy who tows my car could look it up before I can even strike a deal with him. I need to get as far away as possible. Maybe it’s better if he doesn’t call anyone. If we just leave it here in the middle of nowhere.
“You don’t have to call your friend,” I say when he gets in the car, buckling his seatbelt. “We can leave the car here. I think it’s dead and it’s really old. Is there a place nearby where I can buy a new one?” It’ll be a risk, but what choice do I have? Then again, I have no idea what kind of car I can afford with my meager budget. Probably not anything better than what I was just in.
Jake stares at me, long and hard. Like he’s trying to figure me out. It makes me anxious and impatient to get out of here. It feels as though he can see straight through me with those eyes of his and it takes all of my concerted effort not to shift my position or my gaze. I was right about the brown eyes, but they aren’t just any brown. They’re warm, milk chocolate.
“If we leave your car here, the police will eventually pick it up.” He watches me intently for a reaction, and though my heart is pounding wildly in my chest, I’m doing everything I can to maintain my stoic mask. “And nothing will be open until the morning.”
My eyes close as my breath falters. I could take a bus or a train, but that’s a last resort and I doubt I can get one tonight. “I’m stuck here,” I whisper to myself. “Where am I?” I ask more out of curiosity at this point than anything else.
“Just outside of Henderson or Boulder city, depending on which way you’re headed,” he answers and my eyebrows furrow. “Nevada,” he adds.
Henderson, Nevada? I have no idea where that is in reference to Las Vegas, but those were the last signs I remember. Lord, I’m in trouble.
What the hell am I going to do now?
* * *
Want more of Mia and Jake? Pick up your copy of Touching Sin today!
Saman, J., Catching Sin
