He didn’t speak. No, he didn’t need to. His eyes flickered to Carrie for a second, chin lifted ever so slightly, then he walked out of the room.
“I would say his bark is worse than his bite, but I’d be lying,” Carrie said, moving her own gaze from the door to focus on me.
“Yeah, I would say he doesn’t bite so much as tear you apart,” I replied, still not able to rip my gaze from the doorway, empty as it was.
She laughed. “Maybe so, but he didn’t leave you for dead in the woods, so that’s something.”
“Is it?” I asked, more myself than her.
Chapter 6
“He didn’t see me. The man who checked me into the motel. It had the highest cleanliness rating of any motel in fifty miles. Which was why I chose it. Clean was good. He made sure his motel was clean. But he didn’t see me. The blood on my shoes. The darkness in my soul. He didn’t see me. None of them did.”
“What are you doing here?” I demanded of the attractive man.
Much more attractive now I was feeling slightly more human. If that’s what I was. The morning was crisp. Everything was sharper, the air cutting little slices in my lungs. Maybe a little deeper than it would’ve if I hadn’t spent so much time getting acquainted with it yesterday.
Now I wasn’t hallucinating from exposure, or blurry-eyed from drugs, I saw him in all his glory.
That was his word.
Glory.
Though, not nobility.
Carrie had all but strapped me to the bed last night, warning me I wouldn’t be feeling so hot for a while. Side effect from near hypothermia, I guessed. I was also on crutches for as long as my ankle took to heal. Two weeks at a minimum to keep off it, the sprain was so bad. I had rejected all offers of help from her once I’d gotten my shit something resembling together this morning.
I was expecting her to fight me much harder on me finding my way home, without a car and with crutches I barely knew how to navigate, and not near enough narcotics in my system. Luckily, my medicine cabinet at home was waiting for me.
It was getting there that was the problem.
Seeing those unfeeling, uninterested, and cold eyes told me why Carrie gave up so easily. The two were in cahoots.
Instead of answering me, the man, tall, muscled, and wearing the same leather jacket, with a jawline that could cut steel, nodded down the street just a little.
I craned my head to see my car parked on the curb. My gaze snapped back to him. The Saint. The sinner. The car thief.
“You stole my car.”
“Didn’t steal it since I’m plannin’ on leavin’ it at your place when I drop you off.” His brow ticked ever so slightly, showing me he was annoyed at having to speak. I would wager a guess he was annoyed to even be here.
Why was he here? He obviously didn’t want to be. And he didn’t seem to be a man that did things he didn’t want to. My eyes flickered back to the small doctor’s office. Did he have a fling with the unusual, feisty doctor? She didn’t seem like his type. But maybe she was. With her unusual features, her smoky voice, and her backbone. But why did I care?
“Give me the keys,” I demanded. He had them, obviously. I wasn’t surprised he’d broken into my house and taken them from the dining room table. I didn’t come to that conclusion because he looked like a criminal, although he had a definite “I know how to kill you without leaving any evidence” attitude clinging to him. The act of theft didn’t bother him, surely. But I figured the theft was the most logical choice, hassle-free. Yes, this was a man that didn’t like hassle.
I was definitely a hassle.
He was making that known.
But giving me the keys and wiping his hands of me would’ve eliminated that hassle.
He did not give me the keys.
Nor did he talk.
He just walked to the car. My car. Got in the driver’s seat and left me standing on the side of street with two crutches, no words and not many options.
I battled with myself for a moment. Every instinct in my body warned me off getting in that car. Getting home another way. Any other way. Even if it meant crawling on my fucking hands and knees the five miles to my house.
Was it my house?
As my irritation built with this man, this situation, the throbbing in my ankle, the shame in my soul and frustration in my heart, I turned it all outward, glaring at this town. The people on the street.
What was I doing here?
Had I come here to almost die in the woods?
Have some strange man get into my car and take away all my options?
No, I hadn’t come here for any of that.
I hobbled to the car anyway.
The ride was silent.
I did not break it.
The silence.
Nor did I look at the man driving.
I treated him like a driver I was paying and not a man who had essentially hijacked my car. The silence was too comfortable. I usually reveled in uncomfortable silences, when people squirmed around the empty air, panicked with the lack of bullshit filtering around them.
I liked people feeling uncomfortable around me. Outside of their element. Outside of their monotony.
This man—Saint—should’ve been uncomfortable with me. This entire situation.
But he drove with purpose. Above the speed limit but not showing off. Eyes on the road and not lingering. His grip on the steering wheel was white-knuckled.
There was something there.
I didn’t mention it.
My soul sighed in relief when we pulled in front of the cottage. There was no vehicle in the driveway.
“How did you get here?” I asked, speaking for the first time.
“Walked,” he grunted.
I didn’t think people grunted instead of speaking but I was looking at the evidence.
“How far is your place?” I wasn’t exactly sure how many acres I had, but I knew my property was considerable. That’s what had me buying it in the first place; its isolated location meant neighbors couldn’t simply walk into my house. Like Mordor. One does not simply walk in.
“Far enough,” he replied.
I pursed my lips. He didn’t answer questions with actual information. It was one of my favorite instruments to use against curious people. It made me feel vapid and normal, him using it on me.
He didn’t ask me if I needed help getting out of the car; he merely got out himself and waited outside, arms crossed.
Of course, I would’ve bristled at the offer, but it was jarring that he didn’t. The fact he watched me struggle with the crutches and awkwardly navigate the gravel with them, was nothing short of humiliating.
He was still dangling my keys from one of his fingers. “I’ll take those now,” I said sharply, making sure I looked him in the eye. Too often, I was sure people weren’t brave enough. That would’ve given him satisfaction, I knew that because I derived the same satisfaction from the same reaction people had to me.
“You sure?”
He eyed my crutches and it was then I realized the mechanics of actually reaching out to grab my keys.
My ankle was a low, continuous throb, sure. Nothing I couldn’t handle. Surely, I would manage to put a small amount of weight on it for the time it took to outstretch my arm, snatch the keys and banish this man from my life.