Chapter 4

CHAPTER FOUR

EMMA

I must fall asleep at some point. After the conversation with Jacob, I lean against the window, close my eyes, and try to think about what kind of torture he went through. My mind hazes and blisters at the idea. It's all too awful, but that's just crap because if he has to face it, I feel like I have to as well, which is complete craziness. We're not a couple. There's no reason I should think this is the case, but somehow, it is.

When I wake up, snow is flurrying against the window. We're driving down a dark road with tall trees on either side. Dad must've woken at some point. He reclined his seat and pulled his jacket over him.

"Why didn't you ask Dad to help drive? Or me?" I say, feeling far closer to Jacob than I have any right to.

"I don't mind driving, and I wouldn't have slept."

He speaks in that dark, mysterious tone that drew me in and made me obsess over him for so many hours, hundreds of hours, maybe even thousands. But that seems like silly little girl stuff compared to this, after what we've shared, which, seemingly, he'll never acknowledge. What do I want him to do, yell about it in front of Dad?

"Do you have trouble sleeping?"

"You ask a lot of questions," he says.

"Sue me," I snap, a shiver of something warm sizzling in my belly. It feels like a small rebellion whenever I talk back to him like this. That should probably make me feel super pathetic, but it doesn't. "Anyway, this is the first time you've ever really spoken to me."

"You were Mike's daughter before," he says.

"Uh, what? I am now, right?"

He glances at me with those intense eyes, but there's something else in them, something I never expected to see radiating from a man as tough as him —panic . He didn't mean to say that. I was Mike's daughter, but now, I'm more to him.

"I'm not good with kids," he grunts.

"Luckily, I'm not a kid anymore then, right?"

He lets out a breath that's difficult to read. Difficult to read or not, it sends another shiver throughout my body. Over the past half year, I've been trying to convince myself what we shared was tragic, not steamy. Some touching, some kissing, and then I'm on my knees with the taste of him in my mouth.

Yet, every time I think about it, I heat up. My body aches like it's telling me to do it again. It's yelling at me to make it different this time. I'll be able to give more of myself to him and show how hot I can be, how sexual. Just because I couldn't do it the first time…

"Eighteen isn't exactly a mature adult, no offense."

I wonder what Dad would make of this comment if he weren't asleep. On the surface, this could be friendly and tired chitchat. "I'm nineteen now, so, basically, I'm the most mature person you've ever met."

He chuckles, lighting me up like I can't believe. I've just learned there is a psycho criminal out there on the hunt for Dad and me, and I'm smiling . I can't remember ever making Jacob laugh during the crush days. The crush days … It already feels like a different era.

"If that's the case, then how mature am I at forty-two?" He says his age with emphasis as if he's making a point. Then he goes on in a darker tone as if he really wants to drive the point home. "That's twenty-three years more experience on you."

I press my legs together. This is so wrong, with Dad sleeping right there, but something about him emphasizing his experience in that dark, broody tone has me aching. There's something so hot about him leading the way and showing me what to do. But what if he only ever wants it seedy and secret and then forgotten about?

"I guess I seem like a kid to you, then," I say, staring out the window.

"No," he growls. "You don't."

I push my legs even harder together, staring into the darkness.

"What are the chances this person comes looking for us out here?" I ask.

"It's unlikely," Jacob says. "They rarely make plays in the US, not this far north, and where there's no money or territory at play."

" They? "

"The Cartel," he says as if it's not a big deal.

"It's the Cartel? " I gasp.

"Not really," he says. "Rafael is a trafficker—a proud, vain, egotistical bastard. He's affiliated with the Cartel, but only because he supplies them with…" He trails off, and my imagination bleeds as it fills in the rest. "Anyway, they don't like him. They won't go to war for him, but he may be able to recruit a few men. I'll need to put feelers out while we lie low here."

"These people sound like monsters," I whisper.

"They are," Jacob says, slowing the car down and turning a corner. "They're the lowest of the low, the most violent men. The way I've been going at them this past six months, it's a wonder I'm here."

"Here? As in…"

"Yeah," he growls.

"Why have you been going so hard?" I ask.

He doesn't reply. He doesn't have to. Six months . Exactly how long it's been since the graduation party, since I stuffed myself into that dress and prayed that he would notice me, prayed that he would want me. He did. He seemed obsessed , but there's a murky atmosphere between us now.

He pulls up a gravel road, the headlights cutting across a cabin set within a clearing with a garage extension.

"We'll be safe here," he says. "There are a couple of towns nearby. Little Hope and Pilgrim's Peak if we need extra supplies, but we should try to minimize contact with the locals."

"Just in case the Cartel comes sniffing," I say in a disbelieving tone, but honestly, it's not that difficult to accept. I always knew there was something dark and mysterious about Jacob. Now, I've been proven right.

I think about what he said. He'd keep us safe, keep me safe. He had a savage, manly huskiness in his tone when he said it. I didn't have to doubt it, never have to question it. I know he's telling the truth. He'd never let anything happen to me… because he loves me.

I clench my fist and dig my fingernails into my palm, forcing that thought away. What an idiotic thing to even let into my head.

"Dad," I murmur, gently shaking him awake. "We're here."

With Dad awake, I can focus on the guilt instead, the shame I've felt every single second being in his presence since it happened. He yawns, rubs his eyes, and sits up. "Ah, nice place."

From his casual, jokey tone, I'm guessing he hasn't heard anything Jacob and I have said to each other, but did we talk about anything bad? Anything steamy? We haven't even acknowledged what we did. I bet he never will. He wants to bury it. That's exactly what I should want to do, too.