Chapter 5

CHAPTER FIVE

Nia

We drive for at least three hours, the last half hour on some tiny desert road. It has to be midnight when the car finally stops in front of a small house in the middle of nowhere.

We haven't talked for a few hours. I watched where we drove, but we changed highways at least a dozen times.

My head is aching and with the darkness preventing me from seeing landmarks, I'm not sure I could ever make my way back.

Jake Kincaid is so many steps ahead of me, it makes my head spin.

I missed my flight an hour ago and I've no phone to text Jess. Will she cover for me anyway?

Or is Toni learning that I'm gone?

Will he find me out in the desert? My phone is by the airport. If it gets tracked to there…

Everyone will assume I boarded a plane.

And the announcement will hit the papers. The world will think I'm engaged. That I eloped with Jake?

No one is coming here to look …

Should I be relieved or scared out of my mind? I shake my head, with no idea what to even feel.

Jake gets out of the car and opens my door. I stare at him as he reaches a hand in to help me out.

We are not touching…

I cross my arms and glare. "I don't need your hand."

He only reaches it further into the car. "Sorry, sweetheart, but I can't have you running."

"Run where?" I snort, as I continue to sit. "I've lived around Vegas long enough to understand the dangers of the desert."

Slowly, he lowers his hand and takes a step back. I inch toward the open door, watching him as I swing one foot out of the car, then the other.

He takes another step back, allowing me to push off the seat. The cool night air hits my face and I draw in a deep breath.

Jake grabs my bags and then points toward the house. "This way."

He doesn't lead the way, though, waiting for me and walking next to me as he carries my bags.

We even look like a couple as he pulls out a key, opening the door and inviting me inside as he holds my stuff.

"You didn't bring a suitcase?" I ask, stepping into the small, but beautiful, interior. A kitchen is to the left, a small island doubling as a table. It has clean, modern lines but with natural-wood finishes that make it feel so cozy. An overstuffed couch and chairs sit to the right, overlooking large windows that face out into the darkness.

"I've already moved in," he answers, closing the door behind us, a lock clicking into place. How did it close? I should be tracking the details but I'm so tired and my head is throbbing.

I should be planning my escape but I'm exhausted and I don't have a clue how. My eyes sweep over the room again, noting a small hall with three doors. One on the end, and two facing each other. Two bedrooms and a bath?

When was the last time that I peed?

He starts toward the doors, entering the room on the left, still carrying my bags .

It takes a second but then I realize…I'm alone.

I have no idea how long I've got but I spin back to the door. I heard it lock but I try the handle anyway.

It doesn't budge.

With a quick breath, I turn back and that's when I notice the block of knives on the counter.

Racing into the kitchen, I pull one from the block. Smaller, but with a sinister looking blade, I shove on my cardigan and push the blade up my sleeve.

I take the two steps out of the small space just as he reappears from the bedroom.

I have this moment where I'm trying to decide. What do I do with the knife? Do I use it now? Wait?

He stops three feet away from me, his eyes narrowing. "Nia. You all right?"

"I…" I swallow down a lump. "I need to use the bathroom."

He points at the center door behind him, and I start toward it. I'm not sure what I'm hoping to accomplish, but I'm tired and I need a moment to think it through.

I brush past him, quickly entering the room and close the door. I really do need to go pee, and I pull down my panties and sit. The bathroom is as nicely appointed as the rest of the place. It really would be a lovely house to stay in if not for the whole "held against my will" part.

Pulling the knife from my sleeve, I hold it in my hand. Think, Nia. What are you doing? I could trust him. He says he wants to help me. I snort at the ridiculousness.

The blade catches the light as I stare. I could kill him.

I let out a long breath of air, my eyes closing. I'm holding the handle in my grip. Am I a killer?

The only person I've ever tried to hurt is myself…

I was fourteen, my mom had been dead for a year. I knew the truth about Toni, and I'd seen his love for me turn to hate.

I thought it might be better if I just…

"Are you hungry? You missed dinner." Jake calls from the kitchen. My knuckles are white on the blade, my breath coming out in short gasps. I don't answer.

He doesn't ask again.

A beat goes by. Two. And I stare at the knife, wondering if I'm better or worse off if I just end it here. I had that same thought in the car. What am I fighting for? Life is closing in on all sides…

Suddenly, the door flies open…

Jake stands in the doorway for a split second, his eyes filled with lightning as a growl rumbles from his chest.

I'm still on the toilet, my dress up to my waist, panties around my knees as I stare up at him, my mouth surely open and my eyes wide.

In a second, he's across the bathroom, his hand wrapping tight around my wrist, the knife still in my hand. "What are you doing?" he growls.

"I…" A lump forms in my throat. Is it crazy that I feel ashamed? For a second I want to explain. I wasn't going to hurt myself…probably. I was contemplating hurting him first. But why should I offer him an explanation?

He's the one who stole me. Why should I believe him when he says he's not going to hurt me?

He puts a little more pressure on my wrist until I cry out and loosen my grip on the handle.

He takes the instrument from my hand, tossing it out of the bathroom and down the hall. I watch it sail through the air, refusing to think about what is going to happen next.

That's one of the ways you survive abuse. You don't think.

"You are not hurting yourself, Nia," he growls out. "Didn't I tell you that I was here to protect you?"

Then he leaves the bathroom, softly closing the door behind him.

I stare at the spot where he just was. Because this is not how men in my world act. They don't softly close the door when you've disobeyed. And they never mean the words when they say they'll protect you.

Something small in me cracks and I realize that I might actually want to believe him.