Chapter 8

Chapter Eight

It was late, Carmine was tired, hungry, and growing increasingly uneasy.

They'd pulled over at a dusty pit stop. Sunrise was coming, and Atticus said he wanted to pick up a different synth brand before they found a safe place to park for the day.

She appreciated that for a few reasons: first, she hated the taste of the synth they had earlier in the night, and second, he'd given her another chance to run.

A part of her didn't want to. That part was weak and tired. It wanted her to believe everything Atticus said, everything Harlan assured her was true, but it was so outlandish that she couldn't. What were the odds that she'd get that lucky? They wanted to offer her a free place to stay and take care of her groom? If she could have believed it, Carmine would have wept with relief.

But good things like that didn't happen to people. At least, not to blood brides. And if she took the risk, then she'd be putting her life in unknown hands. Sure, Atticus seemed nice — growly, short-tempered, oddly compelling — but that could all be an act. He could smile at her one minute and then the next she'd find herself locked in a different cage.

She didn't want to be locked in a cage. Not even a nice one. Carmine wanted to have her own life. She wanted to cut her hair. She wanted to find a job in a funeral home and do what she loved. She wanted to have her own money and in her own time find a real anchor, not just a groom, who wouldn't expect her to give and receive nothing in return.

So as much as she longed to stay with Atticus, breathing in his delicious scent and listening to that strange, smoky voice, she knew that it was impossible.

"Do you need any products or anything?" Atticus pointed out the aisle to her left, where a sea of things she only barely recognized were lined up neatly on white metal shelves. It'd been so long since she'd been in a store, but her eyes immediately jumped to the makeup section. It looked relatively unchanged from when she used to go shopping with her mother at the dime store.

Her eyes stung. The urge to run over and inspect the small eyeshadow palettes was a beast in her chest. She wanted to move so fast her thin slippers flew right off her bandaged feet.

But she had no money, and she wasn't about to ask Atticus to pay for things she didn't need. Not when she was leaving, and not when it might all go into some debt she'd have to repay later.

Carmine shook her head and averted her eyes from the glossy labels, perfume bottles, and eyelash curlers.

Atticus touched her back. He did that a lot, and every time it sent a flurry of butterflies through her stomach like a sweet storm. "You sure, doll? No lotions? Nail polish? Lipstick? What about some ties for your hair?"

Yes, she wanted to shout. Yes, I want all of those things! But she shook her head again. Afraid he'd see her longing and that her willpower wouldn't outlast him, she announced, "I have to use the restroom."

She could hear the frown in his voice when he replied, "There's a bathroom in the RV. Let's get our stuff and head back."

Daring to meet his gaze, she resisted the light push of his hand on her back. "It doesn't have much privacy. I want to use the one here." When he still looked like he was going to argue, she widened her eyes and added, "Please, Atticus. I won't be long."

He clearly didn't like it. She could see he wanted to tell her no, but after several seconds of scowling, he sighed and guided her in the opposite direction of the register. "Fine. You take as long as you need. I'll be right out here."

Carmine nodded and tried not to look guilty as she passed him. He leaned against the wall, the case of synth he'd picked up set by his booted feet, and crossed his bulky arms. Nothing in his posture screamed that he knew what she was doing, but she also hadn't been able to tell he was awake when she tried to grab his gun at dusk, either.

Not her smartest plan, that. She should have just bolted for the door and taken her chances, but howling animals had woken her and made her think it would be smart to steal his weapon.

Stupid. Animals are way less dangerous than men. Now I have to find another way to escape.

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 sounded good to 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, no money. 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, and there 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't trust you!"

"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 are never going 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, and wandered 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 heavy thwump onto the floor.

"Here."

Carmine blinked her stinging eyes when several small things tumbled into her lap. Her breath whooshed out of her in one massive gust.

It was Atticus's turn to avert his eyes as he started the vehicle. "I know you probably want better stuff, and you should pick things out yourself, but I figured — Well, I swiped some things I think Adriana— my sister likes. You don't have to use any of it, but…" He shrugged.

Like it was nothing.

She cradled the things he'd bought her in shaking hands: a silky, cloth-covered hair tie, a tube of cherry flavored lip gloss, and a sparkly, pink-themed quad eyeshadow palette.

Her voice came out as barely more than a whisper when she said, "Will this be added to my debt?"

"Debt?"

"For your help. For everything." She traced the corner of the palette, her finger shaking. "At the crypt, the debt for our care went into our bride price. If we left, we or our family would have to pay it. Is this like that?"

Atticus's voice came out like crushed gravel when he answered, "No, Carmine. It's not like that. This is a gift."

"Really?"

"Fuckin' really, doll." He paused, then added, "There are no debts here. No tallying. No receipts piling up. You don't owe me shit, no matter what I do or what I spend on you. Got it?"

"Not really. I don't feel comfortable getting gifts."

"How about this?" He waited until she met his gaze before offering, "If you want to make things even, then how about every time I do something nice, you tell me a little something about you?"

Carmine gave him a look the proposal deserved. "How would that be an even trade?"

"It wouldn't be." He gave her a wink. "Trust me, I'm making out like a bandit on the deal."

She glanced back at her treasures. "Really?"

"Fuckin' really-really."

"I… Okay."

It was hard to see much with her eyes watering so bad, but it was impossible to miss the flash of his grin. She hadn't seen a lot of them, but she was certain Atticus had the best smile in the world.

"If you want something, you ask for it. Okay? I don't care if you think it's silly or a waste of money." He reached over to give her knee a small, playful nudge. "Let me put that look on your face some more, and let me hear that voice."

"What look?"

"The happy one."

Carmine's heart had lodged itself in her throat, so she couldn't reply to that even if she knew what to say. Instead, she ducked her head and, gathering her treasures close to her chest, decided, Option B it is.