Chapter 4

4

JENNY

W e’ve been waiting outside the bank for a few minutes, and the parking lot is slowly filling. The sun is out for the first time in weeks, and I’m excited for this change of weather. God knows how sick I am of the frigid air, even at noon.

“Do you like living here, Jenny?” Jackson reaches across the center console of my sedan and takes my hand in his, brushing his lips along the back of my hand.

Butterflies flutter in my belly when he makes the simplest, most innocent gestures like this. He can look at me for five seconds and immediately turn me into a pile of mush on the floor. He has this effect on me that I can’t explain and don’t even want to.

Jackson wants me. I want him. Period. We’ll just take every day as it comes.

I let his question roll inside my head. “Not really, no. That’s why I stay at that shitty bar. To save money so I can leave.”

“We can leave together if there’s nothing here for you. I mean, I know there isn’t.”

Yes! Oh my God, absolutely. I bite my bottom lip to control my grin and hide my excitement. “And go where?”

“Wherever you want. Whatever you want to do.” His eyebrows scrunch together, and he turns to me, brushing hair from my forehead. “What do you want to do?”

“Attend culinary school and open my own restaurant.”

Jackson smiles, and a shiver of happiness ripples through me. “Then that’s what you’re going to do.”

I roll my eyes and lean back. “If only. Culinary school is hella expensive. I’d have to work for at least twenty years before I can save enough money to open a food truck, and even that isn’t an assurance it will succeed. I know lots of places that serve good food but had to close because no one was coming.”

Jackson smiles like he knows something I don’t. I’m about to ask him what it is, but I spot movement by the entrance, and we turn in unison.

The security guard flips the sign to “Open,” and Jackson gives me a lingering kiss. He smooths down the button-down plaid shirt he bought yesterday—the only one to fit him. Even if he’s fully covered, though, it can’t hide his muscles completely.

“I try not to take too long, baby girl, but it might be an hour before I get back.”

I lift an old paperback to him, something I’ve read at least three times already. “I’ll be fine, I promise.”

He nods once and kisses me one more time before opening the door and jogging to the bank.

I watch as he enters the building and close my eyes, letting my mind drift. I met him three days ago, and in that time, my life changed in unimaginable ways.

To anyone watching us from the outside, it’s crazy. We haven’t known each other that long, he’s just released from prison, and now I’m more than willing to follow him anywhere.

The sex is good, yes, but it’s more than that.

It’s the small things he does, too. He’s always making me breakfast. He does little chores at home without complaining and without being told to. He fixed the broken leg of my vanity table and the leaking faucet.

Most of all, I feel like I can tell him anything and everything, and he won’t judge me. He listens and doesn’t think I’m being stupid.

God, I’m falling for him. Fast and hard.

Then again, people don’t call it a whirlwind romance for nothing, and he’s so?—

My thoughts screech to a halt when the door to the driver’s side opens. The smile freezes on my face when I see that it’s not Jackson, and the little hairs on my arms and neck stand.

It’s an older man with scars all over his face and arms and a broken nose. One eye is drooping, and there’s a thick ridge of scar tissue along his right ear.

At first, I think he’s got the wrong car, but he throws me a smile that makes my stomach drop, a knot coiling tighter in my gut.

The alarm bells ring in my head, and I spring into action, trying to unbuckle my seatbelt and open the door, but he’s faster than me.

He guns the engine, and I’m shoved against the seat as he weaves through the parking lot and traffic, farther and farther from Jackson. My breath catches in my throat, fear knocking the air from my lungs.

I can’t breathe. I can’t think. I can’t speak.

I force myself to look for a weapon or be a weapon, but there’s nothing beyond my debilitating fear.

“Whatever you’re planning, don’t. I have no problem beating the shit out of you if you don’t behave,” he says. Something about his deadpan tone convinces me he’s telling the truth.

I gulp breaths to stay quiet, my fingers gripping each other so tightly that my knuckles turn white.

The car feels cramped, the air tight, squeezing me from all sides. My chest is caving in, and there’s nothing inside me except unyielding terror. The fear claws at me, wrapping its tendrils around my neck.

I rub furiously at my skin, prickling with icy dread.

Who is this guy? What does he want from me? Can I fight him?

I make a mental catalog of all the things I can possibly use, but the toolbox is in the trunk. I have nothing here except the registration, receipts, and other useless papers.

Sweat trickles down my back and dots my forehead. My shirt sticks to my skin, and my hands turn clammy.

“W-what do you want?” I finally spit out.

I don’t dare look at him, but I can feel him smile when he speaks, and it’s all I can do not to vomit all over the car and faint. “You’ll see. You’re just at the wrong place at the wrong time with the wrong person, sweetheart.”