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“Thank God,” she murmured, stumbling a little.

My grip tightened around her waist, trying to keep her from falling. She yelped. I jerked back like I’d been burned.

“What?” I hadn’t been rough.

“Sorry,” she replied, hunching over a bit. “I think my ribs are broken.”

Shit, I’d been holding her around the middle the entire trek back to the Jeep. It had to have been killing her. “Why didn’t you say something?” I said harshly.

Her head swung in my direction. “Because it doesn’t change anything. We have to get out of here.”

She was right. I hated it.

I took her hand, knowing not to touch her middle, but not being able to not touch her at all. I led her to the Jeep where it sat partially concealed by the trees.

Something was wrong…

I squinted at the dark shape of the vehicle again, trying to figure out what wasn’t right. I pulled the flashlight out of my pocket and aimed it at my car.

It was sitting lopsided.

I directed the beam at the tires.

They were slashed.

We weren’t going to be driving anywhere.

15 Honor

As I was staring at the slashed and unusable tires, the sky chose that moment to open and throw down some rain.

Yay.

Nathan’s jacket had warmed me up. The fat icy drops now lunging from the sky were likely going to hinder that a bit.

“Get in,” Nathan said over the roar of the rain, pulling open the driver’s side door and ushering me into the tiny back seat of the Wrangler.

After I was in, he got in the driver’s seat and shut the door behind him. I collapsed against the seat, thinking that being in this cramped Jeep was the most comfortable place I’d ever been. Never mind the seats were vinyl and not all that warm. Never mind the tires were ruined and we couldn’t actually drive anywhere.

In that moment, I was just thrilled to be out of that hole, away from that vile man, and out of the rain.

Everything else was just details.

Right?

Okay, no.

“I don’t suppose you have several spares in the back and not just one?” I asked.

He grunted. “No.”

“Well, shit.”

“Yep.”

“Where do you think he is?” I whispered, the words refusing to come out any louder.

He turned in his seat and looked at me through the dark. I wished it was light enough for me to make out his features. I really wanted to see him. So far, all I could make out was that he was tall and broad with short, dark hair.

“He’s still out there,” he said, grim. I shot at him, but the bullet might have just nicked him because I was moving when I fired. “He’s obviously still pissed too.”

“Because of the tires, you mean?” I guess it was a dumb question. People who weren’t angry didn’t go around slashing other people’s tires.

“Yeah. And because you got away.” He was silent a moment. “Guys like him don’t like to lose. They like to be in control.”

I shuddered a little at his words. My kidnapper was definitely big on control. “I called 9-1-1. I told her my name, but the phone was disconnected.”

“I went to the police too. There was some bad accident out on Route 210. A lot of casualties. The police station was practically empty when I got there.”

“That’s why you came,” I whispered.

“You needed someone fast.”

Yeah, I did. And he came. Emotion swelled up in my chest, choking me up. I swallowed it down. “Thank you,” was all I could manage. Why is it those words never seem like enough?

“You’re welcome.” The reply was a soft whisper that floated to me from the front of the cab. His words were simple too. They were more than enough.

He opened up the center console of the Jeep and pulled out some sort of energy bar. “Here,” he said, handing it back to me.

I took his offering, ripped open the wrapper, and bit into the sweet food. I made a sound of appreciation when vanilla burst over my tongue.

“How long were you down there?” he asked, his voice strained.

“He took me this morning. I was out for a run on the trail.”

“So like fifteen hours,” he surmised.

“I guess,” I replied around a large bite of food. It had felt like forever.

As soon as the bar was finished, I crumpled the wrapper and stuck it the jacket pocket. A bottle of water appeared in my line of vision.

I took a small sip at first, the cool water slipping down my parched throat with ease.

“What did he do to you?” Nathan whispered. His voice was hoarse.

I paused my drinking and lowered the bottle against my chest. “It could have been worse.”

“You’re bleeding.”

I glanced down at my hand holding the bottle. I’d forgotten about the raw state of my knuckles. “I’ll be okay.”

He didn’t say anything but went back to rummaging through the center console. When he closed the lid, he held up a small white kit. “I’m coming back there.”

Before I could protest that there was no way we would both fit, he squeezed himself between the seats and mushed his wide frame beside me.

He smelled good. Like a fresh-cut Christmas tree.

He held up the tiny flashlight, which was surprisingly strong, and handed it to me. “Here, point this at your hands. Keep the light trained down.”

“What if he sees?” I worried, glancing out the very dark window. I could see nothing. The sound of the rain pounding against the ragtop was very loud, and the wind rocked the vehicle occasionally.

“If he comes here, I’ll shoot him.” There was no room for doubt in his words. In fact, his voice held a backbone of steel that made me a little nervous.

“It’s not that bad.” I tried. “I can wait.” Okay, so since he reminded me of my injuries, they hurt like hell. But I wasn’t going to admit that.

“Honor,” he said gently, all traces of the steel gone. He didn’t just say my name—he breathed it. It was like he inhaled it into his body, filled up his lungs, and then exhaled.

Something warm spread throughout me, like I was being warmed up from the inside out.

“There’s no reason to leave it like that when I can clean it up.”

He didn’t touch me. Maybe he knew I was still kind of in shock from everything that happened.

I was.

But damn, I wanted him to touch me.

He placed the small kit on his lap and popped it open, reminding me of an oversized kid with his lunchbox.