“Are you okay?” My body twitched at the sound of his voice. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to scare you.” From my peripheral vision, I saw him glance over at me, but he turned away as quickly as he looked, touching his temple. “Fuck,” he mumbled, switching on the interior light when we stopped at a red light. He leaned over and looked in the rearview mirror, turning his head to get a better angle and look at the side of his face. His skin was flushed, but I couldn’t yet determine if the coloring was due to the adrenaline of the fight or if the reddened skin would start to discolor, turning into a bruise from where he’d been punched. As my eyes cascaded over him, I noticed blood near where his fingers had been.
“You’re bleeding,” I said, pointing to his right temple.
“I know.” He pressed his fingers against the cut again before turning to look in the back seat. Reaching behind me, he snatched a towel before holding it over the wound. “Close call tonight. If I’d moved even an inch, the bullet probably would’ve gone right through my eye.”
“Bullet?” I’d heard gunshots but hadn’t seen who fired or where those bullets had gone.
“Yeah. Seemed it just grazed me.” He seemed so calm about the whole thing. If that was me, I’d be freaking out.
“Are you okay?”
“I think so.” The light turned green and we were on our way. Where? That was yet to be determined.
A few miles later, when he lowered the towel to his lap, I turned my head in his direction, praying he didn’t yell at me for looking. Griller would often remind me with his fist to keep my eyes down whenever he was around, and I wasn’t sure if that was because he might feel some sort of remorse for what he did to me if he looked into my eyes for more than five seconds at a time, or if it was another way to control me. My guess was it was the latter.
If Lincoln noticed me staring at him, he didn’t make it known, a small act I was grateful for. Other than Pike, I hadn’t been able to gaze at someone in quite some time, and although the sentiment might seem like an odd indulgence, I was grateful for the freedom to do so.
Head-on, Lincoln was gorgeous, yet there was something strong and regal about his profile. His straight nose and strong jawline gave him the air of sophistication even though he was young. His short, dark brown hair was mussed, sections toward the crown of his head not lying down like the rest. His gray T-shirt was torn at the neckline, and there were spots of blood on the shoulder.
He gave off a sense of calm, even though after what happened back there, he had to still be amped up. Hell, my heart was still thrashing inside my chest, and I wasn’t even the one engaged in the altercation.
“Are you hurt?” he asked, and it was then I realized I never answered his first question.
“I’m fine.” My voice came out as a whisper, but he nodded, telling me he heard me. I hadn’t physically been harmed during tonight’s fight, and while I was far from fine, it was the only word that came to mind.
I was scared yet at ease. My feelings didn’t make a bit of sense to me because, for all I knew, Lincoln could be every bit as bad as Griller.
“Are you hungry?” I watched as his eyes swept over me, my T-shirt and shorts hiding my frail body underneath. My physique was thin by nature, but I’d lost a significant amount of weight since being held captive. There were times I’d go two days without eating because they’d devoured everything in sight. And when I was lucky enough to get some scraps, the amount wasn’t much. Maybe a leftover chicken wing and a day-old biscuit. Pike had snuck me food whenever he could, but it wasn’t enough to keep my weight sustainable. At least I was able to get my fill of water, though, a gift I’d come to appreciate because most days, the overabundance of liquid kept my belly semi-full.
“No,” I replied. Even though my stomach rumbled, my nerves wouldn’t allow me to consume anything without the fear of retching it back up.
I glanced out the window at the world whizzing by. None of the sights looked familiar, but I didn’t know my way around any parts of California, so every city and town would look foreign to me.
Close to fifteen minutes later, Lincoln pulled off the highway and on to a dirt road. There were no streetlights anywhere, his truck’s headlights the only illumination in an otherwise black night. The ride had gone from smooth to bumpy, the gravel beneath the tires crunching so loudly I could hear the sounds even though all the windows were rolled up.
“Where are you taking me?” There was a realm of possibilities in the silence that ensued.
Was he taking me to a police station to report my being held prisoner? This option was unlikely because I assumed all police stations were in town and not off some hidden, beaten path.
Was his interest in me solely for profit? Did he see something in me that would interest someone else? Was he selling me to an even more terrible person than the leader of the Reapers?
Was he taking me to the woods to kill me? Had he realized his mistake after he took me from Griller and didn’t want to deal with me any longer? If that was the case, wouldn’t he just return me to them?
So many questions rattled around inside my overactive brain, but
