Defiance (The Protectors #9)(11)

“I have my phone,” I said mutinously, though all the words did was make me feel like a whiny child.

“Yeah, and the second you turn it on, you might as well hang a neon sign around your neck that says Come Shoot My Ass Because I’m Too Much Of An Idiot To Know Any Better. You’ll be like that stupid girl in the creepy house that always insists on going to check out the basement full of sharp tools to make sure it’s empty.”

While the comparison pissed me off, I knew he was right.

“In a storm,” I muttered.

“What?”

“She always goes down there when it’s lightning out. And the power is out, of course.”

I couldn’t see if he was smiling, but it sure sounded like it when he said, “And her boyfriend and other friends have all mysteriously disappeared.”

“I can’t just get in that car with you, Vincent. Not without some kind of explanation.”

He sighed.

Actually sighed.

Instead of grabbing me and ordering me into the car or just ditching my ass.

It was progress.

Sort of.

“Give me a couple hours to get some more distance between us and them,” he murmured. I was stunned when he reached out for my hand. I barely managed to stifle a gasp when he tightened the strip of towel around my palm to stem the bleeding.

And it wasn’t because it hurt.

Well, not just because it hurt, anyway.

“When we stop for the night, I’ll fix this and answer your questions.” Before I could say anything, he added, “Some of your questions.”

Fuck, I’d take it.

And not because I didn’t have any other options.

Okay, that was exactly why I was going to take it, but he didn’t need to know that. With that in mind, I stepped past him and went back to the car. Within minutes of him getting us back on the road, I leaned my head back against the headrest and then I was out.



“No fucking way,” I said as I shook my head vigorously.

“If I don’t stitch it, it will keep tearing open,” Vincent explained, his voice mildly irritated as he began threading a wicked-looking curved needle.

I glanced down at my palm and sure enough, the two-inch-long cut was oozing fresh blood. My problem wasn’t with getting stitches, it was with how I’d be getting those stitches.

Without the benefit of any kind of anesthetic.

Or medical professional.

It had been well after three in the morning when Vincent had none too gently shaken me awake and declared we’d arrived at our destination, which had turned out to be a rundown-looking motel that was a throwback to the disco era. Worse, it had once been some kind of honeymoon destination, since it was located near the Cherokee National Forest. I hadn’t known whether to laugh or cry at the sight of the heart-shaped mattress when Vincent had unlocked the door. When I’d declared the whole thing to be some kind of joke, he’d asked me if anyone would ever think to look for me in a place like this.

That was an unequivocal no.

But if they happened to see me in it, with a man no less, I could kiss my political career goodbye. When Vincent’s answer had failed to satisfy me and I’d told him as much, he’d rightly pointed out that the chances of someone recognizing me in a place like this were zero to none, especially since I could count on one hand how many cars I’d seen parked in the lot. And I highly suspected the few other guests had the same goal in mind as us.

To remain invisible.

I jumped when Vincent took a hold of my hand. My whole body hurt like hell, though I wasn’t sure why since it should only be my side, my jaw and, of course, my hand that had been injured.

“Lay your hand flat and don’t move it,” Vincent said as he settled my hand palm up on the small table we were sitting at. My eyes kept straying to the hideous bed covered in red satin.

“What the hell do people even see in a place like this?” I wondered as I looked around the room which, in addition to the god-awful bed, sported an outdated-looking jetted tub in the corner. “I mean…FUCK!” I yelled as cool liquid splashed over my hand, sending searing flashes of pain coursing up my arm. The burn didn’t last long, but it was enough that I was breathing hard to keep myself from yelling any more obscenities. If Vincent hadn’t been holding onto my wrist with an iron grip, I most certainly would have yanked my hand away.

“What was that?” I asked once I could manage to talk again. My eyes settled on a small bottle of scotch next to Vincent’s elbow.

“Poor man’s antiseptic,” he said calmly. “Anesthetic, too,” he added as he reached for the bottle with his free hand and handed it to me.

I grabbed the bottle and took a healthy swig.

“Thought Southern Baptists frowned on alcohol,” Vincent murmured as he reached for the needle. I downed another swallow of the cheap scotch and hoped like hell it would work sooner rather than later.

It didn’t.

I bit into my lip as Vincent pressed the tip of the needle into my skin. “You’ve been doing your homework on me,” I said once he’d pulled the needle all the way through.

“Not like there isn’t a trove of information out there to be found,” he said as he inserted the needle again.

I took another drink, but eased back on the urge to take a big swallow.