Rules of Survival(8)

His promises meant shit to me. “No, he’ll just deliver me to the police. So I can burn for a crime I didn’t commit.”

Shaun shrugged. “If you’re innocent, then they’ll figure it out.”

I stared. Was anyone really that naive? “Of course they will. And rainbows are likely to shoot from my ass. Then, later, leprechauns are going to offer me a big fat pot of gold and a bottomless blueberry smoothie.”

He blinked. “Blueberry smoothie? That’s sick.”

Sick? Was he crazy? “You have no taste—” Why was I arguing with this guy? His voice. It was totally his voice. It was deep with a hint of something dark and rugged. Despite the fact that he had me cuffed to the bed, I liked the sound of it. Plus, it was better than silence any day. “You’re going to get me killed.”

He rolled his eyes and stood. “No one’s going to hurt you.”

“I’ve got a news flash for you, Boy Scout. Someone already hurt me.” There was an edge of desperation to my voice, and even though Mom taught me to be tough, I couldn’t help it. I didn’t want to die. “Someone murdered my mom. And now they’re after me. Every minute you idiots keep me here is another minute shaved off my life. I hope to hell you can live with my blood on your hands.”

“There you go again with the dramatic.” He settled in a chair across the room and picked up a paperback.

“And there you go again with the jackass,” I countered. As far as comebacks went, it was lame. I must have hit my head harder than I thought.

I was ignored as he focused on the book. It was insulting. At least if you were going to chain a girl to a bed, have the decency to acknowledge her.

“Is that—” I pulled against my restraints to get a closer look. “Is that Shakespeare? Are you reading Shakespeare?”

He peered over the edge of the book and cocked a brow. “You a fan?”

“I’m not much of a reader. I’m just surprised you can understand it. Is it the picture book edition?”

He set the novel down on the table and glared at me. Even with the annoyed twist of his lips and scrunched-up brows, he was striking. “Are you always this mean?”

“Asks the guy who has a strange girl chained to his hotel bed?”

“Noted,” he said. That chunk of dark hair fell back across his eyes. He ignored it, focusing on me instead. Suddenly it was like I was the only thing in the room. The weight of his gaze made my stomach tighten and sent chills up and down my arms. It was an unfamiliar feeling—not good, but not necessarily bad, either. After a moment, voice soft, he said, “Can I ask you a question?”

I rattled the shackles as heat rushed to my cheeks, the words slipping from my lips in a barely there whisper. “Nothing I can do to stop you.”

“You’ve managed to avoid the authorities, and from what I can gather from Pat, more than a few hunters, for almost a year now. You’re obviously sharp. Why make such a stupid mistake now?”

I hadn’t known what to expect, but somehow, I was disappointed. The way he’d been looking at me, the intensity of his stare—we’d shared a moment. Or maybe not. Maybe I was just a girl sucked in by a pretty face. One who wouldn’t know a moment if it bit her in the ass. Maybe I’d been hoping that if he liked looking at me so much, I could bat my eyes, wiggle my ass, and get him to set me free. “You mean coming back to the cabin, I assume?”

He nodded.

“I went back for something.”

“You went back for something? You had to know there was a good chance the police were watching the place. What could be so important?”

Mom would be mortified—she lived her life on a need-to-know basis—but I decided to go with a thin version of the truth. It couldn’t hurt at this point. The damage was already done. “I wasn’t sure.”

“Weren’t sure?” he repeated, leaning forward. “You went back to the scene of a murder—one you’re accused of committing—and you’re not sure why?”

“I just told you why. What I wasn’t sure about was what.”

Shaun sagged back in the chair and folded his arms. He wasn’t huge, but you could tell from his arms that he worked out. Solid definition and tight lines. God. I was a sucker for arms… “Because that makes so much more sense?”

“The short version is, I went back to clear my name. I had reason to believe my mom left something at the cabin that would tell me who really killed her.”

He considered this, then tilted his head to the side, interested. “And the long version?”

“A little over two months ago, I was in Texas just minding my own business. These guys caught up to me—I thought they were hunters at first, but they were hard-core. Violent.” I shimmied around on the bed so I could reach the edge of my T-shirt with my free hand. Tugging it up an inch, I said, “One of them stabbed me.”

Shaun was on his feet and across the room in three long strides. He inspected the scar with clinical interest, falling just short of poking me several times to see if it was authentic. “He stabbed you?”

I rolled my eyes and pulled down the shirt. “Is there a parrot in here? Yes. He stabbed me.” It hadn’t been a bad wound—the guy’s aim sucked and I got lucky—but the intention had been clear.