Crash (Brazen Bulls MC #1)(64)

The room was tidy, which didn’t surprise her. Jesse had never been a slob. He was too interested in control to let his space be chaotic. Willa sat on a chair at a table near the window. His Dirty Rats kutte hung on the back. While she didn’t like that kutte touching her, she did like the thought that she was obstructing him from getting to it easily.

“No, thanks. Not thirsty.” She flexed her wrist, feeling the muscles of her forearm move against the sheathed knife. The butt of its handle bumped the edge of her palm.

She’d fought her first impulse, which had been to simply shove the knife in his gut the second he’d opened the door.

No—she had a plan. She wanted her nightmare to end, not simply shift into some new way for this man to ruin her life. All those hours of thinking and planning had led her here, and her goal was simple: to kill him, to dispose of his body, and to move forward in her life. Not end up in prison for killing the man who would not stop tormenting her, despite the years in prison he’d done for tormenting her.

Whatever happened, it would happen behind this closed door, and only one of them would ever open it again.

He went to the cooler. Willa heard him open the tabs of two cans. After a moment with his back to her, he came over and put one in front of her, then sat on the other chair at the table, opposite her.

“Drink,” he said, nodding at the beer she’d told him she didn’t want.

Ignoring him and the can before her, she asked, “How did you find me?”

His grin was broad and smug. Triumphant. “The news. You cut your hair, so short I didn’t recognize you the first couple times I seen the tape, but they played it over and over those first days, and I seen it. You pulled a fast one on me, though. I thought you were in Oklahoma City. It took me a long time to get through all the hospitals and doctors’ offices and find out you wasn’t there. But some doctor remembered working with you. He felt sorry for your long-lost brother who had this one chance to find his sister again. He sent me to Tulsa. And here you are.”

He took a long drink from his can, tipping his head back, his Adam’s apple moving up and down under his beard as he swallowed.

“You should drink, Willy.”

Again she ignored him. “What do you want?”

He laughed. “You know what I want. The only thing I ever wanted. For things to be the way they’re meant to be. We are meant to be. You know it. You can’t never run far enough from me, you can’t never put me away long enough. I’m your destiny. You’re mine.”

“After everything you did to me, you are insane if you think I would ever want to be with you again.”

His complexion darkened when she said the word ‘insane,’ but he answered calmly. “I wouldn’t’ve had to do none of that if you’d kept your faith with me. Since we was thirteen, we been together, Willy. Seventeen years. There’s never been no one else for me but you. There shouldn’t’ve been no one else for you but me. There won’t be again. You got your dog and your Bull now, I know. I seen ‘em. You think they can keep me from you. But you can’t keep destiny away. Only way you’re safe is when you’re where you belong.”

He’d been watching her long enough to have seen her with Rad. If he knew about Ollie, he’d been to her house, too. Of course he had; he’d been following her from there. How else would he have known she was at Utica Square? These things did not surprise her, but they hardened her resolve to end this here.

“And you think that’s with you.”

He leaned forward and put his hands out, meaning to take hers. She pulled away, but he stayed where he was, setting his hands on the table before her.

“I know it’s with me. So do you. That’s why you’re here. You can’t stay away.” He pushed the can of beer an inch closer. “Drink your beer, Willy.”

Why was she arguing with him? He was close enough that she could pull her knife and shove it in his eye before he realized that she was here to fight. But that wasn’t her plan.

Moreover, as firm as her resolve was that all this needed to end, the thought of actually killing him, now that the moment was before her, seemed bigger than she could manage. It was beginning to feel like it would be easier, safer, to let him kill her instead. It would be over that way, too.

As angry at herself and those disgusting, weak thoughts as she was angry at him, she lashed out and shoved the can at him. “I don’t want your f*cking beer! I don’t f*cking want you!”

The can tipped over, and Jesse reared back and caught it, setting it upright before much had spilled.

Then he stood up. Willa stood, too. She turned her wrist, feeling the grip of the sheath around her arm, but she didn’t pull the knife. Wouldn’t do to let him know too early that she had it. She wanted him unawares, the way he’d had her so many times.

She expected him to swing at her—that was what she was prepared for. In her head, she’d visualized the move she’d make to block his swing and, if she were lucky, though there wasn’t much room in this dinky motel room, she’d put him on the floor.

But he didn’t swing at her. He picked up the Busch can she’d refused. With his palm, he wiped the droplets of beer from its side.

Then he charged at her, coming in low, tackling her around her waist, and brought her down hard. Her head bounced off the carpeting—thin and threadbare, laid over concrete—and fireworks went off inside her skull.