Page 22 of Wanted 2
“I’ll need time,” I said. I needed our trail as cold as possible before he eventhoughtI’d run.
“I’m not unreasonable.” He grinned. “A week?”
A week? In my dreams I couldn’t have imagined him offering so much. I schooled my face into a look of outrage to throw him off track. “Not much time. This chest is bigger than the safe, Don.”
He pounded the hood of my car with his fist. “A week. Don’t get greedy.”
“Fine,” I snapped, reaching for my keys.
But Don didn’t retire to his truck. Instead, in a flash, he was back in the passenger seat.
“What the hell?” I glared.
“Drive.”
“Drive?” Shit.
Don pointed to the left. “I don’t have all day. Drive.”
What choice did I have? I edged the car around his truck and drove to the parking lot exit. “What are you—”
“My house,” he said.
My heart sank. A lot of bad things had happened to me in Don’s house. “What’s wrong with your truck? Talk about not having all da—”
Don grabbed the back of my neck and squeezed. “My house.”
There’s no way his fingers weren’t leaving a mark. Tears burned, but not because of the pain. The thought of me having to carry his bruises again dredged up so much of the past, the depression, the anger…the fear.
“Drive.”
I did. I don’t even recall the route I took. I just know about ten minutes later, I found myself parked in the driveway of Don’s rundown split-level, set back a bit from the street.
Before I could react, he snagged the keys out of the ignition.
“Out,” he barked as he exited the car.
Shit. I should have seen that coming. Wake up, Kass. You’re not who you were. You’re strong now. I clenched my jaw. Right. And if there was one thing I knew about Don, he fed off people’s fear, sensing it like a shark does blood in the water.
I steeled my nerves, kicked back my door and stalked after him. “Give me my keys,” I demanded, navigating across the yard filled with various motorcycles in stages of repair and decay and nearly tripping over a toilet with weeds growing out of it. How do toilets end up in people's yards? I've never understood that.
“Oh, you’ll get them,” he promised. He shoved his screen door open and took three steps inside before turning to dangle the keys over his head. “Come on then.”
My every instinct screamed that going inside that house was a mistake. I stayed on the porch and planted my hands on my hips. “I’m tired of playing games. Give me the damn keys so I can finish the job.”
He cocked his head to one side. “You don’t want to see Jeremy then?”
My heart fell to my feet. I was inside the house before he’d scarcely finished the last word. God. He’d taken Jeremy.
The door slammed shut behind me, and as I whirled, Don grabbed my wrist, crushing my bones in a vicelike grip.
“I thought you might pull this shit, you bitch, so I took out an insurance policy.”
“What have you done to Jeremy?” I sobbed.
“Nothing…yet.” He dragged me through the living room and down the narrow, dark hall. His carpet smelled like piss. “But I don’t trust you. The game we’re playing is gonna be mine and none of your bullshit.”
He opened the bedroom door to the right and shoved me inside. I fought back, like my life depended on it, but Don was bigger, and in a battle of sheer muscle, he’d always win. Our confrontation ended quickly, with a punch to my jaw and a kick that sent me sprawling into a pile of dirty laundry in the middle of the room. Pain split my head, and the world around me spun. It took me nearly a minute to shove myself to my elbows, panting.