Page 133 of Touch of Hate

As soon as my head is clear, I jump to my feet and run for the door—only to look back at him, thinking about the Jeep. The keys, where are the keys? In my mind’s eye, I see him taking them from his back pocket, the way he’s done so many times. Do I have a chance of rolling him over to grab them before he comes to? No, I can’t take that chance. I already came close enough.

If he wakes up and still thinks he’s River, I won’t stand a chance of surviving.

Instead, I fling the door open and take off at a run. The cool air is a shock to my sweaty, overheated skin while the bright sunlight leaves me squinting until I’m swallowed by the shadows of the trees.

How long will he be unconscious?

How long do I have? The idea of him catching me gets my feet moving faster, carrying me down the worn path leading to the main road. It’s maybe half a mile away, but it might as well be ten or twenty.

Keep going, keep moving. He could be behind me at any second. I have to get to the main road. I have to get there before he comes to and follows me.

Dammit, I should have taken the Jeep, but it’s too late now. I’m already halfway there, ignoring the stitch in my side in favor of running for my life—and my baby’s.

I am so sorry.

I’m so sorry this is happening.

I promise I’ll get you out of this.

Even if I don’t quite know how yet. I only know I need help.

He’s River, and he’s Ren. How didn’t I see it?

I can’t not think about it, the memories overlapping like snippets of a gruesome horror movie. The dark screen. I explained that one away, didn’t I? Just like everything else—the fact that I never saw him, never spoke to him, never heard his voice. Or that I’d never even heard of him before this, in all the years he was so close with my brother, with the entire family.

When I first woke up, after he brought me here. I knew something was off. How could I have been this blind? I even told myself he was like an alien from that old movie, didn’t I? My feet slow in their relentless pounding of the ground, my body threatening to give up under the weight of my self-hatred.

Walking around in Ren’s body but without Ren’s soul.

Because he wasn’t Ren. He was River, and River hates me. River wants revenge, and nothing will stop him.

If I don’t haul ass, I’ll be the one he gets his revenge on. I can think about all of this later when there’s time to sit around and blame myself for all the little hints I missed.

And I will. I’ll blame myself until the day I die.

A rumble up ahead leaves hope exploding in my chest, and it’s enough to carry me the last few hundred yards until I burst out onto the shoulder of the two-lane highway. A passing truck, well beyond me now.

Still, it’s a sign of life. Somebody’s bound to come up soon.

I throw a wild, panicked look over my shoulder, relieved that there’s no sign of Ren or River following me. He might still be unconscious, for all I know. I did hit him pretty hard. Guilt blooms in my chest.

It was him or you. Right. I have to remember that.

Instead of standing around and waiting, I begin walking, staying close to the tree line in case I need to hide. There’s always the chance of him following me. He could be right behind me now, speeding his way to the road, cursing himself for not snapping my neck. It still burns, but I have to ignore that. I can’t afford to slow down.

What am I going to do? There’s only one solution. What I should have done all along—God, I’ve made so many mistakes. So desperate to be with him that I ignored what was playing out right in front of me.

I jump like a scared rabbit at the sound of an engine somewhere behind me. Instinct leaves me darting away behind an overgrown bush. This is it, it’s him, he caught up to me. He’s never going to let me go.

Instead, peering out, I find a white truck rolling my way. Before I know what I’m doing, I jump out, waving my arms over my head as it approaches. Hurry… hurry, please.

My heart’s about to burst out of my chest by the time the truck pulls up in front of me, the passenger window rolling down. An older man sits behind the wheel, and it’s clear he’s concerned.

It hurts to raise my voice, but I push through the pain. “Please, help me. I need to get to town. Fast. I have to get away.”

He casts a look over his shoulder. “Away from who? Is somebody hurting you?”

I blurt out a sob, my head bobbing up and down. His gaze lingers on my throat, where—if the pain is any indication—bruises are already forming.