Chapter 8 – Janelle #2
“You mean Texas?” Zeb asks with an impish smile on his face. It’s the first time he’s smiled and I don’t like that it came after I said the phrase “evil racists”.
“Zeb…”
He isn’t giving me a choice, is he? I scan Zeb’s face for any chance that I might soften his resolve to drag me across the country, but I suspect he made this plan before he held me in that alleyway.
I shudder, suddenly feeling trapped beneath his blue gaze.
Maybe I shouldn’t have called him for help.
Then again, what’s the alternative? I go to prison?
I can’t do that either. If this means stepping over to the dark side and becoming this person who hides from the law and runs into the arms of a criminal…
maybe that’s who I really am. Maybe I’m not that good of a person or certainly not self-sacrificial enough to spend the rest of my life in prison when I have a choice.
Isn’t it human nature to avoid captivity? We’re meant to be free, even if it’s at the expense of our morals. Zeb, for all the harshness on his face, at least tries to comfort me. I don’t appreciate the angle he takes.
“I’ll pay your bills while we’re gone so you don’t have to worry.”
“I don’t need a man to pay my bills.”
“But you need me to keep you out of prison,” he says.
He seems sympathetic as fear flashes across my face.
I feel my muscles moving without my consent, all my emotions laid entirely bare for this strange, attractive devil of a man to witness everything.
I hate how vulnerable I feel right now and he has to realize that in this situation, I’m going to claw for as much power over my life as possible.
“I can handle it,” he says. “Tell your folks that you won’t be back in the city for a while and I’ll connect all your bills to my bank accounts while we’re gone.”
He’s serious, which sends another pang of worry through me.
Isn’t he the slightest bit scared of giving up this much to a strange woman?
He could be crazier than I thought, and I already think he’s pretty crazy considering what I saw the first night we met.
I called him because he’s crazy, and I can’t really deny that, can I.
“What about my job?” I push back because the little bit of a good girl left in me knows she has to fight against the temptation to hop on the back of this man’s motorcycle and leave my entire life behind. Zeb snickers with amusement, as if my job couldn’t be that important.
“Are you a surgeon?” he asks with that sneer. What, was his job so important? Heat gathers on my cheeks, but I’m not a surgeon, so I tell the truth.
“No.”
Zeb pushes further. “An essential worker of some kind?”
The heat spreads from my cheeks and I feel the need to fight back against Zebulon’s condescension. LPNs are essential workers, by the way, not like anyone at the hospital acknowledges our work. But I’m not going to justify myself to Zeb.
“What is your point? I’m not going to quit my job because you tell me to.”
He doesn’t flinch. “I’ll match your pay for the next six months.”
“Six months!?” I repeat his words with genuine surprise because I can’t imagine disappearing for my life for that many months without any warning.
What about the holidays? What about my job?
My rent? My plans? My gym membership!? Zebulon doesn’t show any signs that he recognizes this as a crazy request.
“The money will be a nice safety net. Consider it a sabbatical.” Maybe he’s so handsome that nobody has bothered to be honest with him. Good looking men can be intimidating.
I don’t know what to say anymore, so I speak from the heart. “Are you crazy?”
Zeb’s face doesn’t change. He’s not offended, not bothered by the question, but there’s also no recognition that there’s anything insane about his suggestion.
“I’m a veteran. I have no kids. No wife. I save most of my money or invest it. Why can’t you just let me help you?”
A veteran of what? He looks more like a gangster than a soldier. But maybe he saw some things wherever they sent him and that’s why he’s willing to do something as batshit crazy as paying my bills while he drags me to the West Coast.
“I won’t let you help me because there could be strings attached,” I tell him honestly. “I don’t need to sleep with a man to put a roof over my head. I’m an LPN, and I can handle my life on my own.”
“We haven’t slept together yet,” Zebulon says. “Technically, I’m putting a roof over your head out of the goodness of my heart.”
“I don’t like that ‘yet’.”
“I can’t predict the future.”
“I can,” I tell him. “We can take this trip across the country if you promise me that you won’t make any advances towards me under any circumstances.”
“Deal.”
He answers quickly. So quickly that I wonder if he’s helping me out of a fucked up sense of obligation towards me rather than attraction.
Not like it would be a bad thing if he wasn’t attracted to me.
I have no business getting into a rebound relationship with a biker who can get rid of a body so the cops can’t trace it. Common sense and all that.
“I promise, I won’t make any advances,” he says. “I swear on the Bible.”
“And does that mean something to you?”
“My name is Zebulon, Janelle. It’s a name so deep in the Bible, you practically have to be buried in the words to find it.”
“Fair enough.”
“Just let me help you.”
“Why?”
“I took a vow to protect all Americans.”
“You are so full of shit.”
Zebulon laughs. “Fine. You’re too hot for prison.”
“Thanks.”
“And I’m helping you get rid of the body, so I have to make sure you don’t get cold feet.”
I nod. I don’t know what to say.
“Thanks.”
“Don’t thank me yet,” he says. “Thank me when we get back in one piece.”
“So we’re coming back?”
“Eventually,” he says. “Once I handle my business and yours.”
I shouldn’t give in to him even a little bit, but I feel genuinely grateful. I wrap Zebulon in a hug and he lets me hug him, but he doesn’t return my affection. After his kiss and after everything in the alley, his reluctance surprises me. His body stiffens and he clears his throat.
“If you want me to keep my promise, you had better stop holding me, Janelle.”
He shifts his body away from me and as he tries to get away, I feel something large and warm brushing up against my leg. It’s his dick. I flinch and almost jump away from him. Zeb clears his throat awkwardly.
“We can sleep for a couple hours,” Zeb says. “I’ll take the couch. After that, we’d better head West.”
“Okay.”
“If you aren’t okay sleeping alone…” Zeb says. “Hold that pillow tight.”
“Thanks.”
“And text your family.”
“I will.”
I’ll have to be creative with my excuses.
And go on a major social media hiatus for my mental health.
But I think I can pull off disappearing for six months.
The only person who would have really noticed would be Rakeem – the ex-boyfriend who cheated on me for who knows how long.
Rana would notice, but she might be too buried beneath her law school books to give a crap for another month or two.
She disappears sometimes with her workload.
I would be much better off if I never saw him again. If I get on the back of Zeb’s bike, I probably won’t.