Chapter 10
Josephine
There’s a distinct flavor of shame that comes with misreading a situation so badly. Honestly, I’m not surprised that Locke turned out to be a spineless asshole. But I am disappointed in myself for thinking he might be different.
Because I know better. I fucking know better than to trust entitled jocks who have never wanted for anything. I let myself get distracted by the gauges and his pop punk vibe, when in reality, he’s nothing more than a prick in disguise, walking around pretending to be something he’s not.
I squeeze my closed eyes tighter, banishing all thoughts of his gorgeous ink and ripped physique. On a deep exhale, I force away the sadness, trying to convince my mind to settle so sleep will come.
Hunter and I have plans to go to the gym early tomorrow—before it’s crawling with hungover coeds like it is most Friday afternoons.
On my drive home, I called her and filled her in. She made all the outraged tsks and asked all the expected supportive friend questions. She didn’t seem particularly surprised by the encounter, though, which makes me cringe even more. I knew better. She knew better… and yet.
Instead of letting me dwell on it, she changed the subject and insisted we figure out plans for the weekend. I’m beyond grateful for the distraction.
I swipe away an angry tear—an angry, indignant, pissed off tear, because that man-child doesn’t deserve my heartache—then flip my pillow over.
Resting my cheek against the cool fabric, I make a promise to myself.
When I wake up in the morning, I’m done.
No more tears. No more thoughts of… what was his name again?
Oh. Right. Nicholas Lockewood. One night is all I need to get over him.
I never even got under him in the first place.
Resolved, I hug the quilt around me a little tighter, willing my brain to relax. I’ve never been a good sleeper, yet I’m a grouchy, emotional mess if I don’t get enough sleep.
Finally, after I flop over one more time and adjust my quilt so it hits my chin just right, the first wave of drowsiness settles around me, and my body releases all the bullshit and disappointment it’s been gripping like a life preserver.
A stillness washes over me, coaxing me into a relaxed state as my breathing slows.
I’m on the precipice of unconsciousness when a noise jostles me out of my sated drowsiness. Fuck. The interruption is jarring but far away. Definitely from outside. I wouldn’t have even heard it if I had my sound machine turned up a bit louder.
It’s probably just a raccoon or Scout. Another charming thing about armadillos, in addition to their bad attitudes and ability to spread leprosy? They’re nocturnal.
I blow out a long, frustrated breath.
I almost had it, dammit. And being woken up on the brink of rest is the worst. It sends a shot of adrenaline surging through my veins every time, and that means it’ll be another half hour until I can lull myself back to sleep.
Grinding my molars, I roll over and start my settling-in routine again.
Except another noise comes from out in the yard. And this time, I swear it’s a voice.
Sitting up, I check the time on my phone: 1:17. It’s too late for buyers to stop by, and Sam’s supposed to be out of town until Monday anyway.
I hear it again. A murmur. Or maybe the low hum of an engine? Shit.
A pit of dread in my gut urges me to get up—to get ready—to flee. But I’m sure that’s an overreaction. There’s a perfectly reasonable explanation for the clatter out in the junkyard in the middle of the night. Right?
My breath is loud and erratic in my ears, the blood in my head whooshing like a metronome turned all the way up.
My feet hit the floor as the door to my room cracks open.
Someone’s inside. Shit.
I’m running for the door in an instant, because that’s obviously the smartest move in this situation.
Instinct takes over, and I slam my shoulder into the solid wood, forcing it shut.
Pain blossoms on the right side of my body, radiating from arm to hip.
I bite back a whimper when the door cracks open again, despite all my weight leaning into it.
Before I can slam myself against it again, the door is open several inches.
What the fuck, Joey? Think!
A low, masculine chuckle shocks my system. I stagger away, and in what feels like slow motion, the door swings open to reveal the enormous frame of Decker Crusade.
I blink rapidly, confusion the only real reaction I can muster at the sight of the man before me.
He says nothing at first. Just crosses his arms over his chest and inspects me from the doorway. As if he didn’t just barge into my bedroom in the middle of the night uninvited. As if he’s annoyed with me.
“Get your shit. You’re coming with us.”
A laugh sounds in the distance. A shrill, maniacal laugh. It takes me several seconds to realize the noise is coming from me.
Heaving a deep breath and forcing myself to calm down, I shake my head. “You are out of your goddamned mind, Crusade. Get out.”
Though I would have assumed it impossible, his scowl deepens further, and he takes one big step into my tiny room.
Awareness tickles up my spine at his nearness.
Saliva pools in my mouth, and my palms break out in a sweat.
The visceral reaction my body has to this man…
fuck. I could tell myself it’s because he’s purposely trying to intimidate me. But that would only be a partial truth.
It’s then that I notice Locke behind him.
And now the us makes sense.
My eyes dart from Decker to the guy who jilted me earlier tonight. Of course their surprise visit is connected to my run-in with him at work. I should have seen it coming.
Another step from Decker has me retreating deeper into my room. I almost laugh again when my calves connect with the frame of my bed. The space is truly nothing more than a glorified closet. And now that a huge football player has forced himself inside, I swear the walls close in around us.
“We can do this the easy way or the hard way. You can either grab your things and come willingly or…”
He doesn’t finish the sentence, but he cocks one eyebrow, letting the threat linger.
He clearly hasn’t thought through this stupid idea if he thinks he can barge into my bedroom in the middle of the night and demand I go quietly.
A small smile teases my lips. “I’m not going anywhere. Especially not with you, Crusade.”
I pull in a big breath, holding it in my diaphragm as I prepare to scream.
But as I open my mouth, he takes another step forward. “Save your breath, Josephine. We know your uncle’s not here.”
A squeak escapes before I can clamp my mouth shut. Outraged and slightly embarrassed, I peer over Decker’s shoulder to look at Locke.
His shoulders are slumped, and his attention is fixed on the floor. Because he’s a spineless, gutless bastard—but he’s not getting off the hook that easily.
“What the fuck, Locke? What is this?”
Pained eyes meet mine, disarming me and almost making me believe he’s upset. Almost.
“I’m sorry, Joey. Just get your things. It’ll be easier if you—”
“No!”
I stomp my foot, but I immediately regret the childish impulse when Decker’s lip twitches. The asshole’s expression has transformed into one of mild amusement.
We stand there, a foot apart, glaring at one another, for several seconds.
Eventually, his patience snaps, and he grabs for my upper arm.
When his fingertips graze my skin, I duck away from him.
Decker has the size advantage here, but he obviously didn’t expect me to see the move coming.
And the cocky bastard probably didn’t anticipate that I could slip out of his grasp.
Spinning, I beeline for my bedroom door, not even bothering to look at Locke as I shoulder past him. Once I clear him, I sprint toward the front office, only to make it three strides before smacking into a solid mass.
A solid, warm mass.
One that grips my shoulders and steadies me on my feet.
“Ohio,” Kendrick grunts, the nickname both a jab and a blatant disregard.
Without another word, he turns me around and pushes me toward my room.
I dig my heels in, but my bare feet find no purchase against the linoleum flooring. He’d surely have no problem lifting me and carrying me to the intended destination if he wanted, but he lets me stumble all the way there.
“Hands off,” I huff out when he stops in front of a glaring Decker.
“You’ve caused enough trouble for one day, Josephine,” Decker says from the doorway of my room. “Get your shit and let’s go.”
I glare back, fuming. There’s no fucking way I’m going anywhere with him. Not now. Not ever.
My resolve must be obvious in my expression or my posture, because before I can make a move, Decker assesses me up and down, then darts a glance at Kendrick. “Grab her.”
I’m hoisted into the air and over his shoulder on my next breath.
By the time I suck in a lungful of air to scream, we’re out the door.
“Put. Me. Down!” I shout, beating on Kendrick’s back with each word. The big lug doesn’t even flinch as I do my worst.
Protest as I might, it’s not good enough. It’s never good enough. But I refuse to give up.
He carries me several feet, then heaves an SUV door open and tosses me into the back seat.
I clamber across the bench seat to the other side, only to be met by Locke, who’s climbing in and sitting down.
“Move!” I demand, scrambling over him. Big hands wrap around my waist and haul me back to the middle.
“Sit down, woman.” Kendrick is already in the car, sandwiching me in place.
Decker climbs into the driver’s seat, and it’s then that I notice the other one—Kylian. He’s slumped over in the passenger seat, focused on the iPad in his lap. Always with that stupid iPad.
“What the fuck is happening right now?” I demand, my voice panicked and shrill. I’m freaking out, but I choke back the trepidation.
Sure, I’m stuck in a car—which is now moving—with four men I barely consider acquaintances.
The situation is dire. But maybe it’s not hopeless. They don’t want to do me physical harm. At least I don’t think they do. In fact, Decker and Kendrick seem more annoyed than anything.
“Where are we going?” I try as Decker pulls out of the junkyard and onto the main road. My question is met with cold, hard silence, as if no one even heard me. “Someone better tell me what’s going on,” I grit out through my teeth.
“I grabbed your purse and your phone,” Locke offers quietly, as if he did me some sort of favor.
“Should I say thank you?” I spit. “Thank you for blowing me off, then snatching me out of my bed like the goddamned football fuckboy mafia?”
“That’d be a good band name,” Kylian murmurs so softly I almost don’t hear him, still tapping away at the tablet propped on his thighs. “Football Fuckboy Mafia.”
Decker smirks, one hand on the steering wheel as he navigates the SUV onto the highway via an on-ramp I recognize from when I rode to the marina with Hunter.
“We’re clear?” Decker asks, his eyes focused on the road.
“Sam’s handled” is Kylian’s response.
Bile surges up my esophagus. He’s handled? What does that mean? They wouldn’t hurt him, would they? I still don’t even know what crime I committed in the eyes of Decker Crusade to justify this… this… kidnapping.
“Someone better answer me,” I seethe. I have nothing to follow up with, but I grit my teeth and turn to the boys on either side of me. They’re both ignoring me. Kendrick looks bored, and Locke looks pained, but neither one will look at me.
“Where the fuck are we going?”
Finally, Decker’s onyx irises meet mine in the rearview mirror.
“We’re going home, Josephine.”
“I was home,” I sass back as adrenaline courses through me and panic sets in.
Sure, I’ve lived with Sam for less than a month. But the shop, my room, my car, Honey—I was more at home there than I’ve been anywhere for a very long time.