Chapter 18
AMELIA
Jude sat on the bed and immediately dozed off. As much as I wanted to hate him, I felt bad for him. He had made a split-second decision to turn his life upside down for me. Whether or not I agreed with it or liked it, I respected it.
He startled awake a few hours later and asked how long he had been out.
Apparently, the truthful answer of “three hours” pissed him off enough that he didn’t speak to me until it was absolutely necessary.
I suffered through a miserable dinner of military-style MREs that tasted like they were straight from the First World War. Jude, however, scarfed down his chili mac like a man starved.
It made the air inside the cabin smell like decomposing feet.
Thankfully, the cabin was well-stocked with necessities, so I had been able to brush my teeth for the first time in what felt like a week. The two of us retreated to our separate corners. Jude offered a grunt that translated to “You sleep in the bed. I’ll sleep on the couch.”
I didn’t argue and simply closed my eyes. There was no use in fighting it, and I was too tired to form a plan. Yet.
Saturday, May 24 | 8:20 a.m.
I never realized how loud New Haven was until I was dropped in the middle of the Appalachian Mountains without warning.
It was silent.
Silent like a horror movie, where every snap of a twig sounds like a gunshot. Silent like when you think you’re by yourself, then realize you’re not.
Or silent when you think someone is with you, and then you realize you’re all alone.
When I awoke the next morning, Jude was gone.
My first thought was to run. My second thought was to panic.
What happened to him? Where did he go? Had someone else shown up? Were we in danger?
And why did I care if he’s in danger? I should be worrying about myself.
I should be running. I should have shoved that nightstand aside, slipped into the cellar, barred the door, and run down the tunnel like my life depended on it.
He had told me exactly how to escape him.
But he trusted me not to.
That’s when I realized the wood board Jude had put over the door yesterday was now propped up against the wall.
Whatever happened, he had either removed it himself and left or trusted whoever was on the other side to open the door.
Wait . . . The only other person Jude trusted to know about the safe house was Cole.
And Cole had Joel.
Had Jude gone to get my brother?
Before I could decide whether to stay or run, I heard the rumble of a diesel engine. My heart jumped into my throat as fear-induced paralysis hit me in a landslide.
Running definitely isn’t an option now.
The rush of anxiety that stopped my heart restarted it just as fast. Adrenaline flooded my nervous system like a tidal wave. My pulse raced as fast as my mind.
Run. Hide. Fight.
Run.
Run.
Run.
The doorknob turned and Jude slipped in, carrying grocery bags.
He immediately clocked my startled expression. “What’s wrong?”
The adrenaline leached from my body, and I felt the free fall that would inevitably lead to an exhausted crash. It was the same cycle I had experienced over and over again since I had come home from work to find my brother beaten and bloody.
I gasped as my lungs screamed for air. My eyes burned, but I couldn’t get the words out.
The bags Jude was holding hit the floor as he rushed over and cupped my cheeks. “Talk to me. Are you hurt?” He smoothed one palm over my forehead as if he was checking to see if I had a fever. Worried eyes danced across my face as he tried to decipher my panic.
I pressed my hand to my chest in a feeble attempt to calm my racing heart. It didn’t help.
The hand that was still cupping my jaw slid down. Jude pressed his fingers to the side of my neck and glanced at his watch.
That’s when I realized he was checking my pulse. “Scared?”
I nodded.
“What scared you?” he asked, calm, cool, and collected. Like he was simply gathering data.
“You.” The single syllable was the only sound I could eke out of my bone-dry throat.
I could see the hurt warp his expression the moment that word slipped from my mouth.
Guilt settled low in my stomach. I looked down at my hands and the sheets tangled around my waist. “I—I didn’t mean it like that. I just—”
Slowly, Jude backed away. “Don’t apologize.” He scooped up the bags and carried them to the kitchen counter.
“Jude—”
“It’s fine,” he said, though he didn’t even look over his shoulder as he sorted through the bags, consolidating some of the items into one bag while he emptied the other.
Groceries. He went out for groceries.
Fresh food.
Fruits and vegetables.
Real meat.
Bread, peanut butter, and jelly.
Some rice and pasta, from the looks of it.
A few spices and some oil.
My heart sank. How could someone be so thoughtful, yet so cruel? The image of him beating a bound man outside the casino and then dragging him inside was forever burned in my memory.
It was crystal clear—like a photograph rather than a painting—which was how I knew that the hurt in his eyes when he spotted me watching him torture that man was the same look he bore when I said that he had scared me.
Regret.
It didn’t make sense.
After putting the groceries in the cabinet and refrigerator, Jude carried one of the bags to me and set it on the end of the bed.
It wasn’t lost on me that he didn’t come as close as he had when he thought I was physically hurt.
“What’s that?” I asked.
“Clothes,” Jude said as he unpacked the last grocery bag. I realized he had picked up some pieces for himself as well. Boxers, socks, T-shirts, and jeans. All in black.
I pawed through my own bag and found a brand-new pack of underwear, a sports bra, and an assortment of leggings, T-shirts, shorts, socks, and a pair of sneakers.
“I hope you don’t mind secondhand shit,” Jude said without looking at me. “It’s cheaper and it looks less suspicious if we have to go into town. People wearing brand-new clothes stick out like sore thumbs. The underwear and socks are new, though.”
“How’d you know my size?”
Jude was quiet for a moment. “You’re forgetting I was ordered to learn everything about your brother. That includes knowing everything about you.”
There was something in his voice. Maybe embarrassment? Whatever it was, he wasn’t proud to know those things about me.
I glanced down at my butter-yellow sweatsuit. “As sad as I am to stop looking like a walking banana, I’m really excited to put on fresh underwear.”
That drew a meager laugh from him.
I grabbed the underwear, bra, and a pair of leggings, but paused when I spotted something else at the bottom of the bag.
Jude had found a faded Red Sox T-shirt for me.
I clutched the clothes to my chest and tiptoed into the bathroom to change.
The bathroom was a tight fit, but whoever had originally built the cabin managed to squeeze in a respectable-sized shower, a sink with enough counter space to store our toothbrushes and toothpaste, and a toilet.
It was far from fancy, but it was clean and smelled of bleach and lavender.
I had no idea how long the cabin had been uninhabited before us, but with the amount of dust on everything else, Jude must have scrubbed the bathroom while I napped yesterday.
That’s what I couldn’t figure out about him. He was so thoughtful—not just in a hypervigilant, always-prepared kind of way, but in a way that spoke of kindness and sacrificial giving.
I’m sure he didn’t want to go into town. He was probably just fine living off MREs and wearing the same outfit for days on end.
But he knew I wasn’t.
He risked going into town just for me.
I snuck out of the bathroom on silent feet with the yellow sweatshirt and sweatpants tucked under my arm. After changing clothes, putting on fresh underwear, brushing my hair, and braiding it back, I felt just a little bit better. I froze mid-stride.
Jude’s back was to me.
Jude’s exposed back.
And his thighs.
And his arms.
And every other goddamn thing.
Holy shit.
Jude had stacks of muscle that were tattooed everywhere. Everywhere.
Broad shoulders rippled as he bent at the waist and pulled on a pair of black boxer briefs over his thick thighs and well-toned ass.
He grabbed a fresh undershirt and pulled it over his torso. His hair was still tied up in a messy knot, held by my ponytail.
The floorboard under my foot creaked, giving me away. Still Jude never turned. He grabbed a pair of black jeans and tugged them on. “I’d tell you to take a picture because it’ll last longer, but I kind of blew up your phone.”
I snorted as the knot in my chest from earlier began to ease. “You know, next time I’d like a kidnapper who isn’t funny. You’re making it hard to hate you,” I said as I scurried across the cabin and dumped my old clothes on the bed.
Jude didn’t respond to my compliment. Instead, he glanced at the pile and said, “There’s laundry detergent down in the cellar. No washer or dryer, so you’ll have to hand wash your shit in the sink and hang it to dry, but at least it’ll be clean.”
I glanced warily at the kitchen sink.
I had a PhD. I had an eidetic memory. I could figure out how to wash my clothes in the sink.
But as if he could read my mind, Jude took one glance at me and said, “I’ll show you how.”
I swallowed. “You know, when I said you scared me, I didn’t mean you scared me. I just meant that I woke up and you weren’t here and I didn’t know if something had happened.”
Jude turned to face me and licked his lips as he slid a belt through the loops of his unbuttoned jeans. “Like I said. Don’t apologize.”
I couldn’t help the way my gaze fell to the bulge in his boxers as he zipped and buttoned his jeans.
“Your eyes are bigger than your stomach, little fox,” he muttered as he buckled his belt. “Don’t hurt yourself by twisting what’s happening here in order to cope. I need you to hate me.”
Jude was avoiding me.