Chapter 7 - Ace
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“Hey there, darlin'.”
Her eyes flutter a little before slowly opening. “I caught you before you fell back there. You’re in my truck,”
I say, softly smiling and squeezing her hand gently.
It's like watching a computer come to life as her expression goes from relaxed to on edge in less than a second.
“Easy now, I won't hurt you. My name is Ace and I know you're overwhelmed right now but I’ll keep you safe. I promise I'll keep you safe.”
Her breathing picks up and she averts her gaze, searching all around us. I'm standing in the open door to my truck, blocking her only means of escape which can't be helping in how she's feeling.
I'm crowding her.
So I step back and give her some space, letting my hand fall from hers in the process.
Pulling my switchblade out, I pop it open and present her with the handle.
“Here, take this.
I’ll stop anyone trying to get to you but you might feel better if you have a weapon.
I have some other options if you want to pick something else but that one's a personal favourite. It’s got good grip,”
I explain, my eyebrows wiggling as I look toward the handle that she quickly takes from me.
A crash comes from down the way and I turn, prepared to fight, my beretta raised ready to eliminate.
I hear her squeak and move around behind me.
Her breathing heavy, before a small voice says, “Please don't let him take me back.
Please help me.”
Don't scare her, don't scare her, don't scare her, loops in my head while I try and control my actions.
Being 6’5 to her 5 foot nothing, I've never been more aware of my size.
Smooth calm movements while an inner volcano is erupting.
Him, she said don't let him take her back.
What in the actual fuck is going on here and who am I killing to make her feel safe? I’m sure my face is slowly turning a nice shade of beetroot trying to show her I'm not a threat but someone needs to die purely from the state she's in.
Scanning the area I see a doe pulling berries from the dense bush at the edge of the forest, her fawn following closely behind, bleating.
No doubt all the noises we were making has woken more than one animal tonight.
Relaxing my arm to half-cocked, I continue to protect her from where I'm standing, looking out to the surrounding forest.
Unexpectedly, her small hand slips into mine from behind me, her grip tightening as if she could be pulled away from me at any second.
Never.
“It’s all right, just a couple of Bambi’s out for a late night snack,”
I say, trying to reassure her. “You're safe. I'm going to get my first aid kit to look at some of these wounds. Only if you say I can. You are in control here, darlin'. I won't do anything without your say-so.”
Slowly turning, she's no longer in the driver's seat but tucked in a tiny ball under the steering wheel. My knife clutched firmly in her hand.
“Can you tell me how many people you’re running from?”
“One.”
“Any weapons that you know of.”
“Just himself,”
she whispers.
Nodding at her answer, she doesn't need to say anything else just yet. One male, most likely unarmed is no threat to me but I’ll shoot first and ask questions later if some guy happens to stumble out of the forest. She said he is the weapon. That he was enough of a force against her, he became the most terrifying thing in the room.
If he's not already dead with the amount of blood she has on her then I will kill him myself.
He will not live to hurt anyone else.
“When you’re ready, climb back on the seat and I'll get my kit from the back.”
She takes a deep breath, still holding my hand as she moves into the seat. I go to get my bag, full of food, water, clothing, and my first aid kit, but her hold on my hand tightens and she shakes her head at me, her eyes panicked that I'll let her go.
Hmmmmm, this is going to be interesting.
“I'm going to unclip my belt, okay? Then I want you to hold one end and I'll do the same. We will stay together. I won't let you go but I need to get my kit to help you.”
Slowly, I pull my belt free and loop it around my wrist, yanking it tight so it's tethered. I place the loose end out for her to grab onto, never forcing my presence on her, only offering, and after a second she does. Her knuckles turning white as she grips it tightly. My movements are slow and steady as I gather what I need and return to her, quickly opening my bag and holding out my hoodie for her to wear. The way she looks at it before tentatively taking it from me and holding it against her, rubbing her cheek against the soft fabric, breathing in its scent. It's almost as if she has gone without for so long that she's forgotten what things felt like.
Forgotten what comfort was.
It's taken 30 minutes to get to this point, so the sheriff should be halfway here by now.
I offer her snacks and water which she holds eagerly against her chest, along with the other end of the belt.
I explain that I'd like to tend to her feet first, clean and bandage them until she can get proper medical care.
Waiting for her direction, I kneel and get to work, always listening out for anything unusual.
I tell her about what will happen when the sheriff arrives and how if at any stage she wants to talk or tell me something she can.
Silently, she watches me clean her wounds and wrap them until the flickering red and blue lights can be seen in the distance. I quickly check my weapons, making sure she still has the knife I gave her.
Standing, I start to turn, intending to shield her from the bright lights of the incoming vehicles but she stops me, letting go of the belt, she takes my hand again tightly.
Her bright blue eyes look up at me, vulnerable, worried, scared, and with a deep breath says, “My name is Nova Davis.
I was taken by my Uncle Thomas five years ago on my eighteenth birthday.
I don't know who I can trust.
My family ...
my family will be looking for me but I don't know how to get back to them.”