9. Ava
9
AVA
I ’m a wimp. Can’t deny it even if I wanted to.
Not when I’ve gone out of my way to stay out of sight for four days now. If he enters the room I’m in, I leave, finding every excuse under the sun to avoid meeting his stare for longer than a few seconds.
To keep from drowning in his everything .
It’s the only way to survive him. Us. This attraction is wrong—forbidden for more reasons than just his job. His assignment is to protect me.
My focus should be on surviving Jason’s threat and staying alive, not on the detective keeping me safe—even if he embodies everything I find attractive in a man.
He’s strong and protective and thoughtful, and fuck me if he’s not handsome. Sexy in a way that makes my breath hitch and my palms sweat whenever he’s close.
It’s a weakness. A temptation.
To not fall for him? I flee.
To not lick his jaw? I hide.
Like now, I’m standing in front of the door to my room contemplating my next move: head outside or stay? Offer myself, or disappear?
Stop. Breathe. It’s nothing and will stay nothing.
Not that simple for two reasons:
I’m attracted to him.
And my predicament leaves very little in the choice department.
I need clean clothes. Desperately. However, avoiding the temptation he represents makes a commonsense problem difficult. Especially when he’s kind. Generous. When he goes out of his way to anticipate what I need and doesn’t bring attention to my neurotic behaviors.
The small amount of clothes I grabbed in my rush to get on the road with the military escorts is now dirty, and I’m down to my last pair of panties. I’ve avoided this long enough, and as I glare at the door, I breathe in deeply to quell my nerves.
That flutter of butterflies that suddenly appears when I see him.
“Get out. Do laundry. Come back,” I whisper low, hand shaking as I turn the knob and pull. Suddenly, the Mission Impossible theme song plays through my mind, and I stifle a giggle at my ridiculousness. Here I am, tiptoeing out of the room while looking around like an idiot and shielding myself with the laundry basket Elijah was kind enough to leave for me.
Dear God, I’ve become certifiable.
Heading toward the small closet near the kitchen, I take notice of his office door being closed and pause. It’s a first. Is he in there?
That’s also the moment I realize there’s no noise—no sign of him ...anywhere.
It’s disappointing and a relief all at once. It also makes me wonder just where he is.
Elijah’s always here, working or sitting out on the balcony watching the tide come in every evening. It’s a ritual, watching him from the entrance to the living room and out of sight, taking in the sharpness of his jaw and the bob of his throat as he sips a tall glass of iced tea.
It’s the most serene I’ve seen him. Calm and fucking beautiful.
“Where are—what the hell is that?” I whisper-shout, almost dropping the basket in my hand. There’s a deep and sudden rumble, followed closely by the thud of something hitting the floor. And even though I shouldn’t, I follow it. It takes me to just inside the living room, where I stop because what greets me there messes with my system.
With that internal clock, all women have.
Elijah Ford is here. Asleep on his couch. He’s holding on to a throw blanket in his left hand while the other hangs off the side with a phone on the floor beneath his fingertips.
“Christ, please help me,” I say low, a prayer, as a tiny snore slips past those lips. Lips I’d give anything to kiss. To taste.
I can’t stop myself, either. I’m not in control of my body. My feet carry me to him, almost close enough that his fingers brush my skin. Almost.
It’s reckless.
Stupid.
But I don’t care. The pull between us makes me do what I shouldn’t, and while I know I’ll regret this for days to come, I gingerly pull the blanket from his hand and cover him. There’s a sigh from his lips, and something mumbled—an unintelligible grunt—that quiets into a hum of approval when I kiss his forehead and then chin.
The feel of his skin on mine sears me. Destroys more of the wall I need to keep erect.
For a second, I close my eyes and savor him just like this. In secret. Privately.
Without him knowing that I had a moment of weakness.
“Sleep, Eli. I know you’re tired.”
“Stay, Ava.” Every cell in my body freezes, and I’m afraid to look at Elijah and find him staring up at me. Of being caught. “I’ll protect you.”
Those words cause my eyes to flash open, and I realize he’s dreaming. Thinking of me. Of being my hero. I’m screwed because this unconscious act endears him all the more to me. These emotions growing within are a torment. Unfair.
Why couldn’t I have found him in a normal setting?
At the movies. My bakery. Or even a grocery store?
We could’ve bumped into each other while on vacation, like all those movies I love to watch while curled up under a fluffy blanket on a cold night. Because without a single doubt, I know I would’ve let myself get swept up in him if I had.
With that thought in mind, I walk out of the room and toward his laundry area. I’m on autopilot as I do, putting my clothes in, setting the temp and load size, and after dropping in some detergent, I close the lid slowly. Elijah doesn’t stir, and I don’t go back to where he is.
Instead, I slip inside my room and close that door.
I don’t lock it, but hide behind the four walls just the same.
It’s better this way. No one will know about my moment of weakness.
No one but me.
I’m running, prickly branches scratching my skin as his laughter slithers down my spine. He’s close. Too close, and a sob catches in my throat as I push past another rusty lawn tractor in my way. There are too many of them; it feels as though this maze is sending me in circles while Jason toys with me.
“I promised I’d come for you, Sugar. We’re inevitable.” Jason’s voice skims the flesh of my ear, and I scream, throwing an elbow back, but there’s no one there. Instead, I’m met with the sensation of something cold sliding around my ankles, nearly making me trip, but when I look down, I find nothing but deformed hands coming up from the ground with extra fingers attached. Different shades of skin. Different shapes and lengths. They claw at me with chip-painted fingernails, burrowing into my legs until rivulets of blood stain the grass below. “Come to me, and this will all stop.”
“No. This can’t be real,” I whimper right before I’m yanked by the ankle and stumble, my hands bracing my fall. Tiny rocks cut into my palms, the sting making me hiss as the fingers drag me across the ground.
I fight and kick. I dig my hands into the ground and try to pull my body forward, but then a pair of black boots appear in front of me.
I’m afraid to look up.
The leather is wet and sticky; a pungent stench greets my nose, making me heave. I’m trying not to think about why the shoe is that way, but fear makes it impossible to wrench my body back. Instead, I’m unable to stop him from forcing my chin up and head back until our eyes meet.
Jason’s are pitch black, like what you see in horror films. The smirk on his face sends chills down my spine. “I warned you, Sugar. You’ll pay for this, and only after I’ve lubed my cock with your blood will I forgive you.”
“This can’t be real.”
“But I am, Ava. I’m your nightmare and future.” His shoe moves from my face so he can squat down, my body within his reach, but he doesn’t touch me. Jason’s hands are clenched at his sides while the sudden blare of a siren gets closer. Just like the night of his arrest, his face transforms into one of relief. “I did all of this for you. Why can’t you see that?”
Multiple car doors open, and then there’s the heavy vibration of footsteps coming our way. It’s déjà vu as guns are drawn and voices shout—I can’t make out a single word they’re saying—but I am trapped by his expression.
The evident relief of being caught. Of no longer having to hide from society.
“I’ll come for you.”
With that declaration, he allows me to see the darkness inside of him.
His obsession.
His desire to hurt me.
He reveled in my fear.
Once again, I find myself drowning in that same sickening feeling as the night of his arrest. His body hits the ground so close to mine that I feel his rough exhale against my cheek—the manacle around my bleeding ankle disappears—and a small cry breaks through my lips.
I’m trembling and failing to find purchase on the ground and move away when a warm set of arms wraps around me…
“I got you, sweetheart. You’re safe.” The voice is familiar and warm, doesn’t scare me, and I find my consciousness being drawn to it. “That’s it. Open your eyes, Ava. It was just a bad dream.”
Every bit of me wants to; I find warmth in his soothing voice, but…
The horrific memories replay on repeat, and I can’t unsee them. It’s a living, breathing horror flick I’m stuck inside of. Over and over. Never pausing or giving slight relief, I’m left withering under the sound and smell—so far away, and yet I feel every vibration. Every sharp note in his vengeful promise resonates and claws under my skin, and while I’m not a hundred percent sure if it’s real or I’m imagining it, it shakes me just the same.
Right now, I can’t make the distinction to save my life.
Am I stuck in a nightmare, or is this my real life?
How can I go from being a happy bakery owner to witnessing such a crime? But then again, nothing makes sense, and the world around me continues to tremble uncontrollably.
A sob shakes me, and the strong arms holding me tighten, the soothing scent of mint and sandalwood with a hint of saltwater that’s uniquely his overtakes my senses. It’s the best of both worlds; the forest meets the ocean in a way that’s not overpowering or obnoxious—just him.
“Good girl.” Elijah’s deep baritone continues to break through my racing memories. It has to be a nightmare if he’s here and assuring me that I’m okay. “Come back to me.”
I whimper, and the sound hurts as I try to open my eyes. “Eli?—”
“Yes. I’m here.” His arm around my waist maneuvers me until I’m closer, and my back meets his chest. In this instance, there’s nothing sexual about our position, even if we’ve never been this close before. This is about comfort, and when he lays a tiny kiss on my temple, I open my teary eyes and look back at him. “There you are.”
He lets out a relieved sigh and I can’t help but shiver, a bit from the lingering effects of my dream and partly because of the man holding me close. As if I’m precious. Important to him.
Don’t overthink it, Ava. Elijah’s just being empathetic .
“I saw him, Elijah,” I say, voice rough and shaky. “He promised to come for me.”
“Nothing and no one will hurt you again, Ava. I’m here.” A promise and conviction, and for some reason, I believe him, even if I fear Jason just as much. It’s what I’m clinging to as my body loses some of its rigidness and my breathing becomes even. One of Elijah’s hands runs soothing circles up and down my arm; he also waits until I’m a lot calmer before speaking again. “Do you believe me?”
“I do.” Honest and without hesitation.
“Then let me be here for you. I’ll keep the monsters away.” Another kiss, this time on my tear-stained cheek. “Sleep knowing that I’ll protect you. That I’m not leaving you.”
Snuggling against him, I bring the comforter up to my chin and exhale shakily. I’ll worry about propriety later. Right now, I need this. To not feel alone. And maybe it’s my exhaustion and the late hour, or simply because I feel safe in his arms, but it doesn’t take long for me to be lulled by his warmth.
Even between layers of clothes, I feel him. He’s all muscle and comfort.
“You promise?” My voice is low. Almost a whisper.
“Yeah, Ava. I do.”
Nodding, I close my eyes as the last tears fall. I breathe him in and exhale slowly. “You’ll stay until I fall asleep again?”
“I’ll be here when you wake up.”
“Thank you.” A bit slurred now, but his chuckle against the back of my head tells me he heard me just fine. Eli’s response to that comes through as nothing more than a rumbled grunt. I’m sure there are words in there somewhere, but sleep has taken over.
Yet, one word comes through right before it all goes black:
“… mine .”