Chapter 17
ARIA
That was way too close for comfort.
Stone drags me back into the small home, pulling the door closed silently behind us, reminding me just how lethal this man truly is.
Panic claims every inch of me, but before I even get a moment to process what the fuck just happened and how close we were to either being caught or having to take out that man in front of his wife and child, Stone has me up against the back of the laundry room door .
. . the very door I just attempted to escape through.
“Tell me you didn’t just try to run from me,” he growls, his tone deathly low.
A mask of indifference overcomes me, and I shrug as though what I just attempted to do wasn’t only the most moronic thing that I’ve ever tried to do, but also not a big deal.
“And if I did?” I muse, knowing my response is only going to fuel the anger that constantly rages through him.
“You got to have your big escape moment. It’s only fair that I get to do the same.
And it would have worked if your nosy ass wasn’t constantly all up in my business. ”
“You’re really not understanding how this whole hostage thing is supposed to work, are you?”
“Says the man who was about to risk it all just to kiss me up against the wall,” I scoff, leveling my stare on him, daring him to deny it. “No judgment, but it seems you’re the one who doesn’t understand your role here.”
He clenches his jaw and growls, but I roll my eyes. Two days ago, that lethal stare might have had my whole body trembling, now . . . all it does is make me want to jump him. Fuck, I hate how attracted I am to this man. It’s really becoming an inconvenience.
He huffs and pushes away from me. “We don’t have time for this shit.”
Understatement of the century. The moment the Sheriff’s car stopped next door, I knew it was only a matter of time before the cops closed in on us, and while I know I’m technically a hostage in all of this, I can’t help but wonder if maybe I’m on his side.
At least, I didn’t realize that I was until I saw the way he was looking at me earlier.
When his wide body was pinned against me, his eyes boring into mine, a strange moment of familiarity came over me.
It might have been a flashback, maybe a memory from my past life struggling to get through, but in that split second, I just knew that those eyes were ones I’ve known all my life.
That this was the man who always vowed to protect me and would put his life before mine, despite all the shit he talks.
But more than that, I saw past his walls.
I saw what was really on the inside, and it finally made sense.
Stone Blackthorne was in love with me. At least, the Riley Maddox version of me.
I’m not her anymore, and judging by the way he so desperately wants to tear my head off my shoulders, it’s clear that he no longer feels that way.
What matters is that being around him might just be what I need to regain everything I lost in that accident.
If only he were a little more forthcoming about our past and willing to give it to me straight.
Shit, it would make everything so much easier, but something tells me that Stone Blackthorne isn’t the type to take the easy road.
Following him out of the laundry room and into the kitchen, I find myself being a little more cautious about staying away from the windows. He immediately starts searching through drawers, pulling them out one at a time, rifling around before quickly closing it and moving onto the next.
“What are you looking for?”
“Keys,” he tells me. “Get looking.”
Keys? What the hell could we possibly need keys for? Is he planning on locking up the house after we finish raiding it?
Without any more information to go by, I start searching, striding past him into the living room. There’s a small drawer in the coffee table, and as I pull it out, I find the TV remote. Then as if on autopilot, I pick it up.
“The fuck are you doing?” he questions from the kitchen.
“Just give me a sec,” I murmur, holding up a finger and following my gut. “I just need to check something.”
He tracks my movements as I sit on the edge of the couch, his hands going out wide as if to say what the fuck are you doing? But he simply watches as I point the remote toward the television.
“Now isn’t exactly the best time to catch up on Game of Thrones,” he says, still searching drawers.
I scoff. “That masterpiece wrapped before you even got your ass locked up,” I tell him, pressing buttons on the remote and flipping through the channels until I find what I’m looking for.
Then, just as expected, I find Stone’s face plastered across half the TV, the words ESCAPED PRISONER under his mugshot.
A news reporter is on the other side, going live from outside Hartley Creek prison.
“Well fuck,” Stone mutters, suddenly no longer interested in his search as he inches closer to the TV, his undivided attention locked on the screen.
I knew this was coming. How could I not?
I’ve worked as a journalist for the past four years.
Every spare moment I’ve had—and trust me, there have been a lot of them—my mind can’t help but put all this shit into a breaking news story.
It’s natural at this point, and Stone’s escape has been one of the most exciting stories that’s ever captured my attention.
I’d be all over this if I were back in my office, begging Jedd to be the one to work the front page article.
Although I suppose I won’t be begging Jedd for anything anymore.
Keeping my gaze focused on the reporter, I listen to her warn the public to be cautious, and if they see this dangerous criminal, dial 911 and steer clear.
Stone’s mugshot disappears from the screen, replaced by live drone footage of advanced search teams making their way through the bushland we’d just spent the past two days hiking through.
The camera zooms in on a K9 officer with a massive German Shepherd, and I just know, if we were going to be tracked down, it’ll be that big fucker who catches us.
The reporter finishes telling us all about the enormous efforts that local law enforcement has put in, but truth be told, there’s nothing local about them.
Not if the FBI signage on the back of their bulletproof vests is anything to go by.
They’ve called in the big guns, and that alone has nerves filling my veins.
It’s one thing to evade the cops, but the FBI?
Shit, that’s a whole new level of insanity. We’re playing with the big kids now.
The reporter falls away, and suddenly my LinkedIn profile photo is plastered across the screen, right where Stone’s was only a moment ago.
There’s an urgent call put out to the public, that if anybody was to see me, to call for immediate help, and just when I think the shitshow couldn’t get any worse, the inside of Pulse Media appears across the flatscreen TV, with none other than Janette’s face staring back at me.
“Ugh,” I groan, taking in the fake tears on her face, watching the way she shamelessly dabs at her cheeks.
“We’re crossing live to Pulse Media, with interim CEO, Janette McArby. Janette, how is the team at Pulse Media taking the news of Aria’s disappearance?”
“Interim CEO? How the fuck did that happen?” I sneer, throwing my hands up at the TV, the same way the guys in sports bars do during a football game. “Anyone but that delusional hall monitor. She’s the human equivalent of a laminated ID badge.”
“Fuck, Menace. Tell me how you really feel.”
I roll my eyes and focus on Janette’s performance, watching her bottom lip tremble.
“We’re devastated here at Pulse Media,” she wails.
“Young Aria has been with us four years now and has proven her absolute worth. She’s the best assistant we’ve ever had.
The whole team is feeling her loss. It’s not a family without her. ”
“Assistant?” I screech, getting to my feet. “I’m nobody’s assistant. I’m a junior journalist working the biggest case this firm has ever seen. I swear, I could kill her. She did not just call me a coffee runner on national TV.”
“You know, I could take care of that problem for you,” Stone suggests.
My brow arches, and I consider it for just a second before realizing my immediate answer should have been a disgusted no. The fact that I even took a moment to think about it tells me how far I’m sinking, and I’ve only been gone two days. I barely even recognize myself anymore.
I should be petrified. I should be searching for every escape.
Looking for ways to free myself and land this asshole back in prison.
Instead, I’m anxiously waiting for the next time he just so happens to throw me up against a wall.
Hell, I’ve already started plotting ways to get under his skin just enough to make that infinite control slip.
“Come on,” Stone murmurs, as the reporter asks Janette what she would say to me if she knew I was watching right now. “We’ve seen what we need to see. We’ve gotta find these keys and move.”
I nod, and as Janette wails again, I turn off the TV, not giving a flying fuck what she wants to say to me right now. Setting the remote back in the coffee table drawer, I make sure it’s exactly where I left it before getting up and following Stone out of the living room.
We search the house for almost fifteen minutes, and I’m starting to lose hope as I kneel next to the owner’s bed, madly searching through a bedside drawer.
Beneath a pile of old mail and auto repair invoices, a single black key stares back at me.
It’s hanging from a small red keyring that reads Firebird.
“This it?” I call.
Stone appears in the doorway, his eyes tracking over the key before grinning. “That’s it,” he says, walking in and taking the little fucker right out of my hand.