Chapter 9 #2
“Because you had an app on your phone that shares any text you send or receive with his number.”
“I—” My mouth slammed shut as the pinching on my face worsened. “I don’t understand.”
“He’s tappin’ your phone, Peach. Keepin’ tabs on you.”
“Why would he do that?”
“You tell me. Maybe he’s insecure in your relationship. Maybe he just really likes to control you in every way he possibly can.”
Walton only cared about our public image. Everything else about me and “us” was as irrelevant to him as anything less than a 5 star hotel was.
“Wait, you said I ‘had’ that app.”
“I did.”
“So, you removed it?”
“That text Lyra sent, and the one I sent back to her with your phone after, are the last ones he got.” His truck came to a stop in a parking lot next to a wooded area with a dirt path in the middle, lit by strung-up lights hanging low from the tree limbs. “We’re here.”
I huffed in frustration as he turned the truck off.
“We’re not done talking.” Before he could answer, I hopped out of the truck, and a prickle of anxiety moved down my spine.
The silence, though I should’ve been used to it from all those years living in Georgia, became unnerving as I looked around.
I thought I’d felt eyes on me, but shook that off as Grant stepped up beside me.
Of course he wasn’t about to take his eyes off me now.
“I wasn’t thinkin’ we were done.” He donned his Stetson and gestured for me to walk ahead of him. When I shot both brows up, he said, “You either hold my hand, or walk ahead of me.”
So, my options were to get my ass stared at, or sidle-up next to him like all of this was okay? No thanks.
“And if I say no?”
“The third option isn’t as pleasant, unless you’re into being tied up.
” He settled his hand on his belt buckle, cocking a brow as his thumb rubbed the rounded metal.
“You are, aren’t you?” He smirked as heat flooded my cheeks.
I shielded it, pushing my hair forward from my shoulders and muttered several choice words as I passed him, his chuckle grating on my nerves.
“I could run, you know.” I eyed the lit trees as we walked, finding several unlit paths stemming from the main one. “It would be easy.”
“By all means, Peach, I hope for your sake, you run fast.” My stomach gurgled as the smell of food wafted through the air. I squinted toward the food truck not far from where the path ended. “Don’t think you’ll get far on that empty stomach, though.”
“And who do I have to thank for that?” I spat back over my shoulder.
“One day, you’ll thank me.”
“Yeah, okay,” I drawled low so the people in the line we’d just stepped into wouldn’t hear. “Doubtful.”
Grant muttered something, and before I knew it, he took my hand in his and pulled me behind him. Just as I was about to retort, a man’s voice called Grant’s name from the beginning of the line.
“Fuck,” he murmured loud enough for me to hear this time. “Stay right behind me, hear?”
“Why?”
He squeezed my hand. “Don’t argue, just do as I say. Alright?”
“Like I have a choice,” I said under my breath.
The guy hollered for Grant again, only this time, it was much closer. “Hey, man. Thought that was you.”
“So it is.” If Grant weren’t so close, I’d think the voice was someone else. I’d never heard him talk like that before—cold and uninterested.
You haven’t known him that long either, Sophia.
“Your shop still up? Think I can make an appointment soon?” I couldn’t see past the wall of man standing guard in front of me, but by the way the other guy's words slurred, I figured maybe Grant was right about staying behind him—this time, at least.
“Shop never left. Try callin’ Farrah.”
The other man laughed. “Farrah? But you’re my artist.”
“I ain’t your shit,” Grant snapped back.
“Woah, man. This about your sister? She dumped me, dude.”
Grant chuckled, but it lacked humor. “She kicked your free-loadin’ ass out, you mean.
” The guy fell speechless. Grant filled in the silence.
“Whatever money you think you have for artwork, that you surely are intendin’ on havin’ since you’re askin’ me for my services, better go to my sister, who floated you for way too fuckin’ long. ”
“Dude, I—”
“Derrick.” Grant’s hand flexed at his side, and I’m not sure why, but I squeezed his hand, the one remaining soft in mine. His ribs expanded with a deep inhale. “Just leave.”
“This ain’t your town, Grant.”
Grant’s voice lowered, his body shifting to bend a little forward as his head cocked to the side. “You wanna test that theory?”
I didn’t have to imagine what Derrick looked like as he left, because as much as Grant’s broad frame covered the front of Derrick, he no longer seemed to care about shielding me from the backside of him.
Grant yanked me around to the front of him, but thanks to me being unprepared and in heels, the dirt made me its victim and I spun. Grant caught me, his eyes burning into mine before he steadied me on my own feet. “Thanks for stayin’ behind me.”
Hunger hit me hard, or maybe it was whiplash from the spin, but my mind went blank on a response. A blankness Grant seemed to take rather well as his lips curled to the side.
“I like cheese quesadillas, asshole,” I murmured as I pushed past him, making my way to one of the last free tables.
I watched Grant move through the line with his arms crossed as I drummed my fingers on the wooden table.
A few others who had just gotten their food waved and made quick conversation with him, and I could tell by the way they walked away with a smile that he’d been friendly to everyone else he talked to.
Which was another odd trait for someone who drugged and stole people.
Kidnappers—peoplenappers?—weren’t friendly.
Maybe I was going crazy and didn’t know any better after all the shit I’d been through in life, but something about Grant, as much as I hated to think it, just felt…safe.
That’s fucked up, Sophia.
“Goddamn it,” I muttered into my palms, pressing my fingertips into my closed eyes.
What had Grant said about Ativan? It can mess with your emotional state?
Yeah, that’s what was happening. I didn’t think the over six-foot tattooed man with a fitted white shirt that showed his muscular frame off, topped with a black cowboy hat, was super attractive, highly fuckable, and actually cared for my well-being.
He was crazy.
Insane.
Probably murdered people in the non-existent basement he couldn’t have—because people in Florida don’t have basements, Sophia.
And now I was arguing with myself over whether or not I should try to fuck my kidnapper before I went off to get married.
A gooey, cheesy quesadilla slid in front of my face, and as I followed the large hand that had put it there, I read the words scrawled up the side of his index finger.
“Go to Hell?” I asked, while pointing at the words as Grant settled in the seat across from me. He nodded and picked up one of his four tacos. “Why there?”
The corner of his lip twitched. “Can’t guess?”
“Ummm…no. Probably those drugs you gave me, slowin’ me down and all.”
“Hmm.” He took a bite before setting the taco back down, then raised both hands as if he were holding a gun, his index finger miming the pulling of a trigger.
“Oh.”
A cold shiver rushed down my spine, and I picked up a piece of my food to ignore it. What if he was insane? Was he going to kill me? It would have been easier to do so when I was unconscious. Surely he knew that.
“I’m not gonna hurt you, Peach,” he said with a sincere look on his face. A trained psycho, then. “Where do you wanna start?”
“Start?”
“With your questions,” he clarified. “Or do you just want to eat in silence while you try to analyze all of my visible ink and draw up conclusions about me that aren’t how you’d feel had I not drugged you?”
I snapped my attention away from said ink, like the one goin’ down the side of his neck, written in a foreign language—Latin, maybe?
—and the ones across eight knuckles where the word “revenant” was spelled out, and took another bite of my quesadilla.
My mind raced to think of what to ask him, what I believed he would be truthful about, but all I could think to ask was, “What else happened that night? You know, after you…did what you did.”
His expression turned mischievous. “After I did what you asked me to and fucked you with my fingers, made you come on them, then licked your sweet cum off all three I pushed inside your tight cunt?” The quesadilla I’d been mid-swallow on got lodged in my throat, and I reached for the only drink on the table—a huge styrofoam cup filled with…
soda? Did psychopaths normally drink root beer?
“Is that what you want to know more about? Because I’d be happy to go into more detail. ”
“No,” I said, swallowing down another sip of soda and waving my free hand to stop him. “No. Clearly I want to know what happened after, to make you so invested in my health.”
“Hmm.” He took a bite and watched me as I did the same, waiting for him to speak. Finally, he swallowed and said, “After you fell back asleep all curled up against me, it was maybe thirty or so minutes of me just laying there with cum in my pants—”
“You came in your pants?” I burst out laughing, an ungodly snort making a few other people look our way.
“Yep.” Grant grinned. “Sure did.” He watched as I took another bite, all ladylikeness receding as I started devouring my food. It was damn good, too. I kept looking over at the menu that I could see from where we sat just in case I wanted more after. “And then you got a text. Several of them.”
I paused and dragged my gaze to his stone-cold one. There’s the psycho.
“What…what did you do?”
“After about the fifth one, I decided to pick it up from the floor where you’d been curled up before.
It was 2 a.m., and someone texting that much that late…
well, darlin’, that ain’t ever good. I figured someone you knew was hurt or needed someone.
” Psycho avenger. “But that’s not what was happenin’. ”
I scrunched my face in confusion, only Grant didn’t seem as intrigued by the expression this time. He knew I had no clue what he was talking about. “I don’t remember seeing any messages.”
“That’s because I deleted them.” He took another bite, chewing slowly, analyzing my reaction. I wasn’t sure what that looked like because it was meshing into one—panic, anger, more panic…
The uncomfortable thump returned to my ears. “What was on my phone, Grant?”