31. Eva
EVA
We load the last of our bags into the back of the Mustang and pull onto the highway beneath a dull gray sky.
The road is quiet this early, endless stretches of asphalt cutting through pine forests and fields while the heater hums softly between us.
A song blasts through the speakers, and it’s nothing like Hudson’s usual death metal.
This is something completely different.
Heavy guitars crash under rap verses and raw, shouted lyrics, but then the chorus unexpectedly turns melodic. It’s chaotic, but somehow catchy.
I glance at the stereo. “What exactly are we listening to?”
Hudson chuckles under his breath, one hand loose on the wheel. “Lucian’s favorite emo band.”
I stare at him. “Emo band.”
“They’re from Columbus,” he says. “All their songs are basically about depression, anxiety, emotional trauma… the usual uplifting material.”
“Charming.”
A smirk tugs briefly at his mouth.
It grows on you. Beneath the screaming, there’s actually a strangely positive message. He shrugs. Sometimes I listen to them when I’m feeling off-kilter.
I glance over at him. “Are you feeling off-kilter now?”
Hudson nods, fingers drumming absently against the steering wheel.
Something’s eating at him.
“About what happens when we get back?” I ask quietly.
“That, for sure.” His jaw shifts. “And…”
“And?”
He cuts a quick glance at me.
Right.
The confession.
I told him I loved him naked in bed, wrapped around him, completely wrecked by him.
And he hadn’t said it back.
Not really.
Saying ‘You’re mine’ wasn’t the same thing.
Even so, some part of me still loved hearing it.
I haven’t said the words again since then, but something between us has changed with every passing day.
Every conversation.
Every touch.
Every quiet moment in that cabin made it dangerously easy to forget how all of this started.
I turn toward the window, watching blurred trees race past beneath the gray sky.
Rationally, I know this entire situation is insane.
A woman falling in love with the man who kidnapped her could probably be the start of a psychology case study.
I know what he did.
And I'm still choosing him.
Maybe that should horrify me more than it does.
But the world isn’t black and white.
People aren’t either, not really.
I've seen who Hudson is beneath all the violence and rage.
The way he loves Lucian.
The way guilt seems to eat him up inside.
The way he tried to protect me, even before he admitted he cared.
“About what you said,” Hudson says finally, his voice rougher now. “About loving me.”
My stomach tightens instantly.
“You don’t have to stick by something you said in the heat of the moment,” he says.
I turn slowly toward him and raise an eyebrow. “What the hell does that even mean?”
He lets out a sharp breath, eyes fixed on the highway.
“Eva, I'm not a good person. You know that.”
His jaw flexes.
“I'm the reason you ended up in that house. I chased you down. Threw you into a trunk. Locked you up.”
His gaze stays fixed on the road ahead. “And before any of this…I was going to kill you.”
I fold my arms across my chest. “If you were really going to kill me, you would’ve done it immediately.”
“That isn't the point.”
“No, I think it kind of is.”
He lets out a frustrated sound.
We sit in silence for a moment.
“The point,” he says tightly, “is that you shouldn’t love somebody whose actions led to you being tortured.”
“Mmm. Okay. Fair point.” I nod. “I’ll keep that in mind if I ever accidentally fall for a violent criminal again.”
He shoots me an incredulous look.
A quiet moment passes, broken only by the hum of the tires and the distant music from the speakers.
I stare out the window, trying to untangle feelings that stopped making sense a long time ago.
Finally, I let out a slow breath.
“Look, Hudson… we both know there’s something between us. And yes, all of that is true.” I glance at him. “I should probably hate you.”
“You definitely should,” he mutters.
A sad smile tugs at my lips.
“I did,” I say quietly. “But not anymore.”
His jaw tightens right away.
“And if you’re about to say you don’t deserve love because you’re a monster,” I go on, my voice softer now, “or that I shouldn’t care about you because you’ll only hurt me, or that none of this is real because the circumstances are completely fucked up…”
I trail off and shrug helplessly.
Tears sting unexpectedly behind my eyes, and I look away.
I hate that.
“This is really fucked up,” Hudson mutters.
“It is,” I agree quietly. “But more than one thing can be true at the same time.”
He lets out a rough grunt.
I reach across the center console and rest my hand on his thigh.
“I know how this looks. Trust me, I do.” I take a shaky breath. “This isn’t the start of a sweet love story. But I care about you anyway. I see the good in you, Hudson. Even if you can’t.”
His jaw tightens even more.
“I think there’s a good man under all that trauma and anger.” I swallow past the knot in my throat. “You showed me when you brought Maya to help me. When you asked Lucian to look after me. When you got me out of there before Martin could?—”
“Don’t.”
His voice snaps like a whip.
I go still.
He grips the steering wheel tighter, his knuckles turning white.
“I know what he was going to do,” he says roughly. “And I’ll fucking kill him for it.”
The car goes quiet after that.
After a while, I gently squeeze his thigh.
“Let’s just see what happens,” I say quietly. “There’s too much up in the air right now to pretend we know how any of this ends.”
“For what it’s worth, I do care about you,” he says quietly after a moment, “And I’m still not worthy of you. You’ll never change my mind about that.”
He really thinks I’ll walk away.
That I’ll go back to my old life and somehow pretend none of this happened.
He’s wrong.
I’m about to walk straight back into hell for him.
For Lucian.
The strange alt-rock band keeps playing, and after a while, I stop overthinking and actually listen to the lyrics.
They’re dramatic, emotional, and a little unhinged.
Honestly?
I kind of like them.
I make a mental note to ask Lucian about the band later.
* * *
A couple of hours later, we stop for gas.
When Hudson climbs back into the driver’s seat with two coffees in hand, he’s smirking to himself.
“What?” I ask suspiciously.
“You,” he says, handing me a cup.
“That explains absolutely nothing.”
He pulls onto the highway before answering, obviously enjoying himself.
“You were absolutely blasted on painkillers during the drive up north.”
“Oh no.”
“Oh yes.”
I groan and sink lower in my seat. “What did I do?”
“For starters, you spent almost an hour talking about your car.”
I blink. “My Charger?”
“Apparently,” he says, trying not to grin, “it’s very…” He pauses. “Vroomy.”
I stare at him in horror.
“No.”
“You said it multiple times.”
“That’s humiliating.”
“It was adorable.”
I cover my face with one hand. “I’m never speaking again.”
Hudson laughs softly, his voice warm and a little rough. “Don’t be dramatic. It was entertaining.”
“You’d get it if you drove her,” I mutter. “Candy apple red. Hemi engine that sounds absolutely feral. When you hit the gas, it feels like the whole car wants to launch into orbit.”
I sigh dreamily. “She’s beautiful.”
“Stop,” Hudson says. “You’re giving me a hard-on, talking like that.”
I move my hand up his thigh, slowly, and then over to his crotch to discover very quickly that he’s already hard beneath the joggers.
“Wow,” I say. “Over a car?”
“A sexy car is a sexy car,” he says, shrugging. “Sounds like the mechanical version of its owner.”
I slip my hand beneath the waistband, wrapping my fingers around him slowly to stroke the silky-hard length, to pull it free of its confines. Hudson’s entire grip tightens on the steering wheel.
“Eva fucking Sorrenson,” He warns.
“What?” I ask innocently.
“You know exactly what.”
I lean over the console before he can stop me.
The second my mouth touches him, the car jerks slightly.
“Fuck, trying to get us both killed?” he growls.
I keep going, sucking and licking, taking him deep into my throat. The rough sounds he makes, his uneven breathing, and the tension building in his body drive me on.
The Mustang speeds up while Hudson tries to keep control, one hand gripping the steering wheel so hard his knuckles turn white.
His hips jerk on their own, following the rhythm, and a rough groan escapes him.
I love every second of this.
I love seeing him come undone.
I love being the one who can make him lose control.
“Eva… fuck.”
The words come out broken, strained.
Another sharp movement of his hips, another curse under his breath, and then he finally loses it completely.
His head falls back for a moment, jaw tight, breathing ragged as pleasure hits him so hard it leaves him shaking.
He lets out a low, wild sound. Completely unguarded.
I settle back into my seat, grinning, satisfaction spreading through me while Hudson stares at the highway like he’s forgotten how to drive.
“You fucking she-devil,” he mutters hoarsely. “Goddammit.”
I laugh under my breath, wiping at my mouth with the back of my hand. “That was fun.”
His eyes flick over to me, still dark and wrecked.
“Give me a kiss,” he commands.
I lean across the console and kiss him softly. His hand slides briefly to the back of my neck, holding me there for an extra second.
When I pull away, a faint smirk appears on his lips.
“I’m getting you back for that,” he warns.
“I look forward to it.”
A comfortable silence falls between us afterward, broken only by the music and the steady hum of the tires against asphalt.
Then, a while later, Hudson clears his throat.
“Do you worry about the fact that I came inside you the other night?”
“No,” I say. And I mean it. “It’s too late to worry about it now.”
I glance out the window for a moment before adding more quietly, “Maya said there might be damage from my injuries. We won’t really know for a while.”
The shift in Hudson is immediate.
Guilt flashes on his face.
“Eva—”
“Hey.” I squeeze his hand before he can spiral. “I said might. Bodies heal weirdly sometimes.”
His jaw tightens hard anyway.
“I’m sorry,” he says quietly. “I know that had to upset you.”
“Maybe.” I shrug. “I honestly don’t know. I never really pictured myself having kids before all this.” A horrified laugh escapes me. “Definitely not with Baron.”
An involuntary shudder runs through me at the thought.
Hudson’s expression darkens. “Yeah. That asshole shouldn’t be allowed within five feet of a living woman.”
“No argument here.”
He focuses on the road for another moment. “I never really thought about kids either. Or marriage. Any of that.”
“Have you ever been in a serious relationship?” I can’t help but ask.
“Have you?” he challenges.
“I absolutely have. Back in college, I had a couple of boyfriends. Nothing life-changing. But my first love was my high school boyfriend, Tre.” I sigh. “We dated for two years, and then he cheated on me his first week at college.”
Hudson grimaces. “What a fucking idiot.”
I laugh softly. “I was devastated.”
“Who cheats on a woman who looks like you?”
“Oh, please.” I wave a hand. “I didn’t look like this in high school. I had braces, an awkward body, and about twelve pounds of frizzy hair because I hadn’t figured out how to manage it yet.”
“I’ll bet you were still smokin’ hot.”
Warmth spreads quickly through my chest at the compliment.
I reach over and smack his upper arm lightly. “Okay, your turn.”
Hudson huffs out a laugh. “Uh… not really.” He shifts his hand on the wheel. “I told you before, early in my career, I was kind of a manwhore.”
“A slut,” I correct helpfully.
“A very successful slut,” he says, trying to sound dignified.
I snort.
“But no serious relationships.” His expression changes a little. “Maya and I had a thing for a while when I first got to Chicago.”
I point at him triumphantly. “I knew it.”
“You knew what?”
“I knew there was something weird between you two.” I lean back, feeling smug. “She told me you weren’t together, but the vibe was suspicious.”
“There isn’t anything between us anymore.”
He shrugs.
“But she’s a good person. And I trust her.”
“Did you love her?”
He goes quiet for so long I think he might dodge the question.
But eventually, he exhales slowly.
“I cared about her,” he says slowly. “A lot.” He keeps his eyes on the road. “But I don’t think I was capable of love back then.”
His honesty hits me harder than I expected.
“Does she love you?”
“She does not,” he says immediately. “She cares about me, sure. But it’s platonic.”
He clears his throat.
“And she knows what you are to me.”
My pulse stumbles.
I stare at him for a second before I can stop myself from asking, “What am I to you?”
“Important,” he says.
His fingers tighten around mine for a moment, our hands resting together between the seats.
Instead of asking the million terrifying questions spinning through my head, I turn the music up slightly and let the road swallow the silence between us.