DELIVERY
Cash
I nearly plow straight into her, barely seeing her in time. She’s a blur stumbling out of the mist and onto the road. I hit the brakes with force. The truck shudders. My heart flips hard and ugly. She goes down right in front of me.
By the time I throw the vehicle in park and jump out, she’s flat on her back, limbs splayed, eyes closed.
Her skin’s drained of all color, lips cracked, and she’s barely moving.
I crouch down and press two fingers to her neck.
Her pulse is steady but fast, and she’s breathing. The truck didn’t make contact with her.
Thank fucking hell.
I scoop her up and carry her to the passenger side. She doesn’t stir. Her sneakers are soaked, leggings ripped like she lost a fight and barely crawled away. Blood has dried down her shin, and tiny cuts and scratches spread across her face.
What a mess.
“You had one job,” I mutter to myself, picturing Stix’s pissed-off face.
“She’s got no idea where she is, but she’s not going to sit in one spot and wait for me to find her. She’ll run until she either collapses or kills herself,” he said over the phone after he discovered an empty bedroom and an open window.
Looks about right.
I ease her into the seat and cover her with a blanket.
Carefully, I tuck it around her and shut the door, trying to keep her from tumbling out, then climb behind the wheel.
The engine rumbles as the asphalt stretches ahead, and I repeatedly glance over at her.
He didn’t exaggerate. She really is a piece of work.
Did she really think she could outrun him without a phone or any supplies in a place she isn’t familiar with in the slightest?
Nevertheless, she got far.
I admire the effort, even if it was doomed from the start.
Stix didn’t mention how stunning she is, even under all that grime and crusted blood. She doesn’t strike me as the chipped-nail-princess type, judging by the patchy black polish.
My attention keeps drifting from the road.
I constantly catch glimpses of her long lashes fluttering once before falling still again, the scattered freckles peeking through the dirt, and the way her rosy lips part when she breathes.
God, she’s beautiful. It’s the kind of beauty that doesn’t need to try.
It’s simply there, no matter the circumstances.
She comes to twenty minutes in. Her fingers twitch. Then a sudden inhale, that moment when the fog in her brain clears enough to remind her things are very much not okay.
“Easy,” I say, letting the words land soft. “You lost consciousness. Nearly ran you down back there.”
She blinks at me, confused, not quite with me yet. “Where... am I?”
“On your way to a safe place,” I assure her gently. It’s the truth. At least from where I’m sitting. Stix is intense, but he won’t hurt her. Not really.
“Name’s Cash,” I continue. “There’s water under your seat if you’re thirsty. We’ll get you a warm meal and someone who can treat all your cuts and bruises, okay? What were you doing out there?”
She studies me, bleary eyes trying to decide whether I’m a threat or some twisted version of help. While downing nearly all the water, she mumbles about kidnapping, the press, and some bear between sips.
I listen, nod every now and then, let her talk it out.
It’ll hopefully keep her from realizing where we’re going.
Questions slip in where they can: “What type of bear?” “How long were you out there?” “Did you fall?” A harmless joke about her being tougher than half the guys I know coaxes a weak smile out of her, if only briefly.
And then Stix’s cabin comes into view.
She stiffens as if she’s been electrocuted. Her eyes flare with betrayal. “FUCK NO!”
Her hand lunges for the handle. She’s trying to throw herself out of the moving vehicle. I catch her wrist fast. There’ll be no new scratches while I’m in charge. “Hey, hey. Stop. This is a safe place. You’re not in danger.”
She’s not convinced. Can’t say I blame her. Least of all when Stix storms out the door, all thunder and boots. His face is murder. Not mildly annoyed or oh good, she’s back. No, this is full-on you-are-in-trouble mode.
“Here we go,” I mutter.
He hauls her out of the seat without a word before we even come to a full stop. She fights, of course, kicking and twisting, but she has no strength left. He doesn’t say a damn thing to her, or to me, and drags her past the house straight to the shed.
That part makes me pause.
I get out, lean against the side of the truck, and wait.
Stix comes stomping back out about thirty seconds later, alone. I raise my eyebrows at him.
“What?” he snaps, glaring at me like he’s this close to breaking my neck.
I laugh and grab two cans of beer out of the cooler in the truck bed.
“She needs medical attention,” I say, tossing one over to him.
“I know. I’ll take care of it,” he says, running a hand through his hair.
“I bet you’re looking forward to it,” I tease.
He doesn’t counter, but the corner of his mouth quirks.
“She’s quite a sight,” I say, stating the obvious.
Stix shoots me a glance, one of those tight-lipped ones meaning careful, but I grin anyway.
“She’s striking. Even now.”
There’s hardly any reaction, so I try once more.
“Don’t act like you’re blind. You noticed.”
He doesn’t flinch.
“Oh, I have noticed,” he says tilting his head. “She’s also eighteen.”
Heavy on the eighteen.
“So? Ten years isn’t that much of a difference. She’s an adult. Wanna tell me you’re not intr—?”
“She’s a job.”
How determined.
Who is he really trying to convince here?
“Yeah, right,” I snort. “What the hell happened to your face?” I ask, referring to the gash and bruising on both sides of his nose.
He doesn’t say anything. He just hands me his empty can.
I’m tempted to test how far I can take this before he takes a swing at me.
“Who would’ve thought it’d only take a little girl to take you down?”
His glare turns into an eye roll.
With a shake of his head, he returns to the shed.
“Be nice!”
Watching him go, a dash of worry snags at me.
No, he wouldn’t, I tell myself, then climb back into the truck and drive off.
My job’s done.
For now.