25. Just Your Average Creep
JUST YOUR AVERAGE CREEP
Fable
I stop at a gas station to refuel after driving all day and into the evening. The sun set a couple of hours ago, and rain drizzles on the windshield, stirring dread in me the way it always does. In my exhausted state, it’s not enough to boost my energy, unfortunately.
Last night was rough. After leaving the mansion, I drove two hours into Pennsylvania and pulled into a nasty motel, unable to go any farther without risking passing out behind the wheel.
The itchy sheets, smell of BO, and noisy TV in the next room made sleeping impossible.
I left before sunrise, headed toward my destination, Kalamazoo, Michigan—because who’d guess I’d go there?
Now my body is running on empty again. If I don’t get some caffeine in me, I won’t make it to the hotel I booked outside of Perrysburg.
I take the next exit and pull into a gas station just off a long stretch of road surrounded by trees and darkness. Four out of the five pumps are vacant. A lone trucker fills the tank of a trailerless semi under flickering lights.
I park in the front spot and am about to climb out when a massive RAM pickup pulls in beside me, dwarfing my car even though two other spots sit empty.
The driver doesn’t get out, and the windows are too dark for me to see who’s inside.
I glance at the man pumping gas, but he’s already pulling away.
My gut twitches, but I don’t know the cause.
The truck next to my car, the heavier rain, sheer exhaustion? Too many things have me on edge.
I race into the small store. Burnt coffee and stale hot dogs hang in the air. The forty-something cashier doesn’t look up, glued to his phone as I pass by.
The man from the truck, I assume, strolls in behind me. Older, rough, like a Sons of Anarchy extra, with a gut that could hide a pumpkin. He scans the store with an impassive expression.
I move to the coffee station, aware of him drifting through the aisles as if browsing.
Once, I glance up and catch him watching me.
He quickly looks away. I try not to read into it.
Only two people could be looking for me—my dad or whoever he’s using to leave his notes, and Wes.
Wes wouldn’t associate with someone like this, and my dad couldn’t possibly know where I am.
Even if he’d tracked me to the mansion, he wouldn’t know I left. I don’t think.
Maybe he’s just your average creep. I hurry with my coffee, adding cream, sugar, and a lid. The cashier barely glances up as he rings me out. I feel the man behind me and tense, eager to get to my car.
“Have a good night,” the cashier says automatically.
“Thanks.” I take my coffee and leave, pushing through the door into the chilly night air.
I don’t look around the lot or at the truck or behind me. I get in my car, lock the doors, and pull away.
The slick road swallows me with darkness as I follow my GPS, praying I outrun the rain.
I hate driving in it at night. It’s already hard to see through the windshield, even with the rapid sweeps of the wipers.
My nerves do more to jolt me awake than the stale-tasting coffee, even though I slammed it.
I put the empty cup in the holder and grip the wheel tightly with both hands.
My headlights carve out a small, unreliable tunnel, and the rain doesn’t let up. Unease climbs up my shoulders, turning them into boulders.
The GPS loses internet service, sending a fresh wave of fear through me. I don’t know where to turn or how to get back to the highway. After twenty minutes of rain and only my headlights to guide me, I consider going back the way I came.
Headlights appear in my rearview mirror. Another car. That’s a good sign, right? Civilization must be around somewhere.
I exhale, but it does nothing to settle my nerves.
The lights draw closer, too high to belong to a car. For a second, I think of the guy at the gas station but dismiss it as just another trucker.
Soon, the headlights are on my tail, casting a white glare through the inside of my car, blinding me in the rearview mirror. I tilt my head, wanting to wave for him to go around, but I can’t unlock my death grip from the wheel.
The dark road stretches on, offering no turns, no exits, nowhere to pull over and take a second to think—breathe. The truck stays close behind me.
“Go around,” I shout, anger mixing with my fear.
I roll down my window, letting in the rain and cool night air, and wave for the truck to pass me.
His engine revs, making my pulse sputter, then he shifts to the other lane and drives by. It’s a huge black truck just like the one at the gas station.
Time stands still for a moment.
It’s not the same truck. I’m in the country. Trucks are in the country. And it’s night. The color could have been dark blue or brown, not black. It’s fine. I’m fine.
He races ahead until his taillights disappear around a bend and the rain slows to a light drizzle.
I sag back against the seat and loosen my grip, my fingers aching. A laugh escapes me, the sound too loud in the now quiet car. Rain drips onto my arm. I close the window and just breathe. The GPS comes back to life. Thank God. Four more miles to the nearest on-ramp.
The windshield wipers barely swipe as I continue down the dark road. A minute later, headlights appear, coming toward me in the opposite lane. They sit high. Another truck? The same one?
My lungs squeeze.
It passes by in a blinding blur. Nothing about this feels safe. I press harder on the gas.
Tires screech, jerking my gaze to the rearview mirror. Red taillights swing as the truck turns around. Its headlights are once again behind me, growing larger by the second.
“Oh god!” I squeeze the wheel, bracing for impact.
The truck slams into my rear bumper. My head snaps forward, and the seat belt locks across my body. The car fishtails, and I fight the wheel.
Heart hammering, I stomp the gas and try to outrun him. My fingers clench the steering wheel so tightly they hurt as I try to stay straight on a road that suddenly feels too narrow. The headlights surge closer again.
The second hit comes from the side. Metal shrieks, and my car is shoved off the road, tumbling down a slope.
The world tilts violently. The ceiling becomes the floor, and then the ceiling again.
My head slams hard, and stars burst behind my eyes.
Glass explodes and pain blooms everywhere at once. Something warm runs down my face.
I blink, my vision too blurry to see, then everything goes quiet.
Drifting in and out of consciousness, I glimpse red lights pulsing through the darkness. Muffled voices sound, echoing as if underwater. My body feels weightless, like I’m floating. Blurry shapes move above me. A thick cushion wraps around my neck.
Then darkness.
Wes
The text comes through while I’m talking to Trae about our operation to finish off Fable’s dad, like I should have all those years ago.
Camila: Fable is gone.
My mind cuts to the past when I heard those words before from William.
“I need to call you back, Trae.” I end the call, shove away from my desk, and ring Camila as I pace my high-rise office. Every step is an attempt to keep from losing my shit.
She answers on the first ring, but I don’t give her time to speak. “Gone where?”
She should know this. Jace keeps tabs on the staff’s comings and goings.
“I don’t know,” she replies with worry. “Noah was the last person to see her after her virtual visit with the doctor.”
“And when was that?” I force through clenched teeth.
“Two days ago.” Her voice is quiet.
“Where the bloody hell did she go?” Why would she leave and not come back?
“I don’t know,” she says, clearly confused and upset. “This has never happened. Noah said Fable does this, just up and leaves.”
Because she’s running from her dad. Could he have found her at Hellfire? I text Trae on my burner and tell him I need Harvey’s whereabouts for the last week.
“Did Jace get her leaving on camera?” I ask Camila.
“She left through the back gate the other night after she was with you.”
“After? How? She was sick.”
“I guess not that sick.”
“She wasn’t faking it. I would have known.”
“She duped us both.” Her casual tone has my fingers curling into a fist.
“Why did it take you so long to figure this out?”
“Noah was keeping me in the loop.”
“You didn’t check on Fable yourself?” I yell.
“Why would I? She’s an adult, not a child.”
I release a hot breath and march to my desk to get my car keys. “Have Jace interrogate Noah and report back to me.”
“Already on it.”
Wes
I’m almost at Hellfire to question Noah myself when Camila calls.
“What?” I snap, furious. Trae was able to dig up that Harvey was sniffing around Hellfire until the day Fable left. I can barely contain the demon inside me.
“Fable is in the hospital. She was in a car accident in Ohio. They called Noah.”
My heart seizes. If she’s hurt, or worse, if she… I can’t think it. I clench the steering wheel so tight I’m surprised it doesn’t crack. “Charter a helicopter and get me there now. I’ll be at the mansion in ten.”
Fable
I come to, squinting against the brightness of a clean white room, and close my eyes quickly, succumbing to the thick haze in my brain.
When I wake again, pain greets me everywhere. A dull throb in my head. A sharp ache in my ribs each time I breathe. One arm is wrapped in a sling, and my foot is in a cast, elevated on a pillow.
I blink as the room swims into focus. Hospital. The antiseptic smell gives it away before anything else does. Machines hum softly around me.
A voice murmurs nearby. Male. Professional. Calm. Another voice sounds. It’s deeper and familiar enough that my stomach tightens before my brain makes the connection.
Slowly, I turn my head.
Wes stands near the door, talking to the doctor. He’s dressed in a suit, jacket wrinkled, hair disheveled like he’s run his hand through it too many times. He looks exhausted, furious, and unfairly gorgeous.
Confusion and fear slither beneath my skin. Why is he here? How does he even know where I am? The room feels like it’s shrinking around me.
I close my eyes and try to steady my breathing. I need to get out of here. I need someone to help me. Where’s my phone?
My heart pounds, and the machine announces my panic with rapid beeps.
My gaze shoots to the door. Both the doctor and Wes are looking at me.
If only I had the power to disappear, X-Men style. I haven’t wished for that ability since I was a child.
The doctor asks me questions. How I’m feeling. What my pain level is. If I know who I am.
He examines my eyes, then explains I was in a car accident and have a concussion, a fractured ankle, a couple of bruised ribs, bruising all over my body, and a dislocated shoulder that’s been reset.
I don’t look at Wes, who stands opposite the doctor, watching everything.
The doctor says he’ll send a nurse with more information and with food and drink. He leaves, and my gaze falls to my casted foot, questions swarming my brain like bees.
“Fable,” Wes says in a gentle voice that has my jaw clenching.
“Don’t say my name,” I force out, unable to look at him.
Each word sends hot pain to my ribs, but it’s not enough to silence me.
“I know what you’ve been doing to me. Whatever sick game this is…
I can assure you… I’ve suffered more than you can ever know since you betrayed me in England.
You enjoyed destroying my life back then too…
telling your dad I held you hostage when all I did was save you…
but you’re done playing with me. Leave and forget I exist.”
He runs his hand through his dark blonde locks, tousling them more, his bluebell eyes bloodshot and weary. Not because of me. “Please stop trying to talk. I know how bad it hurts.”
“Leave, and I will.”
“Sorry, angel. I can’t do that.” He drops onto the chair beside my bed. “We need to get a few things straight about our past, and we need to work together on our future.”
My eyes find him before my head turns in his direction, a scowl curling my lips. “What is wrong with you?”
He just stares at me, his gaze heavy with emotions that can’t possibly be real.
I turn my head away and focus on the large window. Sunlight filters through the closed blinds. What floor am I on? High or low? Does it matter? I’m trapped here, my battered body too weak to go anywhere.
“You don’t know the truth about what happened after you saved me,” Wes says, snagging my attention, but I refuse to look at him.
“Neither did I. I’d like to explain it to you.
I’d also like to tell you how sorry I am that I didn’t keep the promise I made to you in that garden, but I swear I’m about to make good on it. ”
A bitter laugh escapes me. “It’s too late. My mom’s dead—murdered because of you.”
“I’m so sorry. I wish I could have stopped it from happening.”
My gaze jerks to his. “You could have!” Pain cuts through my chest, making me wince.
He sits forward, his hand raised to cover mine, but stops and lowers it to his lap. “You’re right. It kills me that I didn’t. But I can still fulfill my promise. I will. For you and for our baby.”
It’s as if the mattress breaks, plunging me to the floor. “What baby?”
He looks terrified and desperate. Even in his battered state in that garden, he never once looked this scared. “You’re pregnant.”