Chapter 2 Briar
brIAR
What are you doing?” I ask, fear evident in my voice. My hands are trembling at my sides, and I try to shake myself from his hold to no avail.
Roman rolls his eyes dramatically, like I’m an ingrate for thinking he’d dare touch me. “Showing you what nightmares are really made of,” he says scathingly as he shifts off me enough to flip me over onto my stomach.
Dirt gets in my mouth as he shoves my head down before binding my wrists together with his belt. It’s thick leather, almost like it was made specifically for this purpose of binding a person. I didn’t pin him as a murderer, but holy shit, if the shoe fits.
A sound halfway between a choke and a cry breaks from my throat as Roman forces me to stand back up. His scent moves through me again. It wouldn’t be a stretch to assume he works at the same shop that the other guys do.
I swear to God if I get out of this alive, I’m torching that place to the ground for what they’re letting him do to me. Didn’t their mommies teach them not to fuck with someone who has nothing left to lose?
A gasp slips past my lips as he spins me to face him.
In the dim light, it’s hard to discern much of his features other than his empty eyes.
They send chills through my entire nervous system.
There’s no doubt in my mind that he’s killed people before.
People don’t just have this calm, depraved aura about them unless they’ve seen the lights go out in another’s eyes.
He doesn’t bother saying anything to me.
Instead, he gives me a once-over, taking in the mud-stained clothing I’m drenched in before turning me to face the darkness of the graveyard.
He wraps his hand around my bound wrists and shoves me toward the farthest headstones.
I stumble and break the contact with his hand.
The moment I’m free I think about trying to run back to the diner but decide that it’s likely what he wants me to do. He must get off on feeling powerful and making people scared shitless. So, I don’t give into it.
Roman laughs, a vicious and unrelenting sound that makes me tense up. His arm is hooked around my waist, securing me to his side. “You really aren’t afraid of me, are you?”
“No,” I say sternly, trying to push away the memories the scent of the graveyard brings me and stay grounded in the now.
He considers me for a moment. “But you’re afraid of someone.”
My silence is answer enough for him.
He scoffs. “You are one of the dumbest girls I’ve ever met. A whore. You were going to fuck at least two of them tonight, weren’t you?” His voice is gravelly and buries into my core. Fury rears back into my throat.
“Why? Are you jealous that they catch women’s eyes because they aren’t all fucked up like you?”
He works his jaw and grips the collar of my hoodie, pulling me in close and whispering over my lips, “Jealous? Of them sharing a girl as artless as you?”
Artless? That’s a punch to the fucking face. I don’t respond to that. If he wants to call me whore, I’ll show up for it.
I just start moaning as loud as I can to shock him, and it works like a charm. It’s like a natural reflex for everyone to panic when they aren’t expecting someone to moan. His hand comes down hard over my mouth.
Perfect. My teeth sink into his fingers.
“Ow, what the fuck!” he curses and throws me to the ground.
“Now I’m really going to bury you, you fucking brat.
” He seethes. My laughter is unfiltered and surprises him as he reaches down and drags me by my arms. My pants are wet around my knees, and I’m sure I’m bleeding in at least ten different spots.
None of this is funny. But I can’t stop giggling, and I can tell it’s pissing him off to no end.
He tosses me up against an old tombstone and pulls something from under his jacket. I squint to make it out. A knife? My pulse jumps. It’s a huge fucking knife. The blade must be at least seven inches long. That gets me to stop laughing.
Shadows fall over his eyes, firming his resolve. Roman closes the distance between us and grips my jaw firmly, pressing that military-grade-looking knife against my throat.
My heart all but stops. I haven’t felt this alive in months.
Almost as if I’ve been numb to the world and I’m only now coming back to life.
I hate how much I’ve changed since I’ve been on the run.
Feeling exhilarated with a stranger and his threats—the adrenaline is addicting, the rush of every breath we share makes my thighs warm.
Sometimes I wonder if my body knows the difference between fear and lust. My heart beats to a rhythm it doesn’t seem to know. Roman is something entirely new.
“Last chance. Get the fuck out of this town,” he whispers. Our eyes are locked, and neither of us blink. He adds a little bit of pressure on my throat, and something warm streams down my neck, pooling in my collarbone.
Horror must flash through my gaze because he gets a satisfied glimmer in his eyes before he cuts his belt from my wrists and pushes me back toward the diner. He tosses my keys and phone at me.
“If I see you again, you’ll never be found.”
His threat is filled with malice. I lift my fingers to my neck and pull them back, finding blood smeared on my hand. I glance down at it, the red makes my vision blur and anxiety race through me. Fuck. I can’t handle seeing blood. Not after Callum.
My eyes meet Roman’s, and I find nothing there but a wild, dangerous creature.
“Too late, I’ve already been buried. I’m already a lost girl,” I say ominously and flip him off. His expression twists with thought. There’s an air of interest that blooms over his features.
I don’t wait for him to warn me again. I run as fast as I can back to my car. Rage-filled tears falling and crashing on the ground. My clothes are stiff from the mud, and I smell like worms and earth.
The four guys aren’t here anymore, and their vehicles are gone.
They seriously left me with that psychopath? I furiously blink away the last of my tears. Assholes. I’ll make sure they know who the fuck they are messing with. I’m anything but a pushover, and I’m not going to let some boy gang scare me out of town.
I fumble with my keys before successfully unlocking my car. I get in as fast as I can and drive away in the direction Roman told me to go. I know he’s watching from somewhere in the shadows, so I don’t risk it.
A mile down the road, I spot the four men with their hands in their pockets, leaning on the hood of a blacked-out Mustang. I don’t know what I was expecting, but it wasn’t for them to just be standing idly by and leaving my fate to their fucked-up leader or whatever the hell he is to them.
Is it even worth staying? I question my own motives. I decide to keep driving out of town in case they follow me for a bit.
It takes about thirty minutes before I pass the sign on the interstate that points toward the town, Bane Falls, and almost immediately, I get my phone service back.
Relief floods me as messages start popping up on my phone, including voicemails and missed calls.
Strange, I never get messages anymore. Not since I cut what few friends I had left out of my life when I changed my name and went into hiding.
I quickly check the messages, glancing down at my phone as it charges, seeing that I missed a call from Mr. Holland. I go to the voicemails and click on the last of the five voicemails he left me. Shit, did something happen? I bite my thumbnail.
Mr. Holland’s voice is filled with excitement, which slightly lifts the dread that’s lodged into my chest thanks to that ass-face.
“Hello, Miss Thornton. It’s Mr. Holland.
I thought I’d give you a phone call to let you know that I found a record for an item of high value that should be at your uncle’s estate.
This might be of interest to you, and I thought you might like to know what to look for.
It’s a black flash drive that’s worth more than the entire property.
You’re looking at a minimum of at least two hundred thousand dollars’ worth in that alone.
I know your situation is…rocky. So I wish you luck in finding it as well as getting the estate put back together to sell. Give me a call when you can.”
I slam on the brakes and stare down at my phone.
Did I hear him right? Why would my uncle have something that valuable on his crappy farm? And what information is on that flash drive that’s so damn important? It sounds like he might’ve been into some bad shit. It occurs to me that I never asked Mr. Holland how my uncle died.
Was the farm a facade? That would explain why he didn’t have any animals.
My heart pounds in my chest, and I drum my fingers on the steering wheel. That much money would be life-changing. I could escape everything and start over somewhere far, far away from here like I wanted.
Callum’s face flashes through my mind, and a shudder rolls down my back. I clench my fists and grab my phone, punching in an alternate route to the farm that will avoid any roads near the diner. I save the route so that when the signal dies, I’ll still have it.
That psycho-dick won’t actually hurt me, I reassure myself. But just to be on the safe side, I turn my headlights off and drive slowly down the alternate route. And for once I’m thankful that this country town seems to be completely abandoned.
I can handle a few months of hazing from a group of jerks for a life pass.
I hope.