2. - – Amelia
CHAPTER TWO
-
AMELIA
I stare through the windshield at the stranger standing outside the car—tall, broad shoulders, dark hair, with a gun in his hands.
“Get. Out.” He repeats himself, punctuating each word.
I slowly push the car door open, afraid to make any sudden moves. The second my bare feet hit the dirt, pain shoots through my entire body, and my knees buckle.
The man moves fast, his strong arms wrapping around me before I hit the ground. The shotgun disappears behind his back as he steadies me upright.
“Who are you?” He asks.
“Amelia.”
His eyes flick toward the house before returning to my face.
“Amelia Whitmore.”
Fear runs down my spine when my name leaves his mouth. “How do you know my name?” I begin to panic, fighting against his hold on me. This has to be one of Preston's men. "I won't go back! I'll die first!"
“Stop! Inside, now.”
Rough commands and angry fists are a language I understand well. That clipped, hard edge in his voice flips a switch somewhere deep inside of me, and God help me, my body obeys before my mind can even consider to refuse, to keep fighting. I know exactly what will come next if I don't listen.
On the outside, the lake house looked exactly like I remembered it. Stepping inside, my mother’s framed photographs were still arranged on the mantel above the stone fireplace, but that was the only evidence that this was once her home.
Now, guns, military backpacks filled with ammunition, and knives lay strung out all around the house.
The man closes the door behind us, sliding the lock into place before setting the shotgun down behind the door. Propped up in the corner for easy reach.
“Sit.” He points to the rocking chair by the fireplace.
I listen and lower myself carefully into the chair. I flinch instinctively at the movement when he crouches down in front of me. His eyes narrow as he uses two fingers to turn my face slightly toward the light. His fingers lightly trace over the bruises around my neck.
“Who did this?”
No one has ever asked me that before. Everyone looks the other way.
“My fiancé.”
“Preston Fairfax.”
I swallow hard, unsure of how he knows so much about me. “Who are you? How do you know my name and who my fiancé is?”
“Christian Vale,” he answers, but the name means nothing to me. "My dad was in a relationship with your mom for over ten years."
"The man who died in the accident with her?"
Christian nods his head, "Yes. I came here looking for a place to lay low myself. So the less attention you bring here to either of us, the better."
I want to ask what he is hiding from, but I decide against it when he starts checking the rest of my body for injuries, clearly done with the conversation. I can almost feel the anger radiating off of him like violence flows beneath his skin with each part of my body he examines.
His eyes move down to the bloody soles of my feet. He mutters something under his breath as he walks into the kitchen, returning a few minutes later with a first aid kit.
I tense automatically when he kneels in front of me again.
“You think I’m going to hurt you?”
I don’t answer because the truth is, I no longer know how not to expect pain from men.
Christian shakes his head as he grasps my foot and begins cleaning the blood from my feet. My entire body goes rigid from the contact.
“You can relax,” he says. "I'm not going to hurt you."
"I know, I'm sorry." Despite the apology, the word almost makes me laugh. Relax. As if my body even knew how.
Christian wraps a bandage around each foot before speaking again.
“You can stay one night, but there will be rules." He begins to check them off one by one on his fingers. "Rule one. No lies.”
I nod in agreement.
“Rule two. Don’t wander around the house. I need to know where you are at all times.”
Another nod.
“Rule three. If I tell you to run, you run.”
“Yes, Sir.”
His head cocks to the side, “Does he make you ask permission for everything?”
My mouth opens and closes, but then I look away completely. I'm too ashamed to look him in the eye. Is it that easy to see what a mindless robot I've become?
I didn't have to say a word. My reaction was all the answer he needed.