38. Haven
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Haven
I shouldn’t have started asking Jeb questions. I make him so angry, and he’s just escalating as he hunts through the kitchen.
I don’t want to ask him what he’s looking for. I know, and it’s terrifying enough to just have it unspoken.
What kind of knife would he feel most comfortable holding as he stabs me to death?
He has something on him, a little utility knife, because he used that to cut the zip tie around my ankles.
If he doesn’t think that’s a good tool for the job, he doesn’t have a good enough imagination. I’d use that to slit his wrists if given half a chance.
He’s a poison on this earth.
I shift to the edge of the couch, suddenly over being a passive witness to my own demise.
If he’s nervous about using that tool, maybe there’s a way I can try to get it myself. Or anything else. I could hit him with a chair, or just savagely knee him in the balls and then drive my hand into his windpipe.
I’ve read that enough times in books.
I can channel a fictional badassery to save my own life. Surely.
“I need to use the bathroom,” I say loudly. “Can you free my hands?”
He slams a drawer and stalks over.
I shrink back when I see a serrated steak knife in his hand.
His eyes spark with a gross pleasure. “Scared of me, Haven?”
I glare back. Honesty gets under his skin, because it’s a kind of strength he doesn’t understand. “Yes.”
He smirks. “You never gave me enough credit.”
“Definitely didn’t see this coming.”
“Maybe I should free you.” He hooks the point of the knife under the zip tie between my wrists. The serrated edge grazes my skin. “It might be fun to have you fight back.”
“You’re a lot of talk, you know that?”
He yanks the knife back and shoves it against my jaw. “Why are you such a fucking bitch—”
Cash slams into him, coming out of nowhere, and I scream as they go flying.
Jeb lands with a thud, and Cash follows him down, his fists pummelling the other man, his voice harsh but clear.
“You are going to regret this for the rest of your miserable life, you sack of shit. However short I decide it will be.”
“Cash, no!”
He wrestles Jeb onto his front, then puts his knee in the other man’s back and glares at me. “Are you hurt?”
“Scratches.” I lift my still bound wrists to my jaw. My hand comes away with drops of blood on it. “I’m okay. Please don’t kill him. It’s not worth it. You don’t want this on your conscience.”
He gives me a cold smile as he pulls zipties from his pocket and yanks Jeb’s hands together. “I’ll sleep just fine, Lucky.”
After he secures Jeb on the floor, he grabs the knife that went flying and comes over to me, carefully protecting my wrists with his finger as he saws the plastic with the blade, freeing me. “There you go,” he whispers before he quickly crushes his mouth to mine. “Can you walk?”
“Yes, I’m—my legs are fine.” I don’t know if I am. I don’t know if I ever will be again. But my body is, thankfully, in one piece and pretty functional.
“My truck is down the road. The keys are in the ignition. Run there as fast as you can, and stay there. The cops are going to show up soon, and I don’t want you here when they arrive.”
I reach for him, wanting to beg him not to do what he’s going to do, but he shakes his head.
“Go, Haven. Run.”
I run.