Chapter 9
Nine
Our sole mission becomes finding a way out of the city without tipping anyone off.
We need something where no one will look twice at us and there isn’t much security or other hoops to jump through.
I could use a break and a bit of comfort too.
I’m in rough shape and doing my best to hide it from him, but at least he has cash.
We stop at a clothing store so I can pick up clean clothing and a bag. The shirt he left me this morning has blood-soaked sleeves, and my jeans are covered in grime too. After changing clothes, I get a bit of makeup to cover up my bruised lip and a bottle of painkillers to manage the rest.
York decides that a bus is the only possible option and wants to head to Virginia, although I don’t know why. At least the bus will be slow going, which will give me time to rest, and the frequent stops will allow us opportunities to change plans if necessary.
We catch a cab to the bus station and have a half hour to kill before our bus arrives, so I sit on the curb and relax. York hunkers down next to me, flicking the tickets against his palm while looking up at the sky.
“So, who are you?” I squint up into the sky myself and let out a cleansing breath.
“I don’t know what you mean.” His head tilts as he follows a bird across the sky.
“Your name.”
“Ah, well, my mother called me David, but I’ve been York for much longer . . .” he says so easily that it surprises me. I expected him to evade the question. “Do you prefer Tripoli or Theresa?”
My heart thuds like he just threatened me, and I remind myself that he has done his research thoroughly. Knowing my real name isn’t that shocking. “I haven’t been called that in a long time.”
He hums, and then his attention comes down from the sky. “Tripoli doesn’t roll off the tongue.”
“Yeah, well, York sounds pretty stupid too.” I say defensively. “Besides, my code name was assigned. Something tells me you picked yours.”
He huffs. Almost a laugh, I guess.
“Trip is fine.”
“I’ll just call you Theresa.”
“Sounds good, Dave.”
“We don’t play by the same set of rules, little girl, and if you’re going to get mouthy, I already warned you I’d put you over my knee.”
“Don’t threaten me with a good time.” I lean back on my hands as the sun peeks out from the clouds and warms my face. “Besides, you’re not that much older than I am, so give the big bad daddy routine a rest.”
A shadow blocks out my light, and I find him standing over me. The bus rolls up in my periphery; it’s early. The look on his face is foreboding, and I probably should have let him believe the whole spanking thing was a punishment. God forbid he comes up with something that actually sucks.
“Old enough to be in a completely different generation than you, dove.” He leans over me with his hands on his knees. “Now get your tight little ass on that bus before I get it into my head that I need to make you call me Daddy.”
There is a pulse between my legs, and even I know, he’s already got it in his head now.
***
A few hours later, we’re heading down I-90 toward Virginia, and the sun is setting through the window of a bus with only a handful of riders on it. Turning away from the dwindling sunlight, the fear from earlier has finally subsided, and I relax my shoulders from up around my ears.
I’m so fucking sore. I pull the pill bottle out of my jacket pocket and hastily swallow a couple as my shoulder throbs in time with my pulse.
“Bored?”
“Tired,” I correct and slip the bottle back into my jacket.
“How tired?”
I let my head loll to the side and regard him. “Why?”
“I’m hard as a rock.” He shifts with a groan.
It takes every ounce of self-control in my body not to punch him. “I already told you, I’m not—”
“Mm hmm,” he interrupts me, “and I might believe you if you weren’t so hungry for it.”
“Are you fucking serious?” I shift toward him and freeze, swallowing the pain of moving my shoulder too quickly. I exhale, letting my eyes close, and the next thing I know, his hand is slipping under my coat.
“Don’t.” I grab his wrist and pry his hand away. “Don’t ever touch me without asking again.”
“Just show me,” he says quietly.
I throw his hand off and lean back into the window.
I didn’t get kicked and tossed around the back of a fucking truck this morning just so I could choke on a dick in the back of a seedy bus the same night.
Even if I suck it up and admit to myself that I enjoy sex with him, it sure as shit doesn’t mean I’m going to let him take care of me.
The look of concern on his face right now is making me uncomfortable.
“Enough.” He grabs my wrist.
Hissing, my eyes fly back open, and I look down at his hand and then at him. Pausing, he clenches his jaw and turns my arm over and slides the sleeve of my jacket up, revealing the bandage. He lets go and takes my other hand.
“Are these all?” he asks calmly and releases me.
Rolling my eyes, I lean back into the window and cross my arms over my chest.
“I asked you a question.”
“Yeah, only because you want to know how much of a liability I am.” I peer out the now dark window and stare at my own reflection. “Don’t worry, I can take care of myself.”
Grabbing my chin, he turns my face toward him. “What else?”
I search his stern face momentarily and pull my chin away. I don’t have the energy to fight with him. “Wrists, forearms, right shoulder, and the back of my head.”
His eyes flick to my hairline, and then he grabs my jacket and pulls me forward. I try to resist, but he forces me down until my head is in his lap.
“Get some sleep,” he says softly as his fingers sift through my hair.
I grunt when they brush against a tender spot, and he stops.
Turning myself onto my good shoulder, I pull my knees up and hide my face in his shirt.
It’s hard to tell what’s real and what isn’t with him, and I don’t need any more confusion in my life right now, but it’s more confusing in fleeting moments like this, like in the airport today, when I felt a degree of safety with him.
Comfort. I shouldn’t feel those things with this man, and he shouldn’t offer them.
It’s easier when he’s rude and mean and short-tempered.
I understand that from him.
I don’t understand this. I don’t understand myself right now.