Chapter 6
CHAPTER
SIX
JULIETTE
When the sun begins to rise and there is no sign of Victor, I open the car door and decide I can probably make it to town without being kidnapped from the side of the road by him… maybe.
I mean, he probably could still grab me, but he’s got more of a chance of being caught during the day. Plus, he’s a creature of the night and would probably melt in the direct sunlight if he were out here trying to hunt me down.
I don’t know what I’m doing or where I’m going. My feet just move. I should have called a tow truck or something. I continue walking straight ahead, one foot in front of the other. I don’t know how I’m going to get my stuff out of my car, but I guess I’ll worry about that another day.
When I finally make it to town, I almost cry at the sight of a gas station, but not because of the gas.
No, I practically run for the convenience store and march straight toward the water.
I feel like I might actually die of thirst. The sun was hotter than I thought, and when the air conditioning of the store hits me, my body sways with the shock.
I don’t know how or why I ended up in the dry-ass desert when I left Los Angeles.
I wasn’t thinking.
If I had been thinking, I would have gone somewhere cooler—the mountains, Oregon, maybe even Washington. If I could have made it that far anyway. I’m not sure I would have. But I wouldn’t have tried to go east.
That was stupid as hell, a decision that I am currently regretting because I feel like I’m a fish that’s flopped out of the water and I’m beginning to dry completely out and shrivel into nothing but scales and bones.
I wonder if I’m ever thinking, though, or maybe I’m always thinking too much.
I’m thinking about all the things that could and do go wrong.
I’m thinking about who is hiding around the corner and if they’re going to be Victor.
Because, unfortunately, that asshole takes up far more energy and space in my brain than he deserves.
“Just this water?” the teenage boy behind the counter asks.
He’s looking around, no doubt wondering where the hell I came from. “Yes, please,” I whisper.
My throat is so damn dry. It feels like the Sahara Desert. I practically throw him the money so I can have the water.
“Thanks,” I croak as I reach for the bottle.
I twist the lid off and lift it to my lips, and I begin to drink. Closing my eyes, I suck half of the contents in what feels like one single gulp. I bring the bottle down and place it on the counter.
Then I open my eyes and look at the boy.
“Thanks,” I repeat, this time my voice sounding more like my own.
He dips his chin in a single nod, his eyes wide as he watches me.
He looks like he’s about to ask me if I need help, and I do, but there is something about him asking me that I don’t like, so I speak first.
“I’m new to town. My car broke down just before I got here. It’s currently right outside the city-limit sign, but I need a place to stay and maybe a tow?”
He dips his chin, his gaze staying on mine for a beat before he shifts his attention to a space beneath the counter.
I watch as he produces a card and slides it across the counter.
“This is the best tow company in town. They’re reasonably priced.
The hotel that’s just half a mile up the road is the best one. ”
“Thanks,” I murmur as I reach for the card.
His eyes search mine for a moment, keeping our gazes connected before he clears his throat and takes a step backward. “If you need anything else, my name’s Brayden.”
“I appreciate it,” I say as I take my own step backward.
Turning around, I walk out of the store and dig my phone out of my pocket. I wince at the sight of the low percentage I have left on my battery. I hope it’s enough to make the call for the tow.
I really don’t want to have my car towed, mainly because it’s a piece of shit and it’s not worth a damn thing.
I know for sure it’s not worth the money it would cost to fix it.
When the phone rings, I think about just ending the call, but the thought of walking back to the car to get my stuff, and then trying to lug it back to town makes me want to cry.
“John’s Junkyard,” a man grumbles into the phone.
I pinch my eyes closed, wishing I weren’t standing in the hot-ass sun as sweat trickles down my neck, the center of my back, and then down my butt crack—which is unfortunate because now it tickles.
I can’t scratch it, or it’ll look like I’m scratching my ass, which would draw attention, and I’m trying to do the exact opposite of that. Although I’m not sure it’s working, because I can feel the boy’s eyes on me.
Instead of just telling John’s Junkyard that I want my car towed, I explain my situation. Thankfully, he gives me a solution that I think works amazingly. If I let him keep my car for salvage, he’ll tow it for free and give me a ride to the motel in town.
I jump on the opportunity. I’m sure it’s beneficial for him. No doubt he’s going to make some money off my heap of junk, but more power to him. And that takes the burden off me of having a car that is not only a piece of shit, but also one that Victor can easily recognize.
It’s a win-win.
Maybe this was the plan all along. Not being found by Victor. Not being tossed into the desert by him. Maybe this was where I was meant to land. To live. To breathe. Maybe even to thrive.