26 #2
For a while, we circle the open ground. I slow, accelerate, turn wider, then tighter. Between one pass and the next, another laugh escapes me.
And amidst the excitement, I press the throttle too hard.
The snowmobile lunges as if I’ve kicked it. The rear slews sideways, the track breaks loose, catches again and one ski kicks hard across the snow.
A scream tears out of me as the world pitches sideways. The machine bucks beneath us and we are – quite literally – flying.
That one sickening heartbeat is enough to make my life flash behind my eyes.
I slam into a mound of snow with a muffled whump, the powder exploding up my face and down my throat.
Elias hits a beat after, a heavy impact that sends another burst of white over me, and for a second all I can hear is the sudden absence of everything and my own ragged breath as the cold packs into every seam of my clothes.
I drag myself up on one elbow, coughing snow and patting it off myself.
Elias pushes himself upright with a groan, one hand going to his ribs before he catches himself and drops it.
‘Head?’ he asks.
I blink hard. ‘Still attached.’
‘Neck?’
I roll it cautiously, then my shoulders. No bite of pain, nothing wrong enough to silence the adrenaline fizzing within me.
I look at him. His palm is worrying at his side. ‘Are you hurt?’
First the fall yesterday and now this.
‘Day two,’ he mumbles to himself, brushing snow from his coat. ‘And she almost kills me twice.’
‘You kidnapped me,’ I deadpan.
He turns his head slowly, my reflection bouncing off his goggles, and I imagine him giving me his signature flat glare.
‘And no one told you to chase me through the woods!’ I point at his ribs.
He ignores it.
After he gets to his feet, he digs me out of the snow, his gloved hands brushing the powder off my coat as he examines me from head to toe. ‘Are you hurt?’
The question hangs there as I stand – as though we are not in the middle of nowhere, as though he is not my captor, as though he has any right to ask me that.
I look at the snow below me, snow around me, snow in my bloody collar. I glance at the overturned snowmobile, the sky overhead and finally at him. Waiting for my response as if he might be marginally worried.
Desperation twists until it’s no longer desperation. And… I start laughing. Like an idiot. Raw, breathless, slightly hysterical. It bubbles up before I can stop it.
Could be the adrenaline that still has its claws in me. Could be the near-death thrill of flying off a powerful machine and not cracking my skull.
Could be him.
It makes him pause – then I notice a faint crease in his balaclava. It might be a smirk.
‘I’ve lost my bloody mind… but, elskling, you have too.’
I ignore the sensation that nickname causes and focus on a more pressing matter.
My attention lunges towards the snowmobile under a dusting of frost and sun, a single green swirl winding down its white sides. ‘Let’s go again!’ I grin.
His shoulders square. ‘You want to try and kill us again?’
Oh absolutely not – he does not get to complain now.
Not after all the philosophy bollocks he’s been feeding me.
‘“Try. When you fail, try again. Until you get better.” Elias Crane, former prisoner, current psychopath, snowmobile accident survivor.’
He huffs a sound that might be a chuckle, might be disbelief. Might be the realisation that I am every bit as bloody cracked in the head as he is.
He stares at me from behind those mirrored goggles for what feels like an eternity.
When he finally shifts, it’s only to reach into the chest pocket of his jacket.
‘It’s time to go into town. We need a few things. I have to make a phone call from the landline.’
My attention snaps to him.
Phone?
I push back the adrenaline at the sound of that.
‘Why don’t you use a mobile?’
He shakes his head. ‘Mountains eat reception, as I’m sure you’ve noticed.’ His face turns towards me just as unease takes over.
Does he know I’ve reclaimed the phone?
He must know – he probably looked for it and didn’t find it under the clothes.
‘You sure you’re not hurt?’ he asks offhandedly.
I wait for the rest. Where’s the phone, Leah? Give it to me or else I blow up the fjord.
Nothing comes.
I attempt a smile wide enough to feel the fabric stretch. Thank God for facial covers. ‘I’m okay.’
‘Good. Follow.’
He strides over to the machine. I watch him start to right it, expecting effort or at least a curse. But Elias plants his boots, grips the frame and heaves. His jaw locks. On the first push, the metal beast rolls and thuds heavily back onto its skis.
A coldness spiderwebs up my spine that has nothing to do with winter. My face falls. My fingers curl into my hands.
I knew he was strong. I had not understood just how strong he is.
And while my mind is busy staring in horror at the man-bear, my body has an entirely different take on it; pressure builds low and treacherous around the base of me until I drag my eyes away and remind myself that strength is only impressive when it is not being used to keep me trapped.
He swings one leg over the seat, settling in with the ease that makes my own ineptitude feel painfully obvious.
Before we set off, however, I manage to bargain for a moment of reprieve, claiming I need the lavatory. He doesn’t say yes, but doesn’t deny me either – just stares at me as if to remind me what happened the last time I asked.
I strut into the cabin without waiting for his answer, or for the memory to lodge itself in my chest. I have just enough time to retrieve my phone and slip it into my pocket.
Back outside, I approach while zipping up my suit. Elias makes a slow rolling motion with one finger, a silent command for me to turn around.
‘What?’ I blink incredulously.
‘This is for the trip.’ He holds up a length of thick, black fabric. A scarf? Or something?
I frown. ‘Where’s that supposed to go?’ I extend my hand, but he yanks it out of reach.
‘Over your eyes.’
I stare at the thing for a breath longer. The grin dies without me even feeling it leave my face.
Five minutes ago, my hands were on the handlebars, with his own warming my knuckles. Now he wants the road taken away from me altogether.
‘Sit facing me.’
My head jerks up. ‘How’s that supposed to work?’ I glance down the length of the snowmobile, then back at him.
‘Like sex on a motorcycle.’
My mouth falls open. Heat floods my face – takes my ears first, then my tongue. Thank God again for the stupid face cover.
He lowers his head with mock exasperation. ‘Please tell me you’ve at least had that. How old are you, Leah?’
‘Thirty-three. Age is not a sexual curriculum vitae!’ I snap, stomping over and climbing on clumsily.
He grunts as I settle too fast into his lap but lets me off too easily. ‘Legs around my waist.’
Damn it, when he gets all bossy like that it makes me want to do everything he says.
Stiff and sulking, I raise my boots.
‘What’s the blindfold for?’ I ask tightly.
‘In case you want to take a detour again.’
‘Funny. I was convinced you liked the chase.’
He pauses briefly. I’m almost certain I overdid the bite, but then he ties the blindfold, pulls down my goggles and rearranges them to fit properly.
The breath between us is almost palpable in the cold.
The blindfold keeps me from knowing whether the remark landed somewhere tender or gave him something new to play with. Either way, he doesn’t let it show.
He holds me close to him as he starts the engine. Our cheeks would be touching if it weren’t for the hoods and the goggles.
My mind reels, keeps circling back to what I know about this man.
Was Melody the one who’d made him this way?
Only one woman, he’d said. He’s ever been with only one woman.
Dougal’s voice crawls back into my head, dragging the interview with it.
His brother would know more, the journalist had said. Because brothers know about the private wars no one else sees. The rivalry. The rot beneath the family name.
I cling to that as the snowmobile growls beneath us and we dash through the cold.
A brother would know whether Melody was the axis of this family’s tragedy. She married Isak, though.