“His name is Blake Gregory.”
“I meant what I said, Heather. He’s not going to hurt you.”
She doesn’t say anything, but she leans back against the seat and if I’m not mistaken, I hear a soft sigh of relief.
Everything is going to be okay.
Chapter Five
Heather
The man, Flynn, isn’t so bad after all.
His comment about hurting Blake should scare me entirely, but it actually has the opposite effect. It just makes me feel safe. Why does it do that? It’s kind of a strange reaction to a not-so-veiled threat. After all, here I am, traveling to an unknown place in a car driven by a guy whose partner literally kidnapped me, but I feel like they aren’t going to hurt me.
It happened sometime after we got in the backseat. Somehow, something shifted between us. Or maybe it was sooner. Maybe it was when I was kissing him, which was really a bad idea. It’s just that the kiss left me so happy and relaxed and free.
I’m a writer.
I’m not exactly a wild child.
I’m not out here, living my craziest life and going to wild parties and drinking and having fun.
Nope.
Most of my time, I hide behind my books and my computer. Generally, after a long day of writing, I want to read books to relax. I don’t exactly have a bustling social life. That’s never bothered me before, but now I can’t help but wonder if this is what I’ve been missing.
A guy like Flynn could be dangerous, but not in the way I originally thought.
Now I’m realizing the only thing this guy might slay is my pussy, and honestly, I don’t even think I’d be upset by that.
How could I?
We’re silent in the backseat, and I lean my head on his shoulder. He lets me. He doesn’t push me away or resist. He just sits silently while I rest on him, and I close my eyes. I’m only going to close them for a little while.
Just a little while...
I’m in the forest again.
I’m standing in front of the dark building. It’s not quite a castle, but not quite an ordinary house, either. It’s more like a tower. What is this place? It rises up, menacing and bold. It makes me feel sick to look at it. Lately, in my dreams, this is the place I come to. It holds the answers I’m looking for, but I don’t know what my questions are.
Then I hear a voice. Someone takes my hand. The man. The man who is always in my dreams. The man whose face I can never see. He grips my hand and tugs, pulling me away.
“Run, Heather,” he says.
“But we have to go inside.”
“Run,” he repeats.
“We need to find out where they’re keeping them.”
“Run!”
And then I wake up with a start, sweating and panting. I’m out of breath, and I wonder if I was crying in my dreams. Sometimes that happens. I don’t know why I have these dreams. Sometimes I wonder if they’re actually visions, and not simply conjuring of my own imagination. They come all the time but sometimes they’re scarier than others.
Sometimes I wake up covered in my own tears.
Flynn is looking at me carefully, and I rub my hand over my face to make sure my skin is dry. Good. I wasn’t crying in my sleep, then. He has no idea what I was dreaming about. He couldn’t know, right?