“Whose wallet is that?” he says in a strangled voice.
“Since it’s in my bag, I believe that makes it mine,” I quickly reply. If I stole it from anyone else but Ricky the guilt would have already eaten me alive, but he deserved it. I don’t want to lie to Carter but I also don’t want him to think poorly of me. I’m not sure why I care but I do. He continues to stare at me as if he’s waiting for a different answer than the one I’ve already given him. A minute ticks by and neither of us says a word; we stand staring at one another. My breath catches as he closes the space between us. I have to tilt my head back to look up at him. I refuse to not meet his eyes. I just don’t expect him to do what he does next.
Chapter 9
Carter
I rip her shirt. Well, I guess my shirt. It’s violent and dumb but I need her to not run off. I know this will not only get her attention but she can’t make a break for it. It’s only a swift jerk with my strength and speed before it’s hanging in two pieces around her shoulders.
“What the hell, Deuce?” she screams, clutching the torn sides together. The man’s wallet dangles from her fingers. I pluck that from her grip and stuff it into the pocket of my sweatpants. Then I reach down and swipe her bag off the floor.
Ignoring her cries, I hustle down to my bedroom, toss her stuff inside, and then slam the door shut.
She stares at me, plump lips parted, shock evident in every feature.
While she stands there stunned, I retrieve the wallet. There’s a shit ton of twenties, a condom that looks a hundred years old, three credit cards and an ID showing someone old enough to be the waif’s dad. “This your old man?” I ask, holding the license up.
She starts to shake her head no and then changes it up mid-motion. “Yes. That’s my dad.”
She’s so obviously lying. “When’s his birthday?”
“March…” She rubs her lips together, trying to gauge her answer by my response. I stare stonily back at her.
“This man hurt you?” At first I thought it was her boyfriend and a red haze swept through me. Did she spend the night crying in her pillow because of him? Because he broke her heart? Then I remembered her fear. Even if this was her ex, it was an ex she was afraid of, an ex she ran away from, an ex she’s hiding from, so I beat back the anger and jealousy and strive for a calm and comforting tone. If it comes out odd, it’s because I have zero experience in this.
“I don’t care if you killed him or stole his wallet or crashed his car or all three of those things in some varied combination. Just be…” I fold my fingers around the license and search for the right word. Is it direct? No. I want her to confide in me. I want her to trust me and I know she doesn’t and that knowledge pisses me off even as I understand that I don’t have the right to her trust. We’re strangers. She climbed into my car last night and I basically kidnapped her. Can I really ask anything of her? Am I better than the guy she ran away from when I’m preventing her from leaving? But letting her go isn’t an option either. For some reason, ever since I found her in my car, I have this compelling need to own her, to keep her.
“I stole his wallet,” she blurts out.
I jerk my head up at this confession. “Yeah?” A flicker of pleasure kindles in my gut that has nothing to do with sex and everything to do with all those other sickly emotional places that I’ve tried to snuff out.
She nods. “He was, or is, my mother’s boyfriend. I don’t know for sure. She’s had so many of them in my life.”
“Sounds familiar.” I know all about deadbeat moms although none of her boyfriends have ever tried anything with me. “What happened?”
“He was being…weird.” Her eyes drop away from mine. Is that shame I see there? Nah. I’m not having any of that. I look at the license again, note the address and start for the door.
“Where are you going?” she yelps.
“To bury this guy.”
“No.” She leaps for my arm and tries to haul me away from the door.
“Why not?”
“Because then he knows where I am. I don’t want him to know. I just want to get away. Please,” she tacks on when she sees her reasoning isn’t breaking through.
I heave a frustrated sigh. “I can’t let it go.”
“Why not? You don’t even know me. Why do you care if some jerk exists out there? Are you going to wipe all of them out?”