“Has it stopped bleeding?”
No such luck. “Yes.” Comes my clipped answer.
When he turns on his blinker and pulls off the highway, my heart starts to pound in my chest because I don’t know what he plans to do with me. But now that I know there’s a gun in the center console, I’ll do whatever I can to get to it. Even though I have no idea how to use one.
He slows down and pulls into a parking garage. I look around, noticing how deserted it is on this rainy Sunday afternoon.
We spiral up and up until we’re on the fifth floor. He pulls into a parking spot, the tires squealing at the sudden turn, and then he brings the car to a quick stop. The seat belt locks on my shoulder.
I look around, expecting his friends to circle us. My muscles tighten, ready to defend myself.
But nothing happens. He shuts the car off, and we just sit in silence. I swallow the lump in my throat. My hands shake, ready to reach for the door handle and run.
“Don’t,” he says calmly as if he knows what I’m thinking.
My head snaps to look over at him, but he stares straight ahead. “I’m not going to hurt you.” I snort, and he turns his head to look at me. “Not today, anyway,” he adds, and that nervousness bubbles up again.
He smiles at me, a soft one, and I fist my hands in my lap because I know he can feel my fear. Men like him feed off it. I reach out and yank his glasses off his face. It’s raining, for Christ’s sake; he doesn’t need them.
A set of baby blue eyes stare into mine.
He reaches out, and I jump in surprise. I expect him to laugh, but he doesn’t. Instead, his eyes drop to my cardigan as he takes a lock of my hair between his fingers. He twists the strands around it. “Red really is your color,” he says softly, and then his eyes are back on mine.
Warmth spreads down my back as he threads his fingers through my hair. I whimper, half scared to shit. The other half turned on.
What is wrong with me?
He leans into me, stopping his face just inches from mine. I let out a long breath, trying to stop my racing heart. “Cole …” I whisper his name.
He smiles at me. “Don’t be afraid, Austin. If I wanted you dead, I would have killed you last night. And I sure as hell wouldn’t do it while Celeste knows you’re with me.”
I close my eyes and whimper, trying not to show my fear, but it’s leaking from my pores. His car reeks of it.
“Look at me,” he orders, and I open my eyes. He’s still in my face, his hand still gripping my hair. “Although I did imagine sneaking into your room and making you pay for what you did. But thought better of it.”
I swallow. “What do you want from me?”
He tilts his head to the side as if to think about his answer. “For you to understand.” He pulls away from me, and I suck in a long breath. Sitting back in his seat, he looks straight ahead over the concrete barrier that comes up to the hood of the car. “See that man?” He points out at the building across from the parking garage.
I have to squint, but I see a man standing in his office. The glass windows showcasing everything. His hands in his hair. His suit jacket on his floor and white button up untucked. His suspenders hanging from his waist. “What about him?”
“That is Jeff’s brother.”
“Jeff?” I look at Cole.
“The guy we killed last night,” he answers without any remorse.
“Oh,” I say, looking back at the older man. And my breathing picks up. This is just another way for him to pull me in. Get me involved. “I don’t wanna know …”
“This man killed his wife.” He ignores me. “He beat her repeatedly. All the time. But he was smart about it. As smart as a bastard like him can be. He never touched her arms, legs, or face. He only touched where he knew she could cover up.” He runs a hand through his dark hair. “One day, she had had enough and went to tell the one person she thought she could trust. His brother, Jeff.” I look over at him. He stares straight ahead at the man. “She begged him to help her. Her husband kept her close because she had no family. Well, she had someone, but …” He trails off. “Anyway, so she turned to his family and asked for some money to leave her abusive husband. He told her to give him a few days.” His hand grips the steering wheel. “But he went to his brother and told him what his wife had asked him to do. So when he got home, he beat her. He beat her, not caring where the bruises showed up because he knew she wasn’t gonna survive this time.” My throat tightens. “Then after he beat her to within an inch of her life, he took a knife and slit her throat.” He speaks with no emotion, and tears sting my eyes. “He didn’t even give her a proper burial. He carried her to the old cemetery, dug a hole, and dropped her in it.”