I don’t have time to argue with her, to demand she get out of my fucking truck.
I wouldn’t put it past the devious bitch to tell them exactly what happened last night in that fucking motel room.
She’s intelligent enough to take pictures and DNA samples before jumping in the shower and washing my cum from her skin.
She’d lie and say she came to my room to arrest me for kidnapping and in turn, I raped her.
She’d never mention the safe word—not that I would’ve listened if she used it. She’d never tell them that she came on my dick.
Her word, that of an FBI agent, against mine, a low-life scum who bounces from place to place, breaking the law.
I know exactly how it would go, but as I drive off with her in the passenger seat, I still don’t regret a single fucking thing I’ve ever done.
Chapter 10
Lauren
“Fucking quit,” I snap when Angel smacks my hand for the third fucking time when I try to reach for the power button to the radio. “It’s too fucking quiet in here.”
“I like it quiet,” he says, his tone conversational despite the grip he has on the steering wheel.
I hate the fucking silence. It drives me crazy. It’s too easy to hear all the shit in my head. I need a distraction, something else to focus on.
He doesn’t allow it.
I’m going mad, riding around town with this man. He doesn’t seem to have any real destination in mind, but he is sticking close to Farmington for some reason.
I want to question him, grill him about his plans, demand that he tell me why he isn’t leaving town, especially after abducting a little girl and turning her over to Cerberus.
I know I would never share the details of my work with him, so it doesn’t make much sense to expect him to offer anything to me.
The truck slows as we approach a ravine.
This could be it, where he finally gives in to that hatred for me that seeps from his pores.
I got a glimpse of that man last night.
He was rough, brutal, but I can also tell he wasn’t as bad as he could’ve been. I have no idea why he held back, but I’m fucking determined to find out or die trying.
The latter may become a reality sooner than I anticipated as the truck rolls to a stop, his eyes pinned on the view past my head rather than on me.
I hate him for the lack of attention.
He almost grinned when he found out what I did back at the diner. It wasn’t very noticeable, but I caught the slightest lip twitch. It felt like high praise coming from him, and my dark soul latched on to that for some fucked-up reason.
I didn’t know I needed it or would even like it. I thought he gave me exactly what I needed last night, but I woke up sore, my face crusty with cum, and I needed more. More of the same, something different, it didn’t really matter.
It bothers me that he isn’t speaking to me. Even if he opened his mouth to make threats I know he’s more than capable of following through with, my skin would feel like it’s on fire. I wouldn’t be fighting the urge to itch at it like an addict in need of a fix.
I huff a laugh at the thought. Street drugs have nothing on the drugs I use in the form of pain, abuse, and regret.
The danger makes me no less in need of what he may have to offer.
I feel like a child willing to get punished by acting out because being ignored is so much worse than abuse. I’m starving for it. I knew I would be tossed away, discarded like trash. It’s what always happens, but I never wanted it to happen so fucking soon, not before I was used up and worthless. There are still so many cries of pain, so much begging for him to stop, left in me.
Why the hell can’t he see that?
The desperation makes my stomach turn.