“I don’t know why you’re here. I can handle this by myself.”
I look at her shirt that has a tear across her shoulder. There’s dried blood splattered on her collar. Her hands are shaking as she walks over and picks up a sweatshirt off the bed and pulls it over her head. It’s huge on her and almost comes down to her knees. There’s no way it’s hers. I take a note of the logo on the front. Baker’s Car Repair. Making a mental note to ask Dylan to check them out, I try to ignore my reaction to seeing her in another man’s shirt. I just met her, should I be pissed off right now? Should I want to take my own shirt off and demand she put it on instead?
“Did you hear me? I said I can take care of myself.”
I’ve been standing here staring at her this whole time, and I shake my head to get my thoughts back on what’s important. “I’m sure you can. Who is it that you’re running from?”
She crosses her arms over her chest, pushing the shirt off one shoulder. I get a good look at some bruising there. Rage builds inside me that someone has hurt her.
“What makes you think I’m running from someone?” she asks.
I hold my hand up to count off the reasons. “One, you ditched your car. Two, you didn’t use your real name to get this hotel room, and three, you’ve overdrawn your account.” I leave out the fact that Hollywood tracked her and her erratic trail from California to here.
She huffs out a frustrated breath of surprise. She must have seriously thought she made it here without being followed. Or at least she seemed to have hoped so.
She uncrosses her arms and puts one hand on her hip. “Why should I trust you to help me? You look like you can’t manage to come out of a fistfight unscathed. Did your girlfriend give you that scratch?” she asks, pointing at my face.
Instead of being offended, I shrug carelessly. “You let me in your room. I figure that means you trust me already.”
“I let you in here so you could tell Hollywood I’m fine,” she clarifies.
“You trust Hollywood, don’t you?” I wait for her to nod before I continue. “Well, he trusts me. He wouldn’t have sent me here if he didn’t. So can’t you trust me too?”
She juts her chin at me instead of answering. I can see she’s not going to willingly spill her guts to me, so I’m going to have to push a little. “I can’t lie to Hollywood and tell him you’re fine when you’re obviously not. I can see you’re in a spot. Now if you tell me what’s going on, maybe I can help.”
“If I tell you what’s going on, will you tell Hollywood?” she asks me, pinning me in place with her brown eyes.
“No. Not if you’re honest with me,” I promise her. I figure this is the only way I’m going to get the truth out of her.
She walks over to the chair in the corner and sits down. She wraps her arms around herself and starts to talk. She’s not looking at me. She’s looking over my head as if she’s in a daze.
“Almost five years ago I was abducted by a man named Blake Watson. It’s a long story, but his brother and friend were wanting revenge on Hollywood and the rest of the Delta....” She stops as if realizing what she’s about to say.
“I know about Delta Force.”
She nods. “Of course you do. So, uh, my sister Kassie and I got in the middle of it. Blake, my boyfriend at the time, kidnapped me from my high school prom and planned to sell me as a sex...” Her face flushes a deep red, and she gets a sour look on her face. “Well, you know. But my sister came to save me and got hurt in the process. Long story short, Blake and his brother Dean are both dead.”
She says it matter-of-factly, but I can only imagine all the details she’s leaving out. “He’s dead? He’s not the guy chasing you?”
“It’s his brother, his twin brother. He just got out of prison, and he wants revenge. He wants to use me to get to Hollywood and the rest of the guys—pretty much anyone that had anything to do with Dean’s and Blake’s deaths. And I’m not doing it. I’m not putting my family in danger. Not again.”
I clench my hands at my side. I’m wishing that I had everything to do with Blake’s death at the moment, but I keep that information to myself.
She’s watching me closely. “I told you the truth. You can’t tell Hollywood about this.”
Karina
I haven’t trusted anyone with knowing about my past trauma in a long time, but I really don’t see any way around it. I look intently at him and wait to see how he’s going to respond. It’s always one of two ways. Either they give me a look and try to be patronizing or they give me the oh, poor you look, and I can’t stand either one of them.