Nowhere but Here (Thunder Road 1)

There’s activity beyond us. A slow tapping of a boot against the sidewalk. A scrape comparable to sandpaper against the concrete wall. Then a shadow. Large. Looming. The head of the dark shadow hits near my feet.

“The water bottle.” My lips move.

Oz tilts his head as if he sees the shift in my mood. “I know,” he mouths. “Shh.”

Chaos reigns inside my mind. Oz can kill me or Oz can save me or Oz can do one now and then another later.

The footsteps begin again, echoing closer to our hiding spot. Fear gains in strength, causing a wave of dizziness to wash over me. Oz weaves an arm around my back and circles us so that I’m wedged into the corner and he’s positioned near the threat.

Heat builds between us and my pulse beats wildly at my pressure points. He continues to gently guide me into the extremely small crevice behind the machine. My foot tangles with a cord and I trip to the right. My hand snaps out and I grab on to Oz’s belt loop as both of his hands land on my hips.

We’re crushed against each other. Warmth rolls off his body and onto mine. He must feel it—my fear, the blood drumming throughout my veins. My eyesight nearly shakes with it.

Oz does a strange thing. He smiles. It’s a crazy smile, but beautiful. My body tingles when he swipes his thumb under my shirt and across the sensitive skin of my waist.

He leans forward, his breath hot against my ear. Only one guy has been this near me before. Body against body. Thighs against thighs. Warm breath brushing the back of my ear. We didn’t go far that night. We didn’t go far at all—not emotionally, not physically...just not. And standing here pressed between a wall and Oz, my entire body becomes aware.

“If he finds us,” he breathes into my ear, “you run, Emily. You run and keep running until you lock yourself in the room. Then you call Eli.”

Oz pulls back and our noses almost touch. I strain to listen. No footsteps. No sound beyond my own frantic breaths. Then a thump to the concrete. Like a bottle dropping. My stomach sinks along with it. And there’s a rolling of plastic...getting closer...closer. So close that it’s next to us.

My eyes flash to Oz’s. I’m about to explode out of my skin yet he’s calm, steady, solid. He meets my gaze, never once looking elsewhere. The bottle continues to roll away...away...to the point I believe that the sound I hear is only in my mind. An echo of my fears.

No longer able to handle Oz’s intense stare, I lower my head and my body sags. Oz eases a hand to the nape of my neck, encouraging me to rest my head on his shoulder. I do, then inhale the calming scent of burned wood. It conjures images of bonfires on the beach. S’mores on the back patio with my father. Nights by the fireplace as a child.

Oz’s hand is hot on my skin and my muscles melt under his strong caress. An eternity passes. Stars are born then die. He relaxes his grip on me and my fingers curl into his belt loops when he tries to maneuver away.

“Did you hear that?” he asks.

The rolling? It’s still in my head and so are the footsteps, but I shake my head no.

“It’s my cell,” he says under his breath, and sure enough I hear a vibration. “I need to answer.”

I release him and he slips his phone out of his back pocket. “I nine-one-one’d Eli and he’s on his way. I need to get you within walls. Stay here and don’t move.”

Oz steps back and I shiver with the cold infiltrating where he had been. My eyes widen. His knife is in his hand. I never saw him free the blade and I never felt him move to do so.

Oz peers around the corner. One way. Then the next. The fear is so encompassing that it almost shifts into hysterics.

“Stay put,” he commands. I’m normally not a take-orders-from-a-guy type of girl, but I’m all for following directions since my feet are frozen to the ground.

Oz disappears and a small part of me internally cries. Alone has never felt so...alone.

An electric buzz of the vending machine. The gentle tap of water leaking from a pipe above. Not knowing if the footsteps drifting away are what I should be terrified of.

Because it’s overwhelming, I count. Throwing in the Mississippi in between like Mom taught me. I count slower when I hit fifty, then even slower when I hit two hundred. I start again at zero, pretending that his absence during the first three hundred seconds doesn’t matter.

Oz appears in front of me again and my knees give out at the sight. He extends his hand. “Those two guys are still here, but they walked around the corner. I can slip you back in your room, but we need to be quiet.”

“Who are they?” I ask.

Oz’s shoulders stiffen and his eyes bore into mine. “People neither one of us want to mess with. Let’s go.”

Oz

EMILY’S CHEST RISES and falls at an alarming rate and I pray she doesn’t faint.

She’s smaller than me and she’s curvy as hell. She wears a pair of hip-hugging jean shorts and a tight blue tank that covers enough of her top, but rides short and highlights her flat stomach. I’ve never been so damned captivated by a belly button in my life. Hate to admit it, but with that long chestnut hair and those big dark eyes, Emily is hot.