Running Away With Him

I was hard from the earlier sneak peek, but now my cock actually quivers with unbridled excitement. After a deep breath, I manage to pull my hormone-soaked brain back in line as she slicks back her hair at the sink. After pulling the hoodie up, her final touch is slipping into my stained New Balances.

“They’re way too big,” she says, grimacing as she wriggles her toes around in all the extra space.

I bend down and pull the laces as tight as they’ll go. “I think you’ll have to manage until we can get out of here. It’s going to turn some heads if you’re wearing those heels with my old clothes. Plus you won’t be able to run. We might have to run, right?”

Looking down at me as I tighten the laces on her other shoe, she gives a nervous little nod. Then she takes a few tentative steps around. On the last one she trips and reaches out for me to catch her. There’s a sly smile and then she’s biting her lips. “I think I'm ready.”

I nod. “Let’s do this.”

Chapter 5

Kate

The walk from the bathroom to the parking lot takes no more than ten minutes. I might even guess closer to five. But time doesn’t follow its usual pace when its observers are walking with their faces down, lips sealed, constantly looking over their shoulders to confirm whether the footsteps matching their own are fellow shoppers or an ex-boyfriend-slash-police-officer with no concern for the law.

The original plan to take to the emergency stairwells tucked in the corners of the building is scrapped when the first heavy door Brad opens reveals a CCTV staring down the length of the stairway. With this option gone, and not wanting to be trapped in an elevator where our only escape could be cut off as easily as the power, we go with the plan of keeping hidden in plain sight. And despite my disbelief, the disguise actually works, because we make it to the parking garage and to Brad’s car without a single hiccup. Once we’re both inside, Brad lets out a breath. He looks over at me. Raises his eyebrows. And I can see the question written on his face: ‘We made it, right?’

Then I look away from him, back the way we came.

And my heart stops.

“Get us out of here,” I shout, my crazed voice reverberating through my bones in the confines of the economy car. My hands slam against the dash and I’m pressing my right foot onto the floorboard, the imaginary gas pedal pinned to the crusty maroon carpet.

Brad’s eyes go wide as they too notice the burly figure at the entrance to the stairwell. Trevor’s there, scanning the cars to find us. Brad fires up the car and shifts into drive almost in one fluid motion. But what isn’t so smooth is the engine in this twenty-year-old hunk. Something horrible squeals for three seconds that feel like as many lifetimes. By the time his engine has corrected itself, we’ve pulled out of the parking space.

And Trevor has crossed half the distance between us.

Trevor’s not a small man, but very little of what bulges against his uniform is fat. I know from experience that he has more than enough muscle to lift me by the neck with one hand. That he never tires when thrashing me around. On the contrary, it only seems to pump him up more. And as that capable frame appears to leap across the cement parking garage, his police-issued pistol bouncing against his hip, something akin to rage burning in his eye sockets, we rip down and around the spiraling exit ramp. Away from Trevor’s shouts. Out into the sunshine that feels artificial in its sudden brightness.

It’s only when we pull onto the highway that I remember to breathe. Even then, I can’t help but look behind us one more time, fearing that somehow Trevor has managed to get in his cruiser and is already on our tail. But the only thing behind us is a pick-up truck older than the car we’re in now.

“I think we’re good,” Brad breathes out.

I nod, no words forming in my mind. It’s too full of all the what-ifs. Of what could have happened had we been even the tiniest bit slower. Of what might yet come. Slowly I come to my senses and notice that we’re heading towards the coast.

“Where are we going?”

Brad shakes his head. “No idea. I just got out of there as fast as I could. But now that we’re safely away, we can start thinking of where to get you. Do you have any relatives you could stay with?”

“No.”

“No family at all? How about friends? Maybe you can—”

“That’s not what I meant,” I come back with. I meant, ‘No, we’re not safely away’. He saw your plates. I’m sure he’s already run them through the system.”

“He can do that?” Brad asks. The heroic shell he’s been wearing has cracked, allowing fear to ooze out. “But I haven’t broken any laws.”

“Neither did I.”

Brad nods to himself. It’s a self-reassuring gesture. One I know I’ve done many times when alone in the bathroom after finally managing to escape Trevor’s grasp. What I also see is strength. Because despite all the reasons he shouldn’t be, Brad’s still here. He’s not begging to be let out of this situation. And even though he just suggested dropping me off with someone else, his next words are not said out of self-preservation.

Brad’s gaze locks onto the highway exit signs. He lifts a finger from the steering wheel, directing me to look too. “If we keep on straight like this for another hour, we’ll hit the coast. It’s the off-season, and the weather’s been pretty miserable the past week, so I’m betting we can find a little tourist town where there won’t be many people (or cops for that matter) to call in my license plate if it’s true your ex-boyfriend has put out a BOLO on me.”

“BOLO?”

“I heard it on one of those detective shows,” he answers with an embarrassed smile. “It means ‘be on the lookout’. Cops use it when they’re looking for someone. Which you think he might be, right?”

“Definitely.”