The waiting area is empty except for the two of us.
And there’s still no sign of the ticket lady at the window. No one to call the cops. Luck’s on my side for now.
I bolt up, clumsily tumbling over the row of seats. I bang my elbow hard, but who cares? I start crawling, then sprint toward the exit.
The doors slide open like they’re on my side—thank you, sweeties—and I…
And I’m caught again, my arm trapped in a steel vise.
I could cry. Or not. Just my luck.
Now he’s gonna drag me back and turn me in. If it’s to the cops, I might have a slim chance. But if this is all a setup by that creep, I’m done for.
The guy pulls me closer, his breath a mix of expensive liquor and high-end cologne. Damn, this creep’s goons are stylish even when they’re drunk.
What’s happening? He’s not dragging me back inside. Instead, he’s leading me out through the welcoming open doors of the bus station.
Oh.
He’s definitely handing me over to that creep. I knew he was a plant.
I struggle with every ounce of strength I’ve got left, trying to bite wherever I can reach, but I can’t get to him. His arms are longer than my neck can stretch. He’s pinned my hands to my sides so tight I can barely breathe.
That’s it, Murashko. You didn’t get far. You’re done. That creep wasn’t lying—he’s got people everywhere. Now you’ll pay for every insult, every slight. Unless you can end it yourself before they drug you up and it’s over.
Desperation pumps adrenaline through me. With all my might, I stomp my stiletto heel onto his giant, size-fifteen foot and yank myself free with one last burst of energy.
For a split second, his grip loosens. I break away, but my best friend slips out of my pocket and falls onto the lawn in front of the station.
Damn it, just my luck.
I need to run, not stand here staring at where it landed. But how can I leave her behind?
Of course, I’ve lost precious time, and now I’m back in those merciless steel hands.
“What did you drop, you idiot? You don’t even know how to use a knife. Why carry it around? Now your prints are all over it. That’s an easy charge. They’ll plant it on some dead body, and won’t that be a laugh.” He’s practically rapping over me.
We’re standing in the deepest shadow under the overhang by the entrance.
No one’s around. I’m in this brute’s grip, and I can’t even breathe with how tight he’s squeezing my ribs. What do I care about fingerprints or dead bodies?
That creep will skin me alive and make a wallet out of me anyway. Prison’s probably a bad place, sure. But that cabin was worse.
People get out of prison eventually. From the cabin, you only get out to the nearest ditch. That’s what he said. Maybe he was just trying to scare me, but I’m not sticking around to find out. I’m gullible with a wild imagination. It’s a personality trait, not a flaw, just so you know.
I even believed for a while that the creep was hitting on me with a business angle. Don’t laugh.
What’s so crazy about that? I’m cute, and I’ve got experience.
So what if he’s always loaded with cash and switches girls like socks? I wasn’t planning to marry him. I was aiming for a casting call. The second round of auditions. They promised a grant to the winner. I was curious to climb one more rung on the ladder to success.
And he introduced me to his parents. Nice folks, real business sharks. I think they liked me. They’re the ones who told me to come to the casting.
So yeah. Fingerprints, planting evidence on a corpse. What a movie. This dumb brute’s got jokes.
My faithful friend, goodbye. Maybe someone will find you tomorrow. Maybe you’ll make a new friend.
You’re a HOHNER, not some cheap knockoff. I can play “Love Me Do” on you better than the Beatles. You can do anything. You’re beautifully customized. You’ll be fine. Hang in there without me, Honey.
You see, I’m all…
“Stop staring like that. I saw where it fell,” my captor says smugly. “Walk quietly and don’t make a fuss. We’ll pick it up and slip back into the shadows. On the lawn, we’ll pretend to be a couple—kiss, sit on the grass, you grab it quick, we kiss again, then walk off somewhere holding hands like in the movies. Around the corner, you hand it over to me, and no more playing with sharp objects. Got it?”
I try to explain it’s not a knife, but I realize instantly he doesn’t care. In the same moment, a hand smelling of cognac and some fancy men’s cologne—or whatever they use to boost pheromones—clamps over my mouth.
“Shut it. Don’t squeak. Just nod.”
I nod. It’s no skin off my back. My neck’s still free. For now. And I could still whack him with Honey.
Even if the reeds get bent. Even if all the customization goes to waste.
I’d hate to ruin Honey, but this guy’s head probably wouldn’t crack even with a hammer.
He’s a total brute. A textbook example. Should be on display at a farm expo. And I should be as far from here as possible. But no such luck.
He wraps an arm around me from the side. It’s warm, and honestly, not unwelcome. My legs are buckling from pain, exhaustion, and sheer terror.
We walk, but not in the direction I was looking. What a klutz. Honey fell way more to the left.
Wait, no. I’m the klutz. How did he even spot it so fast?
There she is, glinting a little under the streetlight.
I want to bend down, but he sticks to the script. He grabs my chin with his huge hand and tilts my head up. I hate when people touch my face with their hands. I hate when anyone gets too close without permission, period, but my face? That’s a total no-go.
“No hands,” I hiss, keeping up the act, and flash a smile to make it look natural. We’re supposed to be a lovey-dovey couple, after all.
He jerks his hand back and looks spooked.
“Don’t even think about biting. You’ll be toothless.”
“Wasn’t planning on it.”
“Then why are you grinning like that?”
“It’s a smile,” I explain patiently, trying not to set off this nutcase. “People smile at each other when there’s chemistry, get it?”
“Yeah, sure, ‘get it.’ You should see yourself. I almost—well, never mind. Just don’t smile like that. It creeps me out.”
Okay, that stung. I’ve got a cute smile, and it’s well-practiced.
“Whatever you say. Makes it easier for me. I hate faking chemistry out of nowhere. Though I do need the practice.”
“Practice on cats.”
He goes quiet, staring into my eyes. What’s he seeing in the dark? I can barely make him out—the streetlight’s behind me.
His eyes look brown, I think. Big. Long lashes, or is that just the shadow from the light? His features are, you know, masculine. Mature. It wasn’t as noticeable when he was sleeping. Or pretending to sleep. Not rough-hewn, but well-defined, though not delicate.
His expression screams he’s in charge. Not just over me, but in general. Even though he’s probably around my age. Maybe a bit older.
He’s handsome, no denying it. Exotic. Not the kind of good looks you see around here.
A guy like this, you can’t hide from. Doesn’t matter if you try. Every woman from five to a hundred and five would remember him and describe him in detail.
But why am I thinking about hiding? I’m the one who was hiding. Was he waiting for me? Or not?
He doesn’t seem like a hired goon. Though that creep definitely has enough of his dad’s money to hire the best agents. He’s got a vested interest in getting me back. But hired help usually isn’t as self-assured as this guy.
The handsome stranger slowly leans in. Just like in the movies. There’s no audience, but he’s playing the scene to the end.
Finally, he kisses me. Expertly. It nearly blows my mind. His technique is flawless.
But there’s still something very odd about this kiss. Or rather, everything about it is odd. Strange. Mind-blowing.
Romance at its finest. Night. A street, a streetlight…
And a gorgeous stranger who’ll hold you and protect you from the whole world.
Heck, I almost believe it myself.
Maybe he’s some local actor? He’s really talented.
It takes me a moment to catch my breath and remember Honey. But he hasn’t forgotten. This guy’s a pro.
He presses down on my shoulders, and we sink to the grass. Well, he’s on the grass, and I’m on his lap.
He picks up Honey and curses under his breath, but clearly. In front of a lady. Meaning me. I should remember that one.
Though without that deep, rugged voice, it probably wouldn’t sound the same. Still, I’ve got to commit it to memory. A very unique way of putting it. I’m not even sure if it’s anatomically possible.
“And shove it there,” he finishes, letting out a relieved breath. “What is this thing?”
“Honey.”
“I can see it’s junk. What’s it for?”
“You’re the junk,” I snap, offended on Honey’s behalf. “It’s a harmonica. A musical instrument. Made by Hohner. Never heard of it?”
“I have now. I’ve heard a lot of things in my life, but a decoy carrying a harmonica and then dropping it so no one finds it? Nope, never heard of that.”
“What decoy? What dropping? You bumped my arm, and Honey fell out. And that’s not good for her. The reeds could get bent. The body could’ve cracked if she’d hit the pavement.”
“Oh. So it wasn’t on purpose?”