never run before.
Thankfully her ugly waitress uniform included tennis shoes. Lightweight, worn tennis shoes. Escape was doable.
“Good. So where are you going, Tammie?” He remained where he was, his arms crossed over his massive chest, trying to look casual. And failing.
His features were stiff, what she could see in the slashes of light. His eyes glowed and she wondered if he was angry. She edged along the wall, facing him and tracking her progress by running her fingers on the ridge between the bricks. She tried to ignore the filth she knew darkened the once light-colored stone. She was nearly there.
“Talk about what?” She hoped to distract him from her progress.
The silence grew heavy and he waited all too patiently. It made her shiver. What did he have in mind?
Finally, he spoke. “Our son. Tyler.”
Her heart broke. She missed Tyler so much and it was almost too painful to think about him.
“He wants to know when you’re coming to get him.”
The knife twisted in her chest. She didn’t dare think about how long she’d been away from him. Her eyes stung. She couldn’t give in now, though. Too risky. She hardened her heart and shut off all emotion.
Her fingers met the corner brick. She breathed in, and after only an instant’s pause, turned the corner and ran like hell.
The rubber soles of her worn shoes slapping against the pavement were loud, too loud. He’d follow the sound. It couldn’t be helped. She had to outrun him.
Two blocks, just two short blocks. That was all she had to make, then she could duck into another alley and hide. No footfalls sounded behind her, but maybe her harsh breaths were drowning them out. The alley she’d been aiming for loomed ahead. Nearly there.
A motorcycle’s roar shattered the night. Glancing over her shoulder, Tammie nearly screamed. The streetlights illuminated DJ. The bike was huge and he looked right at home on its back. Anger wasn’t even close to what she saw on his face now that he was out of the shadows—it was much scarier.
The machine responded to his every command. She’d never outrun him now.
Still, she kept going, half expecting him to mow her over and knock her to the ground.
She didn’t expect the sound of squealing tires or the smell of burning rubber. And most certainly not the grind of metal on cement as the bike tipped. She yelped and froze as she watched him fall.
And then there was silence. Not the kind of silence that indicated she’d successfully escaped. No. This was the silence of impending doom.
DJ wasn’t under the bike, for which she hated to admit she was thankful. Instead of being splattered on the pavement, he’d managed to roll away from the machine and land a few feet away from her.
She stood there, staring. DJ cursed, his words blistering the air and her ears. He glared at her and rose to his feet. He was limping. Oh, God, she hadn’t meant for him to be hurt. Really, she hadn’t. But she had to get away.
She turned to run again, but before she could get far, his strong hand grabbed her arm and nearly gave her whiplash as he yanked her around. The rough brick wall cut into her back as DJ pushed her up against it. He’d been much kinder the last time he’d grabbed and imprisoned her. She fought. She was not giving in easily. Not this time. And never again.
She shot her foot forward, her shoe connecting with the hard steel of a shin. He didn’t even flinch. She mentally cursed. “Let me go.”
“Not a chance,” he growled, his face close to hers. Too close. “I have questions and I want answers.”
“Let me go.”
Silence hung thick over the night. The only thing she could hear was her lungs struggling to breathe, and her heart pounding in her chest. She wasn’t even sure he was breathing. He’d grabbed her without any effort, which just plain ticked her off. She tried to kick him again. His grip tightened.
“Do that again, and I won’t ever tell you a thing about Tyler.”
Dead silence filled the air. She wilted. He knew her Achilles’ heel...her son...their son.
“You going to run, or can I trust you?”
She didn’t answer, but her silence must have suggested she’d consider staying. His grip loosened and he leaned even closer. His breath brushed her cheek. The brick wall felt cool against her back, a contrast to DJ’s warmth washing over her.
This close, she took in the differences and similarities in him. He was older, bigger—angrier. Nine years was a long time. When she’d seen him last, he’d still been a boy getting ready to head to boot camp.
He wasn’t a boy anymore. No, he was a man. A powerful, ticked-off man. She swallowed her apprehension and fought the overwhelming urge to struggle. And then a thought crossed her mind. What if he’d lied to her just to get her to listen? He’d said he wouldn’t tell her about Tyler if she didn’t cooperate. It wouldn’t be the first time someone had done that. “Is he really okay?” she whispered.
DJ reached down to the thigh pocket of his fatigues and pulled out a piece of paper that she immediately realized was a photo.
She impulsively reached for it. He shoved it back into his pocket, but not before she was able to identify Tyler as the person in the photo. How could she not recognize that sweet, beloved little face? “What’s he holding?”
“Baby pigs,” DJ said. “Wyatt took it yesterday.”
“P-pigs?” she whispered.
“Yeah. We thought they might give him something positive to focus on. But guess if you don’t care—”
He stepped away, the cool night air replacing the heat of his body. Too casually, he bent to check out the bike without giving her another glance.
He was trusting she wouldn’t run? Or was he leaving her with that taunt? “What do you mean, if I don’t care?” She shoved her pack impatiently onto her shoulder.
DJ slowly straightened from where he’d crouched. “You tell me. You left him.” His gaze bored into hers, hot and angry, and she heard the rest of his unspoken message. And you didn’t even tell me that he existed.
She leaned toward him, as he seemed to dismiss her again, refocusing on the fallen bike. “You don’t understand,” she said. Her words made him look up. The intensity of his gaze made her take a step back.
“Then start talking. Explain.”
She wanted to scream, not in fear but in frustration. “I can’t.”
“Can’t? Or won’t?”
“There’s no difference.”
“Oh, yes, there is.” He bent again, using his weight and strength to lift the bike from the pavement. Even in the dim streetlight, she saw the play of thick muscles across his back and the flexing of his thighs. She swallowed the sudden dryness
