Angelic (Book 2)

Sixteen

The gun jammed.

            The freaking gun jammed.

            Not yet, the universe snickered. Not yet.

            August registered this and lunged toward me before I could attempt a second shot. He wrestled the gun out of my hand and bound me against his chest, though I thrashed and struggled and cried.

            “Let me die!” I screamed, voice stricken with defeat. “Just let me die.”

            He wouldn’t.

            It was a hassle getting me into his car. I resisted, heavily. But eventually the adrenaline dribbled away and pure defeat filled its place. I slumped against the side of the door as August floored it out of the area, and I cried.

            Just cried, long and hard, for majority of the car ride, because it just wasn’t fair.

            He drove until night fell. Hours and hours of open road and traffic. He drove without making any stops until he mumbled something about being back in Colorado. My body was stiff and achy at this point, eyes run dry, cheeks damp with tears. My head felt all congested, throat tight, chest pained.

            We rolled up to a motel, and nothing was said. He locked the car behind him when he got out to check in. When he returned, he retrieved me and led me to the room, making sure the room key was on his person and nowhere within reaching distance of me.

            “I’m going to get some food,” he said. “I’ll be back in ten minutes.”

            I sat on the edge of the bed. The room only had one, king-sized, with dark green blankets and fluffy pillows thrown on top.

            “Stay here, Ellie. Don’t try anything.”

            I nodded.

            Sensing that was the most he would get out of me, August left, making sure the door was locked and secure behind him.

            And I was alone.

            The room had a television, but there was nothing I could possibly watch to distract me from my predicament. What I really needed was to clean up. There was a generously-sized bathroom, and upon further inspection a large tub. Old-fashioned, with golden claw foots and everything. I wasn’t sure what to think. My mind was still coming to terms with the fact that my attempts to kill myself had been foiled both times. There was also the problem of that video, and figuring out what it all meant for me. And then there was August, who had read my note and followed me.

            How he knew where I was—how he found out—I didn’t want to know. It probably included a lot of killing and torture.

            I decided to run myself a bath with lots of soap. Discarding the grimy clothes was nice, but sinking into the cavernous tub was even better. The nerves and muscles in my body relaxed. I rested my head back against the edge, closing my eyes, basking in the warmth.

            Oddly, I must have nodded off for a bit on accident, because I was jerked to alertness by a lot of commotion in the main part of the motel room. Seconds later the door crashed open, August bursting through, and I released a startled squeak at his abrupt intrusion.

            “Oh,” he breathed, shoulders falling in relief. “Good, I . . . I called you and you didn’t answer. I just thought that . . .”