Getaway Car

3: Wounds and kisses (18+)

Warning: this chapter contains slight smut

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'She thought loving him was complicated. But hating him had consequences too.'

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-Main Character-

His eyes never leave mine as he asks, "Do you want me to kiss you?"

Blood rushes to my cheeks for a cause not known to me. I wish it was because of the anger and frustration I feel. It has to be it.

"I want you gone. I can't even look at you." My voice turns bitter. I realise how long it has been since I've spoken to someone since I have been a part of an active conversation. And I wish it wasn't affecting me in ways I can't explain.

His voice is low as he laughs at me, at my stupidity, I assume. It seems like he is doing everything with the motive to make me feel frustrated and agitated. It makes me furious that he is succeeding. "I don't wish to have your eyes on me either so it'll be in both of our best interests if you stop being a child and listen to what I say. It's either that or-"

"Or what?" I take a step. "You'll kill me? Hit me and ditch me as you did again? You must be crazy to think I'd trust you again."

My boldness does not make any impact on him as he steps towards me. "Here's the thing, MC, I don't want your trust. You can keep your guard up but you are coming with me."

Words make their way to my mouth and die somewhere in the process as I sense a movement from behind. The man that was lying on the floor was not out of his senses, I realise. Too late, though. There's a sharp object moving against the skin of my foot until I crunch down and it appears that he wanted me to do the same thing.

"MC, no-" Jake tries to throw a warning as he rushes towards me but I don't see his face. The man hits my head with something hard. I only hear footsteps and soon they disappear too. This must have happened way too long ago if Jake hadn't come. I wish he assumes I am dead and no longer his problem and leaves me. I hope his assumption doesn't turn out to be wrong.

-Jake Donfort-

My chest burns with an invisible flame as the sight of her in pain registers. I was so focused on her words and the words leaving my mouth that I lost the sense of my surroundings. Despite my warning, she sits down.

I rush by her side, taking out the knife in my pocket. I throw the knife and it hits the man right in the neck, simultaneously, I pull her away from him. There's blood coming out from her ankle and she's unconscious. "Dammit," I mutter under my breath followed by a few other curses.

I lift her. I am so frustrated by the whole situation, by her. She absolutely agitates me. Mostly, I am frustrated by myself. I showed up with the sole purpose to protect her- and my information- and I couldn't even carry that out.

I leave the bag of her clothes behind and carry her out of the building. I put her in the passenger seat of my car and occupied the driver's seat. I cannot take her to a hospital. The cameras- I can't afford the risk. I take a look at her face, then down at her foot- the cut has stopped bleeding. I can treat her myself.

I hate her. Mostly because I cannot get rid of her, neither physically out of my life nor mentally. I hate the hours I've spent looking at her from my computer screen as she worked so hard to find me. I hate all the thoughts I have about her. She has changed me in ways I never wanted. If she would let go of me, I'd be free.