The Hunted (Sleeping With Monsters Book 2) Read Free Page B

blonde hair, short-ish but shaggy, and a
five-o-clock shadow from at least two days ago. He took the next three turns
angrily, looking into his rear-view mirror after each one, before he calmed
down.
    “Were you followed?”
    I shook my head. If I’d been
followed, I’d be dead by now. The Carminos weren’t fond of witnesses.
    He grunted at that. I kept
watching him out of the corner of my eye. He was the kind of guy who gave you
reasons to tip your bouncers when you danced. I didn’t feel any safer inside
the truck with him than I had out on the street.
    “Who are you?”
    He didn’t answer me, he just
kept driving.
    “What’s your name?” I asked,
still trying – and failing – to sound tough.
    “Max.”
    I noticed he didn’t ask for
mine.
    “Where are we going?”
    “Somewhere safe.”
    I hoped safe wasn’t a matter
of opinion, as he took the next turn.
    I lost track of where we were
when we left town and major highways. The fact that it was dark didn’t help –
and that this man drove down logging trails like they were actual roads. When
he parked and turned the lights off, I knew we were surrounded by forest for
miles around.
    “It’s up there. Can you make
it?” he pointed up a hill.
    “Sure,” I said, not really.
What choice did I have? I got out and he reached for my bag. I didn’t want to
give it to him – my clothes, my cash, my ID were all I had – but I’d be hard
pressed to walk up the hill in daylight, muchless in the dark. The waxing moon illuminated
a goat trail up. He started for it with my bag, and I followed close behind.
    I made it to the top of the
hill through some sort of miracle, and found a small cabin with a wide porch.
Max unlocked the door and moved around inside lighting small oil lamps, and
then opened up the front door wider. “Come in.”
    For a safehouse, it was
oddly well lived in, with a bed and a couch, table and chairs, all one room,
with a wood stove against one wall. It took me a moment to realize that it
wasn’t a safehouse, but his actual home, way the hell wherever we were at right
now in the woods.
    Oh Vincent, baby, were you
so sure this was a good idea? How could you trust a man so much that I never
met?
    “How long does he want
you safe, for?” Max asked, his back to me as he stoked the stove’s fire.
    I licked my lips. Word wasn’t
out yet. Should I tell him? Was it safe? “I’m not sure,” I said, which was true
at least. He frowned.
    “The water will be hot soon --
it’s safe to drink and wash with.” He pointed to a heating kettle. “I’m not set
up well for company. You can have the bed. I’ll sleep on the couch. I’ll give
you a bit – I need to check on some things outside –“ he said, and left. I
noticed he didn’t take a flashlight.
    I sat down on the edge of his
bed. Great, Sam, now it’s just like you’re at safehouse summer camp.
    I did have some decisions to
make. Sleep in the only outfit I had? Or change into the robe?
    I pulled off my clothes and
tucked them back into my bag. I didn’t have any personal hygiene products with
me, but I splashed some water on a corner of the robe and used that to wipe my
face. I found a glass of his that didn’t look dirty and filled it with warm
water, sipping it like weak tea. Anything I could do to be doing something, not
to pause or think about where I was now, or what had happened earlier this night.
I paced, and found the room smaller with each turn. An hour later I was sitting
on the edge of the bed again, lost in my own thoughts, when I heard footsteps
outside the door.
    I didn’t want him to talk to
me. I threw myself into bed and pretended to be asleep.
    I heard him walk around the
cabin, blowing out the lights. And then, through half-closed eyes and the one
remaining light, I saw him lay down on the couch, fully clothed, watching both
me and the door.
    Time passed slowly as crickets
sang outside. He wasn’t sleeping. And I was never going to sleep again if I
could help