Chapter Six: Jay

“I can’t have you running away and narcing on me now, can I? But don’t worry, you can have the bed. Now lay back.”
Addy hesitated for a split second, glaring at him, but when he stepped toward her with the rope, she pushed herself down. She feared him, and that would be to his advantage. The gun had been a nice touch to gain the upper hand, despite his resistance acknowledging the fact he even had it.
Addy raised her arms above her head, and Jay knelt over her. She cringed, her muscles tight, a block of steel beneath him. Jay reached up and tied her hands above her, feeling a moment of conflict when she winced as the rope cut into her skin. He couldn’t meet her gaze, couldn’t stare into the eyes of a frightened, innocent woman who now loathed him. His movements were mechanical as he tightened it once more just to be safe and straightened up.
“You should try to get some sleep. We have a long trip tomorrow.” Jay stared at Addy, hoping the shame in his eyes wouldn’t give him away. She looked vulnerable splayed out on her back on the mattress, her hair a mess, shockingly gray eyes slicing holes into him. Such angry eyes. Hateful.
Not that he could blame her. He hated him, too.
Jay grabbed the gun from where he had set it on the desk, then flipped on the TV. He took a seat in the office chair, propping his feet up on the edge of the bed to stare aimlessly at the news reports in front of him. He didn’t hear it, just saw it. Too many other things were on his mind. He thought of Laurel again, and anger washed over him. He had to keep his eye on the prize. Everything he’d done so far would be worth it, even this, if he could just get the confession he needed from Laurel.
He ran his thumb over the chilling steel of the gun as his stepmother’s smiling face popped into his mind’s view. He wanted to break something, to lose his cool, to finally let out all the rage he’d kept bottled up inside for the last several years.
“So, why did you do it?”
The sound of Addy’s words breaking the silence pulled him from the dark haze he’d been sulking in. Jay looked over at her, surprised, his fingers faltering from the gun in his lap.
“Do what?”
“Whatever it is you did to get into this mess,” Addy said. Her unflinching, stormy eyes met his, unwavering, challenging him. “You’re running from the police, which means you’ve either done something illegal, or are about to do something illegal, and they know it.”
Jay stared at her. Even tied up and defenseless, her eyes flashing, she was defying him. She was speaking her mind. She wasn’t crying, sobbing into her arm, begging for her life. She looked at Jay now like she was looking at a moron; suddenly, he felt like somewhere a village was missing its idiot.
“But if you’d already done something illegal, there would be no ‘plan’ you keep speaking of,” Addy continued thoughtfully. “You’d just be running to get away, right?” She tilted her head to the side, reading him like an open book. The freckles on her nose stood out under the yellow glow of the bedside lamp, her milky pale skin still flushed with anger.
“You’re reaching pretty high,” he said. But she wasn’t reaching for shit. She’d nailed it.
“So that must mean you’re going to do something illegal, and they know it,” Addy said, ignoring him. She paused, her lips coming together as she raised her chin. Jay continued to watch her, his fingers back on the gun; it was useless, but it reassured him anyway because Addy was good. But was that good for him, or dangerous?
“But how would law enforcement already know you’re out here wanting to break the law, Jay?” Addy mused. The way she did it so confidently, so brash, set him on edge. She averted her eyes from his face and to the ceiling, pensive. “Maybe it’s that they know of some premeditated plan of yours, yeah? Or…” She trailed off, then shrugged one shoulder. Her eyes met his again. “Unless you’re a jailbreak, there’s only one other reason you’d be running.”
Addy shifted slightly on the bed, and Jay caught sight again of the nasty bruise peeking out of her shirt. The muscles in his jaw tightened.
“You already did something illegal, you were arrested, and you served your time.” Her eyes flickered away from him again and landed on the flimsy backpack sitting on the floor near his feet. “Your bag contains nothing helpful,” she continued. “No dry clothes, not even any food. It’s almost like you walked straight out of prison with just the clothes on your back.” When she looked at him again, Jay found he couldn’t continue to hold her gaze steady anymore. He looked down at his hands, at the gun, so unfamiliar in his grip.
“Be quiet, Addy.”
“If you just got out of jail, you’d almost certainly be on parole. And, as far as I know, parolees aren’t allowed to kidnap innocent civilians at gunpoint and take them across the country.” Addy pursed her lips and shrugged again. “Or, you know, carry a deadly weapon like a Glock.”
“You know your guns,” Jay said. This was dangerous territory, and he figured averting her from the conversation would be a good start.
“I don’t see that you’re an idiot,” Addy continued, and Jay almost smiled. So much for that theory. “A jerk, maybe. Arrogant. Self-assured. Determined. But not an idiot. There’s only one reason a man just released from prison would violate parole.”
“And what reason is that?” Jay prodded. He figured that denying anything and everything would be a total waste of time. Addy was a damn spitfire, and she was so onto him he wasn’t sure he’d ever be able to dislodge her.
“Revenge,” she said. “Whatever it is you’re doing has to tie directly into the sentence you just served. Otherwise, there’s no reason for such desperation.” Addy rolled her head to the other side, still studying Jay’s face. He clenched one fist, fingernails digging into the calloused skin on his palm. If he pushed hard enough, the skin would break. He might bleed. He’d always embraced the pain. It was a grip on reality, a reminder that nothing in this world was immortal. Not even him.
“Do you know much about guns?” he asked. He saw Addy’s body tense visibly, and that satisfied him. If he were to get through this, he had to have the upper hand. Not her. She was fighting him, and he had to stand his ground.
“You’re an asshole,” she said.
Jay held up the weapon, running his fingers along the cold steel of the nozzle. “Truth be told, neither do I. It just looked pretty, I guess.”
Addy said nothing. She stared him down, still waiting for an answer. He hated how snide she looked—how undaunted. He needed her to be frightened. If she were frightened, she wouldn’t pose such a problem.
“You must not be afraid to die.” Jay sat up, resting the gun in his lap. “Is that the case? Do you embrace death, Addy?”
“I never used to,” she said. She narrowed her eyes at him, her gaze sharp. Jay could sense she was egging him on, seemingly unafraid of the repercussions. “I never used to,” she said again. “But since I’ve met you, Jay, death doesn’t sound like a bad fate. Not anymore.”
Jay stood and crossed around the bed, gun still in his grip, and then he reached out and touched Addy’s cheek. Her face was hot, on fire, yet she didn’t pull away from his touch.
“Fuck you,” she said. Jay straightened up and set the gun on the desk. He sat back down in the office chair and folded his hands across his stomach.
“Get some sleep,” he said. “We have a long day tomorrow.”