Never Tell (Detective D.D. Warren #10) - Lisa Gardner Page 0,10
business trip,” the man offers. “Sales. Good excuse, you know, to move around.”
“What the wife doesn’t know,” Jacob suggests.
“Yeah. Sure she doesn’t mind?” The guy nods toward me.
My next warning light goes off.
“Nah. My girl’s a good girl. She does what she’s told.” Jacob turns to me abruptly. “Ain’t that right, Molly?”
I look away. Don’t say a word.
I understand then. At least, have an inkling of the threat. Jacob had tried getting me to pick up random men in bars before; testing the level of my obedience. Each time, I’d managed to avoid the situation. Because I understood, somewhere deep inside of me, that while Jacob might make a game of forcing me on someone else, he’d still never take me back. And not because he’s big, bad Jacob Ness. But because he’s a man. And no man wants used goods.
The part I still don’t understand—before, the men had been strangers, maybe a cowboy caught eyeing me from across the room. Whereas this man, he’d come straight over. And the way Jacob is turned toward him, engaging with him … It’s almost like they’d been expecting each other.
What has Jacob done? What exactly has he promised this not-quite-stranger?
I shake out the last of the popcorn, then grab my beer. No more sipping. Chug, chug, chug. I’m desperate now. Thinking fast, but maybe not fast enough.
The man buys a second round for us. Jacob doesn’t protest, though he’s eyeing me suspiciously.
Nachos. A plate goes by, heaped high with melted cheese and sour cream. I follow it with huge eyes, never saying a word. The stranger man immediately orders us a platter. Jacob jabs my thigh. I gaze up at him innocently and swallow the last of my second beer.
Then we’re off to the races. Food. Drink. Jacob and the man talking in low voices about things I can’t hear and don’t care about. And maybe Jacob is suspicious, but he’s a fast-food addict himself and the nachos, followed shortly by sliders, then chicken wings—all at our newfound companion’s expense—are too good for him to pass up.
Except the new man doesn’t act that new. And Jacob, who never interacts with anyone, is talking, laughing, slapping the man on the back.
Eat. Drink. Faster, faster, faster. Not much time left. Whatever is going to happen is going to happen soon. The man is staring at me now, his eyes nearly as bright as Jacob’s.
The bartender flashes the lights. Closing time. Our new friend pulls out his wallet. Throws down a hundred as casually as a ten. Jacob’s smirk grows.
No more beer, nachos, wings, popcorn. My stomach hurts. My legs are wobbly. Jacob grabs my arm, dragging me forcibly off the barstool and toward the door, the man falling in step behind us.
Come on, come on, come on.
I can feel a pale sheen of sweat on my brow. I hesitate, trying to drag my heels even though I know better. Jacob digs his fingers into my bony arm, giving me a stare that promises further pain if I don’t knock it off. Right now.
Foxes. Gators. Florida beaches. So far from home. The way Jacob is the evilest person I’ve ever met. The way all men are the same.
Jacob yanks me into the parking lot, close to a vehicle that isn’t his own. The night wind hits my bare arms, my sweaty brow. Then, finally, thankfully, what I’ve been planning on, waiting for …
I turn, and in a move of sheer beauty, projectile vomit all over Jacob’s newfound friend.
“Jesus Christ!” The man leaps back.
It doesn’t save him. Seven days of starvation followed by three hours of binge eating. I lurch forward and hit him again, a thick stream of barely digested food.
Crowds gather. People gasp. I barely notice, falling to my hands and knees, dry heaving onto the warm asphalt. My stomach cramps painfully, sour bile gathering in the back of my throat. I’ll pay for this. Oh, in a million different ways.
But right now, the man’s eyes widen with disgust. Then he turns and hastily walks away …
Jacob has his games. But I have my rebellion. He might always win in the end. But I’m not completely broken yet.
“All right, all right,” Jacob announces to the milling people. “Girl never could hold her beer. Come on, now, not the first time any of you have seen someone puke outside a bar. Move along.”
He grips my arm. I’m shaking uncontrollably, too weak to even stand.
But the not-quite-stranger is gone. The immediate threat is over.