Page 7 of Hunting Gianna

Wrapping my hands around the ignition wire, I draw my knife and it cuts fast, cutting right through. Right through me. The smooth, solid wire of my own restraint, making me tremble with its sudden clean edges. My breath thick and my head light.

I watch it dangle, and I heard it snap with thesnickof an easy cut.

That single moment, a delicious moment, the way she will come to me and be caught and be perfect and be scared. That single fucking moment stretched forever. It gets me out from underthe car and into my jeans. Wiping her off, wiping the desire off, wiping every bit of control back into my tightest fucking skin.

The car won't start. She will panic, find the cabin… and walk right into the mouth of the man who won’t stop until she’s breathing his name.

I disappear into the trees, the tightness across my chest, the tension in my muscles lifting when I realize...

This little bird is about to experience what it feels like to sing from inside a pretty little cage, constructed just for her.

It’s enough to make me say it, this beautifully wicked plan. It's enough to make me chuckle as I take the long way back.

It's enough to hold me and it's enough to make her break.

She'll come to me.

When it's time.

All I need to do is wait.

Chapter Three

Gianna

Awallofblackclouds rips across the horizon, threatening to swallow the sky. This is not something I saw coming. It’s too dangerous to stay now. I work the last stubborn stake out of the ground, laughing in the face of my own scattered fears. Independence tastes better than I imagined. Fat drops begin to splatter the hard-packed earth. The tent almost takes flight before I wrestle it down. Shove it in my bag. Shove the worry down, too. A crack of thunder echoes through the trees as I grab my gear and toss it together.

So I'm the fuck-up who can't stick it out in a storm? That's what he would say. But he’s not here to watch me stumble. I’m my own goddamn audience now. My grin stretches wider than thesky. The wind is ruthless and so am I, refusing to flinch as I haul things into a pile. They can scatter all they want, and so can I.

I’ll retreat to my car, sit in the warmth and dry off and then come back when it’s clear.Yeah, that’s what I’ll do.

Strands of hair whip my face, tangling in my open mouth as I try to go faster, my fingers seizing as I work. The white clouds of morning morphing into something darker, meaner, almost supernatural in the way they draw themselves over my little speck of wilderness.

But the air is electric, surging with a pressure that wraps my chest tight and lets me know just how small I am out here. Just how dangerous this could get if I wait too long. This type of storm isn’t one you fuck around with.

I collapse the poles and almost collapse with them.

The wind catches me as I pack, trying to throw my shit around, but I go faster.

All that wide-open space from before shrinks with the coming storm. Shrinks like the tent when I stuff it, wet and stubborn, into my backpack.

I’m not weak, and I'm not staying to prove anything to him or the impending shit storm about to unleash holy hell down on me.

Finally, I’ve got most of my shit stuffed in my pack and I’m moving.

I break the treeline just as the sky cracks open and swallows me whole. Trying to keep my feet steady, I march over the mud quickly forming.There, just up ahead. My car.A soft sigh escapes me as I break into a jog. My fingers don’t want to work as I grab my keys and fight with the lock.Click.The door unlocks and I press the button to open the trunk. I toss my pack, then slide into the driver's seat, every inch of me trembling. I made it. I think I made it.

I want to laugh. I want to cry. I want to pound the steering wheel and give the sky the finger. Instead, I just hold the keys in my damp hand, hold them with so much relief that I don't feel the water pooling on the seat or the way my hair sticks to the window as I lean back, let the tension unwind, let my body tell me that I actually made it. Damn, just in time too. Lightning cracks across the sky, narrowly missing the tops of the trees.

Cold seeps in and I need heat. I need warmth. I need to dry off before the chill sets in. Pushing the key into the ignition, I turn it.

A grinding sound cuts my breath..

One more time.

I turn the key and it groans again, mocking me, forcing out any last hope that was left. Then it's quiet. The storm and me. Nothing else. Nothing else except this wet, awful feeling. I hearit in my head now, grinding even though the key is still.Failure.I can't stay out here in this fucking car.

The temperature drops, cutting through my wet clothes. My skin burns with a sudden, violent, hopeless cold. I have to get somewhere warm and dry. Who the fuck knows how long this storm will last?

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