Page 17 of Saving the Last Heir
When I finally tore my gaze away from the tablet, I locked eyes with Jackson. Fear, deep and almost overwhelming, surged up. My fight-or-flight instinct made it hard to move. I wanted to run, but I was rooted in place even though my face remained placid and emotionless.
Jackson’s eyes narrowed, and he did something incredibly weird. Hesniffedthe air like a dog trying to catch a scent. His smile slipped, and his eyes narrowed. It was almost as if he’dsmelledmy fear.
“Hang on, Shyanne,” he said, holding a hand up. “It’s not what you think.”
“Sorry?” I said, shaking my head and giving my best attempt at a smile. “Think what?” My voice came out overly sweet and high-pitched. “I need to go grab a…uh…something from my office real quick.”
I dropped the tablet and spun on my heels, rushing toward the back door. Jackson moved, sprinting across the room with such speed that I barely realized he was running until he’d stopped in front of me. I actually stumbled to a stop, gaping at him. How the fuck had he moved that fast?
“Shyanne, can we talk about this?” He stayed back and didn’t take another step toward me. If he’d done anythingaggressive, I would have started swinging my fists.
“Move,” I said, my voice remarkably even given the situation. “Get out of my way right now.”
“I can’t do that. Not until we talk.”
Sucking in a breath, I clenched my hands into fists, trying to stay as calm as I could. “Did you steal that car?”
Jackson stared back at me. He sighed. “Yes.”
I bolted.
5
SHYANNE
Iwas strong and fast. I was the only girl who’d played varsity football in high school and had managed to start as safety my senior year. And still, I was like a child trying to run through cold honey compared to Jackson.
Sprinting around one of the worktables, I tried to make for the door, but he slid around to the other side so fast that I had the ridiculous thought that he’d performed some sort of magic that allowed him to teleport between me and the door.
“You need to let me out,” I said, placing my hands on the table, feeling like a cornered animal as I glanced around the room for the best possible escape route.
“Shyanne, please, let me explain. Like I said, this is not what you think.”
“Stop saying my name!” I shoved the table at him, and it slid across the floor to press him against the car behind him.
“Shit,” he grunted.
I whirled around and ran for the back door.
Behind me, the squealing sound of the table being pushed away filled the room, followed by the thump of boots. I was halfway across the garage when, from the corner of my eye, I saw Jacksonleapover the top of a car and land in front of me. He’d made it look so easy, soeffortless. His face looked stoic and calm, like it had taken nothing to perform the feat.
As I skidded to a halt, my left foot caught a small patch of motor oil, and I fell on my ass. Pain shot up my back and down my legs, but it was nothing compared to the terror coursing through me. Not only was I stuck in here with a thief, but I was stuck in here with a thief that had inhuman speed and strength. Who the fuck was this guy?
Jackson stood over me, and I tried to scramble to my feet.
“Can we please talk about this like adults?” He said.
“Sure,” I said, managing to right myself without taking my eyes from him. “As anadult, I’ll tell you to get your ass out of here, and I’ll give you a thirty-second head-start before I call the cops. How about that?”
“That’s not going to happen,” Jackson said, his voice still strangely calm. “I’m working on an extremely tight timeframe. Ineedthis car fixed, and I need it fixed fast. You’re the one who has to do that.”
“I’m not fixing a stolen car! If I help you, that makes me, like, an accomplice or something.” As I spoke, I tried to ease myself over to a small rolling tool bin that sat beside the pickup truck Brent had been working on that day. A small hammer with a thin, flat head for bodywork sat on the tray. It had enough heft to hurt.
“Only if someone finds out,” Jackson said, and his casual tone drove me mad. Didn’t this guy understand what was happening?
“Oh,” I said with mock understanding. “It all makes sense now.” I grabbed the hammer and flung it at him, putting all my strength behind it to make sure it flew straight and true. If it struck him in the chest or stomach, it would give me a chance to run. Jackson snapped his hand out and snatched the hammer from mid-air. He barely gave it a glance as he tossed it aside.
“Stop this,” he said, sounding like a disappointed parent.
