Page 7 of Drown Like Heaven
“N-n-no.” I clenched my jaw, wrapped my arms around myself. “Aren’t you cold t-too?”
“No,” he answered, without pause. “Please, just come with me—what’s your name?”
I shook my head, not answering him. It was staring to rain. This was stupid and unsafe. I hated that he was holding all my belongings now. My phone, my knife, my money. Dread and regret were anchors in my gut.
He looked at the darkening clouds, then back at me, impatient. “Come on. It’s going to rain.”
“What’s your n-name?” I managed to ask.
“Mason,” he responded instantly. “Come on.”
Okay…
Reluctantly, I took his hand. I didn’t really know what choice I had at this point. He had all my shit, and itwasabout to rain, and yes, I was freezing my ass off.
Mason pulled me along behind him up the sand, heading in the direction he’d come from. My feet were almost numb by the time we reached the break in the cliffs leading up towards the road. Carefully, I followed him over the rocks, trying to avoid stepping on the sharp parts. My socks were probably getting torn up, but I couldn’t feel my feet well enough to know.
Once we approached what I assumed was Mason’s dark gray 4Runner parked off the shoulder of the road, the rain had increased to a steady drizzle. He wrenched the door open and jerked his head towards the cab, indicating for me to get in.Fuck, I’m being so stupid.I should’ve never followed him here.
I should’ve never gotten in the ocean in the first place.
“I don’t want to,” I said quietly.
“I don’t care. You’re not staying out here.” He looked up at the storm brewing over our heads again, for emphasis, then down again at my shivering body.
“What if you kidnap me?”
“What if,” he echoed dryly. “Get in.”
A bright flare of lightning forked across the sky, illuminating everything with white—and I jumped in the car. Mason slammed the door and rounded the front, climbing into the driver’s side as heavy thunder rumbled overhead, muffled now that we were safely in the car. He looked at me. I was dripping all over, making a puddle on the seat.
He started the engine and cranked the heat up.
Inconspicuously, I tried to scan the inside of the car, to look for bundles of rope or a gun or some other thing he could use to kill me. But his car was very clean. He’d given me back the belongings I’d left on the beach, so at least I had my knife again.
Without saying anything, Mason reached into the backseat and grabbed a lone duffle bag, then yanked it up onto the console between us. He took out a towel then rubbed it over his head, drying his hair a little before throwing it at me. I didn’t move, just watching him dig through the bag. Maybe this was where he kept the gun.
He paused, flicked his gaze up to meet mine.
“I’m getting you dry clothes.”
“I don’t need dry clothes.” My throat felt tight.
“You’re getting water everywhere.”
“So are you.” I had no idea why I was even defying him. I was nervous. Rain lashed against the dark-tinted windows.
“Not as bad as you.”
It was true. His only wet article of clothing were his swim trunks—which seemed to be drying a lot faster than my jeans and sweater. Plus, my long hair was still soaked. I took a steadying breath.
“Okay,” I relented.
“It’s in the center console, by the way.”
“What?”
“My gun. The thing you’ve been looking for.”
