Arrogant Monster

Chapter 5 Episode 5

He nods again. A man of few words, this one. Then he cranks the engine to life and pulls us back onto the highway. We drive for another ten minutes in a barren silence, until we round a wide bend…

And see cops waiting at a roadblock ahead.

My heart jumps into my throat and tries to choke me out. I’m ready for anything—for him to take us off-road again, for him to drive right through the blockade and smear Hartford County’s finest all over the windshield. Hell, I’d be ready for him to sprout wings and take off like an eagle. That’s how unreal this day has been.

But none of that happens. He just cruises to a stop where the officer is signaling and rolls his window down. I hear the clack of boots on asphalt as the officer walks up to the car.

And then, right before he reaches us, I witness the craziest transformation. The man’s hand finds my thigh, cupping me like he’s been doing it our whole lives. His shoulders melt into an easy posture, his face relaxes into a warm smile, and the ever-present brooding tension in his forehead eases away.

It’s un-f*****g-canny. In the space of a breath, he goes from monster-in-the-woods to happily-just-married.

“Evenin’, Officer,” he says in a casual drawl with a faint folksy twang. “I wasn’t speeding, was I?”

The policeman doesn’t answer the question as he crouches down to scrutinize both of us. “Just married, eh?” he grunts. His mustache twitches.

My savior grins broadly, an unmistakable pride radiating from him. “Still got the newlywed glow, huh? It’s only been a few hours, so I s’pose we’ll see how long that lasts.”

The officer nods. His face is dour, but that mustache is still twitching. I can’t decide whether that’s a good sign or a bad one. I’m also more than slightly distracted by his hand on my thigh. Huge and hot and heavy.

“Well, congratulations to you both,” the officer says shortly. “To answer your question, no, you weren’t speeding. We’re doing routine checks along this stretch of road.”

“What seems to be the issue, officer?” His tone is flawless. His expression is all concern. He’s playing his part to perfection.

“There’s an escaped convict on the loose,” he informs us. “He’s supposed to be armed and extremely dangerous, with a trail of bodies in his wake. So needless to say, if you see anything weird, report it. We don’t want you folks running into some kind of monstrous killer.”

And just like that, everything gets much, much more serious.

I feel her tense up beneath my palm. I resist looking over at her, because I already know what I’ll see—fear etched clear as day in those pretty green eyes.

I squeeze her thigh. Subtly enough that the cop won’t see, but hard enough so that Kinsley will get the message.

Don’t you dare f**k this up.

“Ma’am,” the officer says suddenly, “are you alright?”

Kinsley jerks her head towards the dash to look up at him as though she’s just noticed we’re not alone. Her smile is unconvincing. My grip on her tightens.

The officer’s expression downshifts slightly. Just one subtle tick in the wrong direction. “Are you looking forward to your honeymoon?”

It’s obvious what he’s doing: testing the waters, looking for weak points. Trying to draw Kinsley into a conversation that will either make or break the little charade we’re playing.

“Sorry,” Kinsley stammers, “what was that?”

“I asked if you were looking forward to your honeymoon.”

“Oh, yeah. Totally. Of course, I can’t wait.”

But she’s too weak and uncertain. I can see the officer—McPherson, I read off his badge—grow increasingly suspicious.

“Do me a favor and sit tight, folks.” McPherson backs away and starts whispering into the radio strapped on his shoulder.

“I’m sorry,” Kinsley says quickly, as though she’s afraid I’m going to pounce on her. “I’m… not used to this.”

“Get used to it,” I snarl through gritted teeth. “Quickly.”

She quivers beneath my touch as McPherson saunters back up and leans down against the car again.

“Looks like you’ve knocked the front bumper of your car,” he notes.

“You can blame my little brother for that,” I laugh, rolling my eyes in fake exasperation. “He decided to take a joyride around the hotel before the ceremony. Figured no one would notice. Kid got into Yale last month, but you’d think he was more suited to picking up trash on the side of the highway, maturity-wise.”

“Yeah, well, they do say boys grow up slow.”

I laugh good-naturedly. Kinsley, meanwhile, is staring blankly at me like she’s trying to solve a complex math problem. McPherson shifts his gaze from me to her.

“How was the wedding, ma’am?” he asks.

I wonder if he’s already called for backup. That would make things significantly more difficult. But not impossible.

“It was…” Kinsley stops short and sighs deeply. “I’m sorry—I know I must seem a little off for a woman who just got married.”

I’m white-knuckling her thigh at this point. Where the f**k is she going with this?

“I’m just a little preoccupied,” Kinsley continues. “My mother passed away a few years ago. And I keep thinking about her. She would have loved to have been there. I was fine during the ceremony. I guess it’s just all hitting me at once now.”

For one pregnant pause, I wonder if she oversold the delivery. McPherson’s face hidden behind that bushy mustache is close to unreadable.

Then he eases up. “Alright, folks. Enjoy your trip. Keep your eyes open, like I told ya.” That mustache keeps wriggling back and forth.

“Will do. Thanks, officer,” I say.

I roll up the window and restart the engine. Kinsley looks straight ahead as she runs her hands over her silk skirts. Another cop waves us through the blockade and we start picking up speed again. A silent minute passes before we round a curve in the road and they disappear from sight.

“Is it true?” Kinsley blurts suddenly.

Her eyes snap to me. “The part where I’m apparently in the car with a killer.”

She stares at me, waiting for an answer. But I know I won’t be able to give her a satisfactory one. Certainly not a short one.

“That’s not what I was put in jail for,” I say at last.

She frowns. “You really hate answering questions, don’t you?”

“A smart woman would stop asking them.”

“Guess I’m not that smart.”

“What are you then, Kinsley?”

“I’m trying to figure that out.” Her voice gains strength as she speaks. “I may not know who I am, but I know who I’m not. And I’m not a bad person.”

“It feels like you’re saying that I am.”

“You’re on the run from the cops. So the evidence isn’t looking great.”

I roll my eyes and regrip the steering wheel. “I’m not playing these games with you. Believe me or don’t; it’s your call. I don’t care either way.”

Out of the corner of my eyes, I see hers narrowing. “You’re not about to try and convince me of anything, are you?”

“I find that to be a waste of time.”

“Because you don’t care what I think?”

“Don’t take it personally,” I tell her coldly. “I don’t care what anyone thinks.”

I shouldn’t engage. It would be better if this quasi-hostage situation were a silent one. But I’ve spent the last year and a half in a dank jail cell, surrounded by ugly, violent brutes. In comparison, Kinsley feels like a breath of fresh air. I can’t help but inhale her.

She’s locked and loaded with her answer. “If you cared what people think, then you wouldn’t do horrible things. Not caring gives you the license to do whatever the hell you want and not have to feel guilty about it.”

“I wasted away a lot of my life feeling guilty. I’m done with that now.”

She looks at me curiously. “What were you guilty about?”

I glance back at her. “Answering people’s questions, for one.”

She rolls her eyes, and I turn the car into another pathway that leads into the forest. “Where are we going?” she bleats nervously.

I drive in as far as I can go before the road tapers off into branching footpaths that can’t be accessed with a vehicle.

“What did I just say about asking too many questions?”

She crosses her arms over her chest. I don’t miss how it pushes her breasts up high in that unlaced corset. “I think I have a right to know what we’re doing and why.”

I sigh and slump back in the seat. “We’re stopping here because every pompous motherfucker with a badge is lined up on the highway from here to California looking for a man like me. We got lucky back there. It won’t happen again. So we spend the night here, and in the morning, we find a new way out.”

She harrumphs, but she seems mostly satisfied with that explanation. I grimace and rub my throat. It’s the most words I’ve spoken in the last six months combined.

Her phone starts to ring again. “It’s not him,” she says quietly, reading my dark expression. “It’s my best friend.”

I see the name EMMA and a picture of a smiling brunette flash across her screen. To my surprise, Kinsley silences it without answering.