Change of Heart (12 page)

All of a sudden, Victor crashes to the floor. The knife slides out of his grip and comes to rest at my feet. Bewildered, I look up. Rich has tackled Victor and wrestled him to the ground. They grapple with each other, Victor snarling and trying to flip over, Rich desperately pinning his arms to the ground. The heavier man clearly has the advantage on the floor. Rich might be taller, his arms might be longer, but he doesn’t have Victor’s raw strength. Not even close.

All thought of escape has abandoned me at this point. I know that if I don’t help Rich, he’ll lose. And then Victor will have me to himself. Tam will come back. They’ll tie me up again. Rape me. Maybe worse.

Those possibilities run through my head in less time than it takes to blink. Acting on pure instinct, I grab the knife and rush forward. Rich is still on top, but Victor has managed to turn himself over. Rich is fighting off Victor’s arms with all his might, but he’s at a clear disadvantage. I see my chance. Sliding to my knees, I stop just short of the struggle and press the sharp edge of the blade against Victor’s neck.

The man freezes.

“One wrong move, you asshole,” I say, surprised at the venom in my voice, “and I slit your throat.” I don’t know if I’m actually capable of doing that. Victor doesn’t know, either. I look up and meet Rich’s eyes. They’re wide with surprise. I nod.

He reaches over and takes the knife from me. Victor’s arms are sprawled wide on the floor. Even he knows a losing situation when faced with one.

I rise, and step back carefully. Rich looks at me, all of his surprise gone. “We’re going to have to tie him down,” he says. “Check behind the bar. Maybe there are more of those plastic things they used on you.” I’m surprised at the steadiness of his voice. My whole body is shaking—and I hadn’t even been in the fight.

I nod and run to the bar. Halfway there, I hear Rich grunt. I turn back. “What is it?”

To my surprise, I see Rich take the blade away from Victor’s throat. “He’s out cold,” he explains, picking himself up. “The blood loss must have finally got to him.”

I hesitate. “Are you sure?”

“The bastard must have lost four pints of blood, maybe more.” Rich prods at Victor’s shoulder with his foot. “Anybody else would have passed out long ago. The man doesn’t know when to quit. I’ll give him that.”

“Where did you learn to fight like that?” I ask. “The whole time, you were so calm—Oh God, Rich, your leg!”

“What?” He looks at where I’m pointing, and gives a sour grunt. “Oh, that? That’s nothing. A little knick I got from the fight.”

It definitely isn’t “nothing,” and it’s definitely more than “a little knick.” There’s a dark stain on the side of Rich’s left quad. His jeans are cut right in the middle of it. Each time Rich breathes, the stain grows larger.

“Really, Penny, I’ve been hurt worse before.” To prove his point, he takes a step toward me. When his weight shifts to his left leg, his knee suddenly gives out.

I reach his side before he can hit the floor. I catch him by the waist, grunting with the effort of holding him up. “Nothing?” I ask. Looking down, I can see that his white sock is stained red. “Rich, you’re bleeding badly. We need to get you to a hospital!”

“No.” He shakes his head. “Just help me to a chair.” I do, and he settles down heavily. “I need to get some pressure on it to stop the bleeding. Here.” He hands me the knife. For the first time, I notice that the blade is red with Rich’s blood. “Cut me a strip from Victor’s jacket.”

I rush over to the unconscious man and kneel down. Before I start cutting, I look back at Rich. “Are you sure he won’t wake up?”

“You could fire a cannon by his ear and he won’t wake up.” Rich takes his hand away from his wound, and grimaces at what he sees. “Hurry, Penny. I don’t know how long we have until Tam comes back.”

The reminder spurs me into action. I hack off the sleeve, then run over to Rich and help him tie it around his leg. “How is it?”

Rich extends his leg, testing it. He stands up, and takes a cautious step forward. “Not bad.” I know he’s lying by the grimace on his face. “I can still walk, so that’s good.”

“Rich, we should really get you to a hospital—”

He stops me mid-sentence. “No. That’s a terrible idea. We’ll just be sitting ducks for Tam and his cronies to come find us. Besides, I’m just—” His knee buckles again and he lunges forward. I dart to him and put my arm around his waist to hold him up.

“You’re
not
,” I scold. “You can barely stand. We need to get you proper attention—”

“Penny, look around!” Rich yells. “Do you not remember where we are? Did you forget what just happened? We need to get the hell away from here as fast as we can! Do you think that when Tam comes back he’ll just sit on his fucking hands and wait for Victor to get up? No! He’ll go looking for us. For me. For you. And he’ll
find
us, unless we’re far, far away.”

I don’t respond. If I open my mouth now, I know I’ll just get yelled at. Given that Rich is probably close to losing the same amount of blood as Victor had, I decide it’s best to avoid a flare-up.

I take a deep breath, and speak very deliberately. “Where to, then?”

“Out. I’m parked on the street. From there, we just drive.”

“Where?”

“Away.”

I help Rich limp to the door. There, he bends down and lifts up the bottom latch, making me feel like an idiot. He pushes open the door into the cool night air.

I glance back before leaving. The bar looks like a war zone. Toppled tables, broken glass, and Victor’s blood is everywhere. Stains from every step Rich had taken make dark red spots on the floor.

I shudder. Somehow, despite going through all that, I made it out all right.

Chapter Six

We drive for hours. Rich doesn’t say where we’re going, and I don’t ask. The whole time, he stares straight ahead, his eyes on the road. The tension in the truck is thick.

I don’t dare move, except to sneak a glance at Rich every once in a while. Every time I do, he seems paler. In spite of everything he’s done, I’m worried about him. The wound in his leg has stopped bleeding, but I can tell by his face that it still pains him. I’m half-afraid he might pass out and veer into the oncoming lane.

He proves resilient, though. Maybe I should expect that of him by now. For better or for worse, I am stuck with him for the foreseeable future.

Finally, he takes an exit off the highway and pulls up to a ramshackle motel on an empty street. Half the letters in the neon “VACANT” sign are dark. The rest flicker on and off like dying fireflies.

Rich doesn’t park out front. Instead, he turns off onto a gravel road and stops his truck out back. He turns the engine off. “We’re here.”

I swallow hard. Rich’s eyes are bloodshot. His face is ghostly-pale. He looks as if he hasn’t slept for a week. “Okay,” I say softly.

He grunts, and staggers out of the cabin. I run around to catch him. He mutters a low thanks, then points to a flight of stairs. I help him all the way up. On the third floor, he stops in front of a green door and unlocks it with a key. He pushes off me to step inside. I follow him through.

The room is a little bigger than the first motel where we had stayed. There’s one queen bed, a brown sofa, and a kitchenette to the side. A balcony overlooking the front road is directly in front of me. The sliding door is open, and a draft of chilly night air blows through the room. I close the door behind me to cut it off.

Rich heads to the kitchen counter. I notice an open bottle of whiskey there, along with a half-filled shot glass. Rich takes the shot, pours more whiskey to the rim, and downs it. He motions at me with the bottle. “You want some?”

I shake my head. “No.”

“Suit yourself.” Rich shrugs and pours a third shot. He dips his head back to swallow it whole, setting the glass on the counter with a loud
thud
. Then he pushes away, clutching at his leg, and painfully limps to the sofa. He collapses and closes his eyes.

Carefully, I pick my way to him. I’m still wary. Instead of sitting beside him, I perch on the edge of the bed. I wait for him to speak.

A good ten minutes pass without either of us saying anything.

I open my mouth… and close it again. Being here with him goes against every safety instinct in my body. Rich had sold me out. He’d drugged me and given me up to Tam and Victor. I still don’t know why.

But, he’d also came back for me. He’d fought Victor for me, too. Rich had flown across the room right when I thought Victor was going to get me. He did it despite his bad leg. He’d tackled the thug to the ground, even though Victor had a knife, even though Victor was stronger, just to save me. It could have all ended horribly for him.

Despite everything he has done to me, I owe him. Sure, maybe I wouldn’t have been in this situation were it not for him, but he
had
risked his life for me. He’d done it right before my eyes. For that, I could show him a little gratitude.

I have to stay cautious, though. There are so many unanswered questions in my mind. Where did Rich learn to fight? Who did Tam and Victor think I was? Perhaps most important of all: Why did Rich come back for me?

I glance at the car keys Rich had tossed aside on the kitchen table. It would be easy for me to grab them and make a run for it right now. He’ll never catch me—not with his leg. If I was quiet, I could be in his truck before he even realizes I am gone. I know there’s enough gas in the tank to get me to the nearest city center. From there, it would be a short distance to the police station. If I told them everything that had happened, they would help me.

Leaving now is what any sane person would do. It is what I
should
do. I’d be free of Rich and all his problems. I start to push myself up…

And sit back down. Something compels me to stay. I can’t just leave without getting answers. I can’t just leave without understanding what is going on. I thought I understood things, back before the gas station. It turned out I hadn’t had the slightest clue.

Most of all, I can’t leave without getting an explanation from Rich about what he had done.

His eyes are still closed. His chest rises and falls with deep, heavy breaths. “…Rich?” I say softly.

After a moment, he opens one eye to peer at me. His face screws up. “God. You’re still here?”

“Of course I’m here,” I frown. “Where else would I be?”

Rich groans and rubs both eyes with the palms of his hands. “Can’t you take a hint?” He motions blindly at the keys on the table. “I left them there for a reason, you know.”

“I thought about it,” I admit. He cuts me off with a cruel laugh.

“You
thought
about it? Penny, please tell me, what is there to think about?” His eyes shoot open, and he glares at me. “Any person with half a brain would be fifty miles away if they had ‘thought about it.’ What are you still doing here?”

I never expected it, but his words sting. “You… want me to go?”

Rich shoots off the couch like a rocket. “Yes, I want you to go!” He staggers over to the table, picks his car keys up, and dangles them in the air between the two of us. “Here!” he taunts. “Maybe if I spell it out for you: I. Want. You. To. LEAVE!” He slams the keys down on the table in disgust, then limps to the kitchenette. He takes a shot straight from the bottle.

I stare at him as he gulps down the spirit. He slams the bottle back onto the counter. His eyes find mine.

“Well?” he demands. “What are you doing? Go, Penny! Leave!” He sniffs, then takes another generous swig. He sets the bottle down, steps back, and takes a moment to compose himself. When he speaks again, his voice is low. Dangerous. “If it’s permission you need, Penelope, you have it,” he sneers. “Take my Ford and drive away. Go to the cops. Go back home. Go wherever the fuck you need to go. Go, and get away from me!”

“Rich, I—”

“GODAMMIT!” He startles me by picking up the shot glass and hurling it at the door. It shatters in hundreds of sharp pieces. “That way, Penny!” he screams. “That’s the way out. That’s the way you want to go. That—” his voice becomes a roar, “—
is the way AWAY FROM ME
!”

I don’t dare move. I’ve never seen Rich like this. It scares me.

Sure, I had seen his temper flare before. But never this bad. His eyes burn like embers in his skull. An angry vein pulses along his neck. I know he’s not in the right state of mind. He’s exhausted. He’d been drinking, and he’d lost a lot of blood. I have no idea what he is capable of at this point.

Neither do I know what makes me choose my next words. “I don’t want to go.”

“What?” Rich’s voice cracks through the air like a whip. He takes a menacing step toward me. I shy back. “What did you say?” he seethes.

I swallow, but meet his glare. I will
not
let him see I’m afraid. “I said, I don’t want to go. I don’t want to take your truck. I don’t. I don’t.”

I expect another outburst of anger. I expect him to yell again. I expect him to demand for me to get the fuck out of his sight. Any of those things would make more sense than what he does next.