My Protector by Layla Valentine & Holly Rayner

Author:Layla Valentine & Holly Rayner [Valentine, Layla & Rayner, Holly]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2018-09-12T16:00:00+00:00

“Where are you going?” Joel murmurs.

“To the bathroom,” I whisper. “Stay.”

He nods sleepily and rolls away from me, toward the warmth of the fire.

Thank God for men always falling asleep right after sex. I step lightly, knowing that if he hears what I’m doing, he’ll wake up quickly. I grab my clothes on the way to the bathroom, and right before I shut the door, I also grab a small black bag that’s been sitting on the kitchen floor since our arrival yesterday.

Once in the bathroom, I lock the door and turn on the water. I’ve got to move quickly. I tug my clothes back on and immediately begin searching the bag, trying not to make too much noise with the zippers. I don’t want to rely too much on the sound of the running water to cover me. All he would have to do is notice that the bag is gone.

I don’t think Joel would hurt me. Not anymore. I believe he cares for me, and honestly, I care for him too. The intimacy between us just now was real. It makes me feel that much worse about what I’m about to do. It feels like a betrayal. But I think it’s a necessary one.

Finally, I find what I’m looking for and exit the bathroom. Joel is still dozing in front of the fire, a contented half-smile on his face. I take a moment to steel myself. This is not going to be fun.

Whipping the handcuffs from the bag out of my pocket, I clap one end around his wrist and the other around an exposed pipe running from floor to ceiling on the wall beside the fireplace. Then I move quickly, grabbing his shirt from the floor and jumping out of his reach.

Joel, of course, is immediately alert. “What the hell?”

“I’m sorry,” I say. “I’m sorry, Joel.”

He understands immediately. I can see it in his eyes. “Jenna, don’t do this.”

“I really do care about you,” I say. I’m already rummaging through his shirt pockets. The breast pocket. That’s where I’ll find the information I need. I keep the map to your father close to my chest, he said. My hand closes around a piece of paper, and I stuff it into my sock, not having any pockets of my own to work with. “I have to find my dad,” I say. “I have to know that he’s okay.”

“Jenna, we can talk about this,” he protests, pulling at the cuffs.

But I’m done talking. I’ve tried to talk. He hasn’t given me answers. I pull on the shoes he bought for me, grab the car keys from the counter, and set off into the snow to find out the truth for myself.

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