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Aurora
I can’t take my eyes off him as he rubs his hands on his jeans, wearing the denim to a lighter shade with each pass. Sweat gathers at his temples. I don’t know what has him so shaken up, but he’s starting to make me a bit antsy as well. When his anxious, hardened expression loosens, I can only assume he’s switched.
“Hey, sweet girl,” he says, low and soft, and I know exactly who he is now. Jax has taken over.
I haven’t seen him since he let me escape. Maybe Kane punished him by keeping him back. A sliver of guilt winds through me, snaking past my heart and settling low in my stomach. It coils there, tightening and writhing until it’s a physical thing I can’t ignore. Even though it’s technically Kane’s fault for picking me up and holding me hostage, I’m causing problems for all of them.
I shake my head. Do I actually believe this shit?
I hate to admit I am, but I can’t deny the reality in front of my face. Hearing about people with alters is one thing. Seeing someone with this condition for a few minutes on social media or television isn’t the same as living with them for days. The differences between the three men are undeniable and wholly total. He is Kane. He is Jax. He is Tobin.
But why?
From what very little I’ve heard about this condition, its cause is often rooted in trauma. We brushed over it in psychology, and I wrack my mind now for what I learned, but I only come up with questions instead of answers. What sort of hammer smashed his psyche to the point of fracture? Who hurt him?
Kane won’t answer these questions, so I make a mental note to try to get information from the other two.
“Jax?” I ask, just to be sure.
“The one and only,” he says with a smile.
We pass a blinking sign that signals an inspection station ahead. Is that what had Kane so on edge? If so, Jax doesn’t share the same phobia. Once he wipes his forehead, it stays dry, and his hands relax on the steering wheel.
When he finally glances over at me, he sucks in a sharp breath. “Oh shit, is that from...” He shakes his head. “I never should have let you run off.”
My hand goes to my throat. He must have noticed the marks. “I had to try, Jax. You understand that, right?”
He pulls over on the shoulder and unclips his seatbelt. After rifling through the cabinets in the back, he returns with a lacy scarf. Whose? I probably don’t want to know.
Jax leans over. His fingers trace the marks from the choke collar before covering the bruises with the lace. He knots it on the side, and he doesn’t need to tell me why. He doesn’t want anyone to see the marks and get suspicious.
This creates a problem in my mind. We’ll stop at the inspection site, and someone will give the truck a once over. I’ve been through this before with other truckers, and I won’t pretend it doesn’t present an opportunity to escape this hell once and for all. But will I take that opportunity?
For Kane’s part in this mess, I’m inclined to scream bloody murder the moment the inspector approaches the truck. I can end it all right now. But Kane isn’t the only person this would affect. Jax and Tobin are part and parcel, and I’m conflicted. Jax has let me go, and Tobin’s only guilty of giving me incredible orgasms. Is it fair to condemn them for the acts of their splintered mind?
And what if I don’t rat them out? Perhaps I can play the long game and win Kane’s trust.
To scream or not to scream. That is the question.
Jax leans into me. “Do me a favor, sweet girl. Don’t blow our cover at this inspection. I...did very unwell in prison.”
He’s laying the guilt on thick, and I’m not immune. I don’t believe he deserves to waste away in a cell, and neither does Tobin. But I want to live. Kane hasn’t killed me yet, but that’s the keyword.
Yet.
Jax places his fingers on my chin and draws me into him. As he kisses me, I’m reminded of the differences between him and Tobin. He’s gentle and sweet, giving more than he takes from me. Instead of tongue-fucking my mouth like Tobin, his kiss comforts me. I melt into it against my will. My lip quivers as he pulls away from me. He isn’t making this decision any easier.
He grabs the blanket and puts it across my lap, covering my handcuffed wrist before dropping back to his seat and eyeing me with an approving nod. As he buttons his flannel, he looks like a teenager trying to hide his tattoos from his parents. He looks in the mirror and smooths his hair. Satisfied that he appears as respectable as possible, he rolls back onto the road and heads toward the inspection site.
Two DOT vans crouch at the head of the pull off, and I imagine flagging down the people inside. My brain can’t fathom what would happen if I acted on this impulse. Would Kane give up, or would a chase ensue?
Jax pulls to a stop, and a DOT officer appears in the window.
“License?” the officer asks.
Jax pulls out his CDL license and hands it over.
“Thanks, Mr. Hargrave,” the officer says before leaning closer to Jax, probably trying to smell if he’s been drinking. “Triangles and fire extinguisher?”
