DISCLAIMER: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc., are the intellectual property of the respective author. The original characters and plot are the property of Stephenie Meyer. No copyright infringement is intended.
-Chapter Fifty-Four-
The cars hit their brakes to slow the bus down and make way for a lifted truck. It sped up from the rear, coming in fast and hard on the left, ramming us in the side. The sound of metal crushing and grinding against metal was loud and reverberated throughout the cab. The driver swerved away from the assault on instinct. The sharp turn threw me across the seat and into the window's path, my head slamming into the glass. Bouncing back with a raging ache in my temple, I was flung towards the center aisle when the driver jerked the bus to the right, overcorrecting himself.
The only thing keeping me in place was the handcuffs, securing my ankles and wrists to the chain bolted into the floor.
Pushing myself up by my forearms and elbows, I sat back and planted my feet on the one in front of me. Then, with my arms outstretched and fingers wrapped around the corner edges, I dug into the stiff leather. I was bound and determined to see this shit through.
"What the fuck are you doing, Dave?" Arden asked. "Go around them!"
"I'm trying!" He panicked, glancing out his side window. "But this asshole won't stop ramming me!"
The guy was relentless in his pursuit to drive us off the road, engine revving to a threatening decibel—the truck collided with the bus repeatedly, each blow more forceful than the last. Dave was losing control of the steering wheel and the situation.
Bum-bum, bum-bum, bum-bum, bum-bum.
My heart was beating a thousand beats per minute. I was breathing fast, non-stop, the air filling my lungs with the thrill of the unfolding madness. The anticipation was building inside me, on the verge of combustion.
Every tense second only meant I was closer to seeing him.
"Try going that way," the nameless guard said, pointing to a noticeable gap in the road and one that I couldn't see from my obscured vantage point.
"I don't have a clear path to get by. They're blocking every single lane…." Dave grunted in frustration, only to be cut off within the next second by a gunshot that rang out in the air. "Jesus, they're shooting at us now?!"
Pop, pop, pop, pop, pop, pop!
Six to twenty shots were fired off in rapid succession. It riddled the windshield with holes. Everyone ducked down in their seat, and I covered my head, praying that a stray bullet didn't find its way to me. But, unfortunately, the guard standing in the aisle between Dave and Arden wasn't so lucky.
"Fuck…" He spun around and stood in a daze with a hand on his chest. "I'm hit."
"What?" Arden's head snapped to the guard, eyes wide with disbelief. "Are you sure?"
"Yeah," he said, the blood gushing out between his fingers and saturating his uniform. "I'm pretty-fucking-sure."
Stumbling back, the guard collapsed into the nearest seat. A convict occupied it, and she sprung into action, adding pressure with both of her hands to the gaping wound, but there was nothing she could do for him. I watched the color drain from his face and onto the floor.
This man will die in three minutes with two complete pumps of a failing heart.
"God damn it!" Arden said, rubbing the back of his neck, eyes shifting with indecision from his fallen comrade to the shit storm in front of him.
"I think it's time pull over, Joe," Dave said, already easing up on the gas and turning the wheel to the right.
Arden wasn't going to win, we all knew it, but he wasn't going to back down without a fight.
"No! Keep driving!" he said, whipping out his pistol and cocking it. "Fuck that asshole. He's not getting her." Then, leaning over Dave, he pulled the lever to the bus door, which swung open. He fought against the incoming wind, descending the steps and reaching for the side rail. He hung his body halfway outside the bus, raising his arm and firing his gun into the darkness, using the red taillights as his only guide.
Pop. Pop. Pop. Pop.
There was no gunfire in return to the two clips he unloaded into the night.
Why did they stop shooting?
Fear overtook me as my mind imagined where Arden's bullets may or may not have found their mark.
What if he hit Edward?
I roared with a deep and guttural scream, desperate and angered, pulling at the handcuffs with the metal tearing into my skin. Hatred for this man fueled my efforts. Finally, I vowed to break free and show him how much I wanted him dead.
"Damn it!" Arden said, out of bullets and out of fucking luck, ducked back inside. "Is the shotgun loaded?" he asked Dave, going straight for it.
"Yeah, but the shells are in the—"
POP!
A single shot, prominent and deafening, echoed and chilled me to the bone. The truck sped off, and the glass on the driver's side window was shattered and sprayed with blood. Dave convulsed for a fraction of a second before going limp and slumping over the steering wheel. The bus veered to the right, and everyone was tossed into the center aisle. It happened so fast and without warning that it took Arden a moment to understand that Dave had been shot in the head and was dead. By the time he did realize it, he couldn't regain control of the bus, and it was already two seconds too late.
Time in a moment of chaos slows down as every aspect seen by the human eye is more precise and resolute as the brain can process incoming sensory faster. The path of the bus now predestined, going off the road at fifty miles an hour and careening head-on into a shallow ditch.
It played out in my mind like a movie.
I closed my eyes and held on tight.
This shit is going to hurt!
The crash's impact launched my body forward, but the chains brought me back and slammed my head hard against the seat, knocking the air out of me. I'm hurting and hunched over, barely able to pull myself together. I tried to breathe, painful with each inhale and excruciating with each exhale. My skull throbbed, and my vision blurred. Finally, I reached up and touched my forehead, inspecting for blood.
Nothing—but that didn't mean shit. I knew what the consequences of a concussion were, internal bleeding, and yadda, yadda, yadda. It was a rough landing, and I survived. That was all that mattered.
A dust cloud surrounded the bus with a brown haze, and the convicts were moaning and groaning in pain, calling out for help that wouldn't come. I shifted in my seat and tried to prop myself up to look around and take stock of the injured or dead, but everything went black. I was weak, and every move, even the slightest, fucking hurt, and I had to give up and close my eyes, falling back in my seat to wait.
"Keep an eye out!" a man yelled.
I focused all my energy and concentration on the cars as they pulled up, their tires crunching over the rough terrain and kicking up rocks, pelting the side of the bus. Their engines hummed, idling, doors opening and closing, an influx of unknown voices overlapping and growing louder.
The commotion was a distraction but did nothing to alleviate the pain that radiated throughout my body.
"In there," someone said, bringing my attention back to the forefront.
There's a sudden banging, heavy thumping on the steps of the bus, almost like someone was stomping their feet, followed by a distinct cocking of a gun and a familiar growl.
"Where the fuck is she?" That voice—his voice—was gruff and raw, strained with emotion.
I gasped.
Not trusting it, I opened my eyes and peeked around the seat.
My heart stopped.
I couldn't breathe.
He was standing there in the flesh, wearing a tattered orange prison jumpsuit, a lot like mine, but his top was unbuttoned and hung down, showing off his wife-beater and tattoos. Sometime between last Saturday and today, he'd shaved his head. It was short, not quite skinhead like that fed had mentioned by the elevators, but close enough. All that glorious and messy reddish-brown hair was gone.
But he was still my Edward, towering over Arden with the Colt pressed to his forehead.
I grabbed the edge of the seat in front of me to pull my body towards the aisle and called him, "Edward…" but it was low, barely above a whisper. He didn't hear my depleted voice amidst the confusion and disorder, continuing to scour the bus for me.
My eyes watered, making my eyesight even more fucked, and a heavy lump was lodged deep down in my throat. I was holding back that emotion—the kind that could turn me into a slobbering disaster within a second flat.
Jutting out his chin, he was losing his patience with Arden's silence and moved the gun barrel from his head to his mouth, shoving it in with brute force. "Fucking tell me where she is, or I'm going to blow your fucking head off!"
I was half-tempted to let him pull the trigger and end that asshole, but my baby looked so rough and torn down. Loss of love equals violence. I should know. The man had the power to take my breath away and breathe it back into me. That desperate need to feel him, to make sure he was real, took precedence over my bloodlust.
"Edward," I said louder this time, sitting up and tapping my wrists on the top of the seat, causing the chains to clink together. He snapped his head to the sound, those deep green eyes searching and finding me. A slow, satisfied smile spread across my face. "You're late."
Edward smiled in return, hurt and relieved. His body's tension washed away with a deep and steady breath. Arden, forgotten now, Edward tucked the gun into his back waistband and took one giant stride in my direction, pushing his way through the madness, closer and closer. His eyes became more intense with every step he took. Finally, he dropped to his knees in front of me.
"There you are," he said, and before I had to chance to say anything, my face was in his hands, and his lips were on mine.
His kiss replaced all the pain, heartache, grief, and loneliness with life and his love. A feeling of wholeness came over me. I was no longer just an empty version of myself.
I was home again.
He was my home.
"I was going crazy," he said with a breath, and I was crying through his kisses. He tried to pull away, whispering my name, but I pressed our mouths together, forcing him to stay.
He didn't fight me. He never would. Whatever I wanted, he gave me. And right then, all I wanted was his lips and tongue. He tasted like peppermint, but there was a hint of cigarettes. He had been smoking like a fucking chimney again.
He had his face buried in my neck, kissing and marking me, when someone kneed him in the back and cleared their throat. "Yo, Eddie."
The distraction was what we needed, not necessarily what we wanted, and Edward snapped at the interrupter. "What?"
Emmett stood over us without apology and shrugged. "You gotta wrap this shit up, man."
There weren't sirens yet, but there would be.
"Fuck!" he said, leaning his forehead against mine. "I know."
"Here," Emmett said, holding the keys to my chains. "Two minutes, bro."
Edward nodded, kissing me briefly before snatching the keys from Em and unlocking my ankles. He rubbed out the soreness with a tender massage with one hand and opened my wrists with the other. He gazed up at me and smiled, his eyes blackened with bruises and his bottom lip swollen and cut. The tiny things I didn't notice in the heat of the moment were all I could see now.
"Oh, my God, baby, what happened to you?" I asked.
He looked away from me, shaking his head. "It's nothing."
"That doesn't look like nothing." I grabbed his chin and forced him to look at me.
"I'll tell you later," he said, rising to his feet. "But right now," he glanced out the back window and then at me, holding out his hand, "we gotta fucking move."
He was right. Time was ticking. I took his hand, and he pulled me into his arms, unwilling to allow even the smallest space to get between us again. Emmett led the way, and I saw how nasty this jailbreak was. Blood was everywhere, and I tip-toed around it. I looked down at the guard gone from this world and the convict who held him while he died. Her eyes were void of emotion, staring out into nothing, hands painted a deep red.
Arden was in the seat behind Dave, with Jasper pointing his gun at him. That piece of shit would be the only guard surviving this event, which didn't seem fair. I remembered everything he said to me when I couldn't fight back. How many women had he vowed to fulfill his promises? With that question hanging in my head, I couldn't leave without giving him some parting words.
"Wait," I said, pulling on Edward's arm. "I need your gun."
"Okay," he said, complying without thought, taking it out and placing it in my hand.
That blind trust he willingly gave over to me was unreal. No questions or anything: here's my gun. I trust you.
That conviction he had towards our love drove me.
The Colt was heavy in my grip, the chrome-plated surface reflecting my decisive eyes. I cocked it, loading one bullet into the chamber. I turned to Arden, and Jasper backed away to give me room but never lowered his weapon.
Placing my hand on the seat for balance, I leaned over Arden and put the muzzle of the Colt on his knee. I recited the words he told me not too long ago into his ear. "Right before you go to sleep at night, you're going to think of me. Where I've touched you," I trailed the gun up his thigh, a gentle caress, like his filthy hands were on me, "and how you fought it, but I'll make you quiver so good, girl. Especially when I fuck you here." I shoved the gun into his crotch, jamming it as hard as I could into his nuts. He yelped out in pain. "It's going to be explosive." I smiled and pulled the trigger.
The loud pop startled the men, and they all jumped.
Arden recoiled away, screaming bloody murder and throwing a needless fit. "You stupid bitch! You stupid fucking bitch!"
Edward yanked the gun out of my hand and put it to Arden's mouth. "Call her a bitch one more fucking time, asshole."
"Jesus Christ!" Jasper groaned, grabbing me by the arm and dragging me off the bus. He threw me into the backseat of a waiting Mercedes. "Stay in the fucking car, Bella. Do you hear me?" I nodded. "You two are unbelievable!" he said, slamming the door behind him.
If there was one way to defuse a situation and get Edward's attention, it was to separate us. He'd come flying out of the bus less than a second later in a panic with Emmett hot on his heel. He searched for me around the vacant field. Jasper pointed to the car and eased his worries. Then they argued. Edward yelled and cursed at him. Jasper stood there calmly and reprimanded him for the time wasted. Eventually, Edward tuned him out and came storming towards the car and back to me.
He was mad and fired up.
I liked that.
It made him unpredictable.
The heat of my arousal moved its way up, flushing my face and chest, and I pushed myself across the seat to make room for him. My pulse was racing with impatience, yearning for his touch.
He flung the door open and hopped into the car. Even before the door could close and lock behind him, he grabbed me by the neck and attacked my lips. My hands flew up to his taut biceps, his skin burning my fingertips, needing that extra stability as he laid me back. I opened my legs to him and wrapped them around his waist. He grunted, and I could feel his hardness through the fabric of the jumpsuit, pressing into me with every firm thrust and grind of his hips—which drove me insane with want.
It propelled me with courage, and discretion was no longer a factor.
Moving my hands down and between our tightly conformed bodies, I slipped my fingers below the hem of his jumper, rubbing my palm over him through his boxers. He squeezed my throat and pulled my head up from the seat, shoving his tongue deeper into my mouth.
He was straining to get out, hard and ready, and I wanted to grab him.
I wanted to drive him crazy.
I wanted to make him explode.
My mind was miles ahead of me, and I was pulling at the last barrier, my fingers barely grazing over the bare tip, when Emmett made his presence known.
"You better not be fucking back there!"
I stilled, never taking my hands out but hoping that he would disappear if we stayed quiet long enough. Typically, getting caught trying to fuck my boyfriend would be embarrassing, especially with Emmett nearby, but now I just saw his cockblocking ways as inconvenient.
Edward felt the same, not even attempting to remove his body from mine. "Fuck off!" he said eloquently against my lips, continuing to kiss me.
It had been five days since we felt each other like this, so close and tangible. It didn't matter to us who had the unfortunate chance of witnessing it.
The only thing that brought me back to my senses was the lack of space. Edward was having trouble unzipping my jumpsuit, and I couldn't get my hands around him. Not properly, anyway. It annoyed me.
"I can't!" I huffed, pushing him away. "Not like this."
"Okay." Edward understood my frustration, sitting up and leaning towards the front seat. "Hey, man, you gotta find us a hotel somewhere."
"What?" Emmett asked, jerking his head away from the expanding road. It only occurred to me now that we were driving. "Are you fucking kidding me?"
"We can't fuck here, now can we?" Edward said with a shrug.
"Eddie, you do realize that you and your girl are fucking fugitives, right? The cops are already out there looking for your asses."
"I don't give a God damn."
"Yeah, I can see you don't give a shit." Emmett shook his head. "No, I'm driving you to meet up with Marcus, and that's it!"
"We gotta stop somewhere, anyway, man. We can't go see Marcus in these prison uniforms."
Emmett snorted. "Change at fucking gas station."
The thought made me cringe. I had very few limits, and fucking in a seedy gas station bathroom was one of them.
"Look," Edward said, pinching the bridge of his nose. "You can either stop some place with a fucking bed or you can plug your fucking ears. Either way, man, it's happening."
Emmett debated for a moment, unwilling to give in, but knew that Edward wasn't bluffing. He had a choice, none of them appealing, but one didn't require therapy in the future. Possibly jail time, but he wouldn't be scarred for life.
Edward sat back in the seat with a self-satisfied smirk and threw his arm around my shoulders, pulling me into him tight. He won, and he knew it. My old man just waited for Emmett to figure it out. In the meantime, he decided to drive me crazy by slipping a wandering hand underneath this ugly jumpsuit, casually rubbing his thumb over my nipple, and it hardened on contact.
"Damn it!" Emmett swore, yanking the car swiftly to the right and exiting the freeway. He glared at us through the rearview mirror. "You're going to fucking owe for this."
Edward scoffed. "Put it on my tab."
Ten minutes later and an hour outside Casa Grande, Emmett handed Edward a card key and a duffel bag. The room was on the second floor, and not much of a drop if we needed to jump out a window at a moment's notice. I was always looking ahead at the nearest escape route. It was ingrained in me, my life with Edward, and even now, on the run, I wouldn't trade it for anything.
"You're on the clock," Emmett said as we hiked the stairs. "Make that shit count, Eddie!"
I would kill him for making his crude jokes, but he was the timekeeper and our lookout. There was a police scanner and radio in the car. If anything were to go out on the wire near our location, he would call Edward on his cell phone.
We had an hour—at best.
It was risky and stupid.
There was a massive search for us, and the cops blocked the border with no one getting in or out. We were playing with fire, and it burned, but then again, wasn't that the only way to go out, in a fiery blaze of glory?
The card key slid in and out, unlocking the door and unleashing a whirlwind of passion into the room. Edward dropped the bags to the floor and pushed me against the wall. The wind was knocked out of me, leaving me breathless but eager for his lips. I didn't even care if my lungs were starving for oxygen.
All I fucking wanted was him.
He had my back pinned, trapped within his hold, with one hand inside the opening of my jumpsuit, roughly palming my breasts, while the other was firm on my throat, keeping me still. He kissed me, greedy with need, plunging his tongue into my mouth.
I grasped his shoulders and dug my nails into his skin, hoisting my leg up and around his waist. He grunted, squeezing the shit out of my breast, painful and delicious, thrusting his hips into me, hard and fast. He was determined to fuck me through these damn clothes.
"Bed…" I gasped against his lips.
There was no time for romance or tenderness. Instead, it was five days of pent-up sexual frustration begging to be released.
Edward nodded, grabbing my thighs and lifting me off the floor. Then, he walked over to the bed, threw me down, and stripped me of my clothes. It happened so fast. Each article of clothing was removed and thrown across the room into a pile by the door.
He stood over me, his dick harder than I'd ever seen it. The pre-cum was dripping and rolling down his head, glistening the tip. I licked my lips and reacted, sitting on the bed and putting my mouth around him.
"Jesus, Bella!" he said, putting his hand on the wall, thrown off by my sudden attack.
I closed my eyes, enjoying the feel of him, placing my hand at the base of his cock and squeezing it tight. I moved my mouth up and down. Slow and steady, licking him along the shaft, tasting the salty, soft skin. He lost it when I tongued the narrow slit on his head.
"Fuck!" He grunted loudly, grabbing fistfuls of my hair, thrusting deep and forceful, hitting the back of my throat. He was twitching, close to exploding in my mouth, when he pulled out and pushed me down on the bed. "I need to be inside you."
My pussy throbbed at his words, anxious for his touch.
He was a blur, hands moving fast, flipping me over on my stomach and grabbing me by the hips, shoving into me, hard and deep. Then, he filled me with one sure thrust. I moaned and cursed, burying my head into the mattress and clutching the comforter. He was relentless, pounding into me. Faster and harder, never stopping.
"Edward," I whimpered with my eyes screwed shut. My breathing was erratic, and my heart was pounding against my chest, bursting out of me.
"Bella…" he whispered, pulling out and sliding the shaft along my clit, rubbing and teasing. He wrapped his arms around me, rested his forehead on my back, and kissed me softly. "I fucking missed you." He pulled himself up and pushed back into me. "I fucking missed this."
"Oh, God…" I held my breath, and my muscles contracted around him.
Edward groaned and squeezed my hips, deep bruises forming under his fingertips. He thrust into me, hard and fast, and without pause. He felt so fucking good. Painful and sweet. I wanted—no, needed more, pushing my ass into him, begging him to fuck me deeper, rougher. I didn't care. It had been too long since I felt him this way, buried within me. He slapped me, an intense sting on my backside, sensing my need and giving it to me.
I bit back a scream, my bottom lip taking all the brutality.
"Fuck!" he shouted, which fueled me, knowing he was just as needy.
I pushed into him as he pushed into me, our bodies smacking together, louder and louder, only matched by our collective moans. We were ruthless, fucking obsessed with other, and never able to get enough.
"Shit!" He reached around me, rubbing my clit, rough and persistent, setting me off.
I felt that tense knot in my gut starts to build and grow, coming over me, but Edward pulled out of me all too soon. He stroked himself against me, keeping his fingers on pussy, adding more pressure, determined to make me come.
It was his deep grunt as he came on my back, leaning his forehead against my neck, pushing me over the edge.
I moaned all too loud, my unabated orgasm crashing over me. My body trembled, and my legs shook. I was weak, arms giving out on me, and I fell to the bed. I was panting heavily, trying to catch my breath.
Edward leaned down and placed a soft kiss on my shoulder. The bed shuddered, and I watched him through my half-opened eyelids as he walked into the bathroom. Edward returned a second later, holding a washcloth in his hand. Sitting on the edge of the bed, he put the damp cloth on my skin and wiped it off. My old man wadded the rag in his fist and threw it across the room. He lay back down beside me and threw his legs over mine.
I felt surrounded by him.
It was fucking incredible.
"Hey," Edward said, rubbing his hand up and down my back.
I yawned. "Hey."
"Tell me the truth." His eyes turned intense and searched mine. "How far did that fucker take things with you?"
It confused me for a moment. Edward had changed gears so quickly; honestly, I hadn't thought of that man since I had neutered his ass. But, of course, Edward had a way of consuming me, so it wasn't all that surprising. But once I was on the same page with him, I knew exactly why he was asking. Even though Edward didn't like the idea of someone violating me, I think it was more about someone touching his girl—something deemed his. He was possessive to the end, and liked knowing he was the only man that's ever had me. He intended to keep it that way.
"All he's ever touched on me was that jumpsuit," I said, nodding toward the orange pile by the door.
He still didn't like it, his brows pulled together, and his jaw tightened. "That's all? Nothing more happened?"
"Nothing happened, baby…." I said, turning over on my side and palming the sides of his face.
It was the truth but a vague one. Arden didn't go as far as Edward was asking, but he did touch me in ways no guard should ever handle their prisoner. Edward didn't need to know the specifics. It would ruin this perfect moment. Arden got what he deserved in the end.
I brought his lips down to mine. "…I promise."
"Good," he said, relieved, "because all this," he trailed his nose along my chin and down to my neck, kissing it at first and then biting down, pulling it into his mouth, and sucking at the skin. I felt the blood rush to the surface. Then, finally, he pulled away and peered up at me, smug as fuck, "is mine."
There wasn't a doubt in my mind that everything he touched belonged to him.
I was no exception.