Wildfire

Chapter 24

24. Break

Ten minutes later, I had no idea where we were and I was too nervous to ask. The road Diego had directed the truck onto was barely more than a dirt track with road markings and none of the sign posts looked even remotely familiar. I stared out the window, chewing nervously on my bottom lip as I fought to keep my hands from shaking — but it was difficult.

There was enough tension in the truck to kick my heartbeat into overdrive. I watched the road disappear beneath the tyres and wondered if he was ever going to speak or if the last words he ever spoke to me would be, "Put on your seatbelt."

Well, he better start talking, I thought in annoyance. He didn't have the choice of holding back anymore; I'd been dragged, kicking and screaming, into his world and the only way I could adequately protect myself — both physically and emotionally — was to know everything I could.

Another ten minutes slipped by. We drove through a place called Red Wing; instead of waiting in traffic, Diego kept steering the truck off the main road and speeding down side roads, exhaling loudly in annoyance when he encountered another line of traffic every few minutes.

I remained as still as possible, trying to make myself appear inconspicuous.

When we finally left Red Wing and got onto quiet roads, he seemed to relax somewhat. Still, it wasn't until a dull, cracking sound echoed through the truck and the bones in his thigh jolted back into place that I felt safe enough to say something.

"Are you mad at me?" I croaked.

Diego's head whipped in my direction so fast, I thought his head had become independent from the rest of his body. I blinked in shock, my limbs automatically stiffening. His eyes were still completely black with anger but though he was far from calm, I could tell he made a serious effort to relax the rigid set of his shoulders. My eyes slid over him nervously, unable to meet his gaze. He was wearing a tight, V-neck sweater that hugged his muscles to perfection and I felt my mouth dry as I stared at the deep, sinewy grooves of his stomach.

You've seen him topless, I reminded myself — but then images of that night rose in my mind, and I felt that much worse. Not because I was remembering the blood or the sheer agony etched into his face, but because all I could see was the lines of his stomach and the smattering of hair that disappeared beneath the waistband of his jeans.

Stop that!

"No," he practically growled. I flinched in reaction, jolting out of my thoughts, and his frown deepened. I watched as he raked a hand through his hair, exhaling slowly. When he spoke again, his voice was much softer. "No, Paige, I'm not mad at you."

"Well, tough," I blurted out. "Because I'm mad at you!"

His hand clenched around the steering wheel and he sighed. "I guess that's fair."

"No, it's not fair." I twisted around in my seat so I could face him. I stared at his face, watching the play of emotions cross his face. He was angry, confused — and sad. I could see that now. My talk with Madalena had been more of an eye-opener than I'd expected and the time I had alone waiting for Diego to show up had been enough for me to draw some conclusions of my own. And they made me — angry. Partly upset, but predominantly furious. "I figured it out, you know."

His brows rose slightly. "Figured what out, exactly?"

"Why you were avoiding Viktor," I said. "It wasn't because you were afraid of him, was it? Madalena said it herself — you'd beat him easily in a fight. But you were never planning on winning, were you?"