Free Cocked: A Stepbrother Romance by B. B. Hamel

where to find an all-night diner not far. Tell me what you want or you’re getting a surprise.”
    “Surprise me then,” I said, climbing into bed still fully clothed. Exhaustion washed over me.
    He frowned. “Okay. Also, we’ll get you some clothes tomorrow.”
    “And a toothbrush.”
    “Sure. Soap and shit like that, too, if you want it.”
    “Yeah. Okay.”
    He looked at me as I wrapped myself in the sheets. I was pointedly trying not to think about what gross things had happened in the bed before I had gotten into it.
    “I know this is fucked up. But we’ll get out of it soon. I promise.”
    “Okay, Camden,” I mumbled.
    “Don’t leave. Don’t answer the door. I’ll be back in twenty minutes. Call the cops if I’m not back in an hour.”
    “Got it.”
    He stood up and went to leave but paused at the door.
    “You don’t have to be strong,” he said.
    “I’m tired,” I replied, rolling over.
    Without another word, he opened the door and was gone.
    Once the room was empty, grief and terror and more washed over me. I began to sob into the pillow, convulsions wracking my body. I didn’t know how I had held it all together over the past few hours, but all that fear and shock was hitting me hard, and I couldn’t stop the tears.
    Worst of all, lodged down deep in my stomach, was the truth of how I still felt about Camden. Despite everything he put us through, despite how much I hated him, there was still a voice in the back of my head that got excited every time he looked at me. I still had the stupid urge to reach out and touch his chest and to kiss his lips, even if that urge was usually dominated by the desire to punch him instead.
    Slowly, after what felt like an hour, my sobs calmed down, and I slowly slipped into sleep, dreaming about Camden’s strong arms wrapping themselves around me, pulling me close against his body, making me feel safe and pressing the air out of my lungs.

Chapter Eight: Camden
     

     
    S he was sleeping soundly when I got back that night. I ate fried chicken in bed, fighting off exhaustion, and watched a game show on mute. I left her waffles in the bag on the table.
    Finally, once my stomach stopped growling, I managed to pass out to the sound of her steady breathing in the bed beside mine.
    I didn’t dream. I hadn’t dreamt in a long time, not since I got involved with the cartel. Not since I did the things I hated doing, all for the “greater good,” or whatever bullshit my handlers were espousing that day.
    Cold blackness. One second the weak light from the TV made the room look blue, and the next the sun was streaming in through the windows.
    I rolled over, groggy, and froze.
    “Lacey?” I called out.
    Her bed was empty, the covers thrown back. I was immediately up and pulling my pants back on. I checked my gun and slipped it into my waistband as I checked the bathroom.
    “Lacey?” I called out again. The bathroom was empty. I moved back out into the main room, my head spinning.
    Two seconds later, something scratched at the door. The lock clicked open, and my gun was out in my hands, aimed directly at the chest of whoever was coming in, my brain spinning.
    And then Lacey was there, staring at me.
    “Camden?”
    I blinked at her. “I couldn’t find you.” I lowered the gun.
    “I got us some coffee.” She held up two cups, her eyes wide with fear.
    “Fuck, Lacey,” I said, sitting down. “You nearly fucking killed me.”
    “Sorry.” She sat down next to me.
    “You can’t go somewhere without telling me. Not right now.”
    “So I’m a captive and a fugitive?”
    “Yeah, you are.” I stood up and moved away from her. “At least until we get to Alaska.”
    “Yeah, about that. What happens in Alaska?”
    “Trip knows some people. They’ll set us up with new identities, help us disappear.”
    “Disappear where, though?”
    “We might come back into the States. But Canada would probably be better.”
    “What then?” she pressed. “We just live