The Unwanted Convict Makes A Spectacular Comeback

Brecken released her arm like he had grabbed a fistful of burning coals. He stared down at his own trembling palm. His chest heaved. He could not process the sudden, visceral spike of terror that had just paralyzed his nervous system.

Abbey pulled her gaze away from his face. The deadness returned to her features. She rubbed the red, finger-shaped welts forming on her thin bicep. She turned her back on him again and reached for the metal handrail of the Greyhound bus.

The bus driver leaned out of his window. He tapped his watch impatiently. The line of passengers waiting to board stared openly at Abbey. Their eyes darted between her ratty hoodie and the man in the bespoke suit standing frozen behind her.

Abbey's fingers brushed the freezing, rusted metal of the door frame.

The screech of ceramic brakes shattered the tense silence. A silver Porsche Panamera swerved violently into the loading zone, its tires smoking as it jerked to a halt directly behind Brecken's Escalade.

The driver's side door flew open before the car was fully parked.

A man stepped out. His tailored Brioni suit hugged his athletic frame perfectly. His leather oxfords clicked a frantic, urgent rhythm against the pavement as he sprinted toward the bus stop.

Abbey heard that specific cadence of footsteps. Her spine snapped rigid. The fingers resting on the bus handrail curled inward, gripping the metal so hard her knuckles turned a translucent white.

Jeffery Glass.

The man who had slipped an engagement ring onto her finger five years ago. The man who had stood in a courtroom and calmly handed the prosecutor the fabricated evidence that locked her in a cage.

He stopped a few feet away, panting slightly. His face was twisted into a mask of perfect, agonizing concern.

He ignored Brecken entirely. He stepped directly between Abbey and the open doors of the bus, physically blocking her escape route.

"Abbey. Thank God I made it in time. I couldn't let you take this kind of transport home," Jeffery breathed out. His voice was thick with practiced emotion, dripping with a sickeningly sweet sorrow.

A gust of wind blew past him. The heavy, woody scent of Tom Ford Oud Wood hit Abbey's face.

Her stomach violently contracted. A wave of pure, physiological nausea crashed over her. Acid burned the back of her throat. She clamped her jaw shut to keep from vomiting right onto his expensive shoes.

She took a clumsy step backward. Her bad leg dragged against the concrete. The look she gave Jeffery made the death glare she had given Brecken seem warm by comparison.

Jeffery did not seem to notice the absolute revulsion radiating from her pores. He maintained his sorrowful expression. He reached his hand out, aiming to gently take the frayed strap of her canvas bag.

"Don't touch me."

Abbey's voice sounded like crushed glass grinding against stone. It was a harsh, guttural rasp.

She swung her left arm. Her palm cracked against the back of Jeffery's hand with a sharp, echoing slap.

The sound rang out over the idling engine of the bus. Several passengers leaning out the windows gasped, pulling their phones out to record the drama.

A bright red patch instantly bloomed across Jeffery's manicured skin. His mask of deep concern slipped for a fraction of a second. His jaw ticked. Then, he forced a tight, patronizing smile onto his face.

"I know you still hate me, Abbey. But the evidence back then was too stacked against you. I told you to plead guilty so I could get you a reduced sentence. I was trying to save you," Jeffery lowered his voice, his tone shifting into the smooth, persuasive cadence of a defense attorney.

The words sliced through Abbey's eardrums like razor blades. Her chest tightened. The memory of standing in the defendant's box, watching the man she loved casually destroy her life to protect someone else, flashed behind her eyelids.

She let out a single, short laugh. It was a dry, hollow sound that held nothing but absolute, bottomless contempt.

Brecken finally stepped forward, shaking off his earlier shock. He glared at Jeffery.

"What the hell are you doing here, Glass? Does Emmie know you drove all the way up here to pick up a convict?" Brecken demanded.

Jeffery quickly adjusted his posture. He turned to Brecken, projecting the image of a reasonable, upstanding gentleman.

"Emmie has a kind heart. She was worried. She asked me to come make sure Abbey got home safely," Jeffery lied smoothly.

The sound of Emmie's name made Abbey's stomach spasm again. She bit down hard on her lower lip. The metallic taste of copper flooded her tongue.

She looked at the two men blocking her path. One had thrown her to the wolves to protect his family's stock portfolio. The other had sacrificed her to the wolves to win the heart of the family's golden child. Now, they were both standing in the dirt, competing over who could play the better savior.

The bus driver slammed his palm against the dashboard. The pneumatic doors hissed and slammed shut.

The bus lurched forward. A thick cloud of hot exhaust blasted directly into Abbey's face as the vehicle sped away.

Abbey bent double. A violent fit of coughing tore through her chest. Her lungs burned. She pressed her hand over her mouth, her thin frame shaking violently under the oversized hoodie.

Jeffery saw an opening. He took a step forward, raising his hand to rub comforting circles on her trembling back.

Abbey snapped upright. She stared at his hovering hand as if it were a rotting piece of meat crawling with maggots.

"Back off. Glass shard."

She used the old nickname she used to whisper against his neck when they were in love. Now, she spat it at him like a venomous curse.

Jeffery's face drained of color. His hand dropped to his side. He had driven up here expecting to find a broken, weeping girl he could easily manipulate back into submission.

Abbey turned her back on him. She dragged her dead right leg across the gravel. She did not hesitate. She walked straight toward Brecken's idling Escalade.

Breathing the same air as Jeffery Glass made her skin crawl. If she had to choose her poison, she would take the hostile, enclosed space of her brother's SUV over standing near the man who made her want to claw her own skin off.