Captive, Mine (10 page)

“Wait!” I called out, running to grab it.

He waited.

“What’s happening?”

“Nothing. I have some things to do. You’ll stay here while I do them.” He began to pull the door closed.

“Are you leaving?” My tone was more panicked than I cared to admit.

“Are you going to miss me?” he asked, leaning against the doorframe.

“You’re an asshole.”

“Didn’t think so. Be good, or else.”

“Screw you.”

His expression changed and his hand was around my throat in an instant, walking me back into the room and holding me against the wall. I curled my hand around his forearm trying to pull him off while my other hand fisted against his chest, his rock-hard chest, reminding me that there was one person in charge here and it wasn’t me.

“I’m sorry,” I managed quickly, a part of me reacting, surviving maybe, deciding to bow down without my permission.

He stared at me for a full minute before his hand loosened a little. He looked like he wanted to say something but then changed his mind and released me. Without another word, he walked out the door. It was when I heard the deadbolt sealing me in that I realized I was holding my breath.

My entire body trembled as I lowered myself onto the bed. I went to the window and pushed the curtains aside. Shutters from the outside kept the room dark. I tried to push the window open but wasn’t surprised to find it locked. I set the clippers down and quickly pulled on my clothes that he had piled on the bed. Once dressed, I took the clippers and got to work on the lock.

I’d never done anything like this before and that was fairly obvious when I tried to stick the thing into the lock. It always looked easy in the movies, but this was reality. It didn’t take a brain surgeon to figure out this wasn’t going to be my exit.

“Crap.”

I touched my thumb to the point of the file. After all he had done to me, I didn’t want to do this to him. It was too close, too personal, too…violent.

What about what he did to you?

Close, personal and violent would about cover that. I had to get my shit together. When he opened that door and came in here, I’d have to do it. I’d have to do it fast, surprise him and run the hell out of here. I’d use his own deadbolt to lock him in here then get in the truck and go.

Go where though? The US Marshal was ready to hand me over to Randall. Randall was out looking for me, I could bet my life on that. The police? Idiots. And the ones who weren’t idiots could be bought.

My dad was set to testify in the next few months. I was only of use to Randall until then. I’d just have to hide out for a little while. That was doable. And I’d have to get word to my dad that I was okay.

But first, I had to get out of here.

I picked up my bag and felt inside it, touched the very bottom where the cash and my key to the safe deposit box were hidden, relieved to see he’d not found the secret pocket.. I only needed to make sure to grab my bag when I bolted.

It would only be a few months. There was an end in sight and I could do this on my own.

I lay down on the bed and stared up at the ceiling, thinking of what had happened just before my shower. I’d been with men before, not a lot but I wasn’t a virgin either. But what he had made me do, that was something different. I should have been disgusted by it, ashamed, humiliated. But I wasn’t; there was no room for that. Instead, I slid my hand over my belly and unbuttoned my jeans. The zipper came down next and my fingers slid into my panties, over my bare sex, finding my already swollen, wet clit. A sound came from my throat and I rolled over onto my belly, pressing my face into the pillow. My fingers worked that hard little nub fast, the memory of standing there like I had, the image of myself bent over, spreading myself. The feel of his fingers on me, on my clit, my pussy, my asshole.

I swallowed, the sound loud, the pillow wet when I pressed my thighs together, pushing hard against my clit, rubbing into the mattress, hips bucking, my fingers soaked.

I stayed like that for a long time afterward, my eyes open, staring at a white wall wondering what the hell was wrong with me that the image of myself bending over and spreading myself open on my kidnapper’s order could get me off.

I tightened my hold on the clippers that were now under my pillow, pulled my hand out of my jeans and waited.

* * *

I
t was a long time before I heard him at the door. I had fallen asleep at some point and sat up fast now, wiping sleep from my eyes, suddenly very alert, my sorry weapon in hand.

What if it didn’t work? He’d be mad. No, he’d be pissed.

No time for doubt. I had one chance.

I stood then sat back down. The lock slid and I watched the doorknob turn. I needed him to come inside. If I waited at the door, he’d know something was up. Hell, I’d be lucky if he didn’t know the second he opened the door as it was.

My purse! It was beside the bed on the floor. Okay, it was okay. I could do this. I just had to breathe and stay calm.

“Hope you’ve been a good girl, Lily,” Lake said, pushing the door open and walking inside.

I stared up at him and he stared back. Something passed through his eyes and he glanced around the room. This was it. Without allowing myself to even think about it, I ran at him, the sharp point of the file aimed straight at him, straight at his neck.

For a split second, he looked surprised.

But I hesitated. I was inches from him and I hesitated so when I finally moved to stab him, he caught my wrist and leaned to the side so I stabbed air instead. My free hand scratched at his face, trying for his eyes but he caught that one too, pushing me back, looking at me for a moment, his eyes hard, taking the clippers from me before pushing me onto the bed.

He looked at what he held. “Nail clippers, Lily?” he asked, laughing but not really. “Fucking nail clippers?”

He stalked toward me and I climbed backward on the bed, feeling tears on my face but not knowing when I’d started crying. “I’m sorry!” He grabbed my arm hard, yanking. “I’m sorry, Lake!”

His eyes were so dark, all I could do was stare up at him, my body trembling.

He made a sound and let go of me. Without a word, he walked out of the room, and slid the deadbolt back into place.

Chapter 8

L
ake paced the front porch, needing the invigorating chill of the fresh air, his mind a mass of confusion, disappointment, and, oddly, excitement. He knew even going outside at all was dangerous at this point, but he didn’t have a choice.

The complication inside the house had just gotten a helluva lot more complicated.

Fishing his phone out of his jeans pocket, he punched the number, kicking the base of one of the roof pillars of the porch, white paint flaking off onto the black leather of his boot.

“Kellen.” A pause, and a quiet chuckle. “Freeman, where the fuck have you been?”

“Shut up and listen. I’m gonna need you on this right away. Drop whatever you’re doing.”

“Okay, this should be good.” Kellen’s deceptively laconic voice was muffled for a minute then he was back on. “I’ll need twenty minutes to kit then I’ll be rolling.”

“You remember where you picked us up?”

“Yep.”

“I left the car in a quarry, half a click from our pickup. You think you can find it?”

Kellen gave him a dramatic sigh. “Bailing your ass out again, aren’t I?”

“Will need a clean. Four-door sedan. I tucked the keys inside the front bumper, driver’s side corner.” Lake lowered the phone, thumbs whirling over the screen, then put it back to his ear. “You should have the location in a second.”

“Got it. Disposal, too?”

“Nope. Leave it be.” Lake glanced back at the closed door. “He’ll be back for it, I have no doubt. He’s gotta keep his shit wired tight just as much as I do.”

“Press?”

“Would
you
want to be the first US Marshal in history to lose a person from WITSEC?”

Kellen chuckled. “Poor bastard. Shitting himself right about now.”

“I wish that were true.” Lake’s voice lowered. “I did some checking on him. He’s a heavy hitter. I got lucky, actually.”

“Nothing Kell can’t handle, boss.”

“I mean it, Kellen. Quick and simple — then get the fuck out of there. And stay gone for a while. He’ll have help now.”

“I should have it done in four hours, six if you left a mess.”

“I didn’t, dickhead.”

“And just when I thought the day was getting interesting.”

Kellen hung up.

Lake stared out at the trees swaying in the stiff breeze, inhaled the fresh scent of the forest. He’d missed this place, missed the quiet, the clean air, the solitude. He reached up, curling his fingertips over the top of the beam that spanned the porch, stretching his tense shoulders.

“Are you really doing this?” he whispered.

The images that played out in his mind had his groin tightening. Her gorgeous body, her silence, the trembling of her limbs as she’d reluctantly obeyed him. Perhaps such thoughts made him a bastard at best, a monster at worst. His physical reaction was true though, regardless of morals, of right or wrong. She needed to understand this, the truth of it, to get it through her head just how deep she was here. Her behavior couldn’t be tolerated, and allowing her any more leeway — or leniency — was now out of the question. First, there was the near disaster at the rest stop, and now the idiotic, almost comical stunt with the nail clippers.

Nail clippers.

Did she think this was a fucking movie?

Yes, he
was
doing this. He was going to teach her — and she was going to learn, whether she wanted to or not.

And he was going to enjoy it.

* * *

O
riginally, he’d built it as a guest room, separated from the main house. But after he’d built it, he’d never used it. The bathroom was still unfinished, and although it did have a modest bedroom set, it had become essentially a shed.

It took him longer than he’d anticipated to move everything out, transferring most of the tools, the extra blankets, and furniture to the garage. By the time he’d finished, he was sweating, so he shed his jacket, the dark T-shirt wet against his chest. He checked the door latches and the locks, and other than being a little sticky from disuse, they checked out. His fingers tested the steel D-rings set along one of the walls. Years ago, once he’d resigned himself to the likelihood that no actual people would be staying in the room, he’d had the rings installed, intending to use them to string chain along the wall in order to store all the tools upright and secure.

Now, they’d finally be used for their intended application — but it wouldn’t be tools he’d be securing.

Making his way back into the house, he tiptoed down the hall, knowing exactly where the creaks in the floor were. He slid the deadbolt on her door silently, easing the door open. She lay motionless, on her back, her hair a tangled mass of silky black. For a moment, he thought she might be sleeping, but when he shut the door, she sprang up with a startled yelp, hugging her knees to her chest, her dark gaze watching him. He pondered what thoughts might be flitting behind those eyes, if she wondered what was going to happen to her next. Lake was sure she had no idea. Truth be told, he wasn’t even sure himself — but the ideas were coming together, and fast.

Her feet were bare, their pale vulnerability fetching in its own confusing way. He
liked
her vulnerability, because it made him want to exploit it and yet, at the same time, it elicited a twisted urge to protect her.

From himself.

He pointed at her, lifting his finger, beckoning her to stand.

Those dark eyes stared back, unreadable, her arms clutching her knees tighter.

Lake moved closer, standing over her. For a moment, he simply looked down upon her, feeling the excitement build within him at having her so close. Where once she’d irritated him, had made him want to push her away, now it was something else entirely. He hadn’t thought of any of this, of course, back there in that car. The possibilities that stretched before him, her fate determined by a simple choice of paths, by a split second decision. No, when he’d heard DeSalvo speak the words that made had Lake’s blood run cold, there wasn’t time for any of that. There was only time to protect her, to save her.

But was it really to save her? Or was it to keep her for himself? Was he snatching her from the jaws of one monster, only to carry her away to another? Twelve hours ago, he’d have laughed at such a question. But now, as he watched how her body trembled ever so slightly, the way her eyes followed him, their depths keen, unblinking, he wasn’t so sure.

Reaching for her, he eased a palm against her cheek, and she jerked her head away, an angry sound in her throat. He clutched her chin, squeezing, pain clouding her gaze. Tilting her face up to his, he stared into her eyes.

“Ow! What the fu—”