Hold (8 page)

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When the lights came back on in the Hold, Cain rolled out of bed and headed to the bathroom—just as he always did. She stayed under the covers. Other prisoners often strolled by Cain’s cell first thing in the morning, hoping to catch a glimpse of her cleaning up or getting dressed. Because of this, she always waited until the early meal, when Cain left to get them food, to clean up as best she could.

There was only so clean she could get here but she did what she could—grateful she at least had use of a sink.

She washed out her clothes as often as possible, although she had to be careful since they were already getting threadbare and stained. Despite her attempts to stay clean, she knew she must smell a lot of the time. But after the first week she’d stopped letting that bother her.

Her own senses had grown accustomed to the smell of the Hold. So much so that she hardly noticed it anymore, unless she got close to a particularly reeking man. Cain had a distinct smell. One she actually liked now, since it had grown so familiar to her.

She kind of hoped he felt the same way about how she smelled. They had sex so often she sometimes wondered if most of the time she smelled like Cain anyway.

Her hair was basically hopeless. Cain had found her something that resembled a comb and she spent hours trying to work it through her snarled mass of dark hair. She washed her hair in the sink sometimes but there was no soap or shampoo. She’d given up hoping that her hair would ever look attractive again.

Cain had offered to shave it off for her—the way he shaved his own scalp with the blade he kept hidden behind the toilet. But Riana couldn’t yet bring herself to give up her hair completely.

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Maybe later she would get there. But not yet.

She
had
let Cain shave her pussy. Two weeks ago. Initially, it had been for purely practical reasons. But the act had ended up being intensely erotic. And when he’d finished the delicate procedure, he’d had her hold herself open intimately so he could pleasure her with his lips, tongue and teeth.

She’d come three times—the last time screaming.

Just the memory of it still made her wet.

When Cain came back to the cell with the food, Riana accepted her portion with thanks. She’d never gone with him to retrieve the meals. She could only imagine what madness the event consisted of from the loud, violent sounds she’d heard twice daily.

Cain wouldn’t have been able to concentrate on protecting her as well as claiming food for both of them. So he always left her locked in the cell and Riana had never complained.

She didn’t complain about anything anyway. Even things that genuinely bugged her. She kept all of her annoyances—the inevitable result of living in such close quarters with a terse, stoic man—to herself.

She had no idea how many complaints it would take for Cain to get sick of her and banish her from his cell. But she wasn’t about to test his limits.

The meal always consisted of stew and bread, and sometimes Riana could barely swallow it because she was so tired of the stuff. But Cain always got grumpy and disapproving when she didn’t eat—the way he acted whenever she showed signs of not being tough enough—so she usually managed to force down enough to keep herself full.

She’d started working out with Cain—doing as many push-ups and sit-ups as she could and running at least a couple of laps around the perimeter of the Hold with him until she was too exhausted to keep up. He would lock her in the cell when she’d done all she could, and he would finish his run by himself.

Some mornings he ran for more than an hour.

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In the afternoons he would work on building his device. She still had no idea what it was, although she could now see how parts of it functioned and was pretty sure it would end up being some kind of primitive machine. There was absolutely nothing for her to do, so she would watch him until she dozed off.

If he was in an amiable mood—or what passed for amiable for Cain—they would talk as he worked. She told him about her childhood and her grandmother, the only person she’d ever really loved. And she told him about her schooling, her job and the various digs she’d gone on over the years.

Cain didn’t tell her nearly as much. He wasn’t an open or talkative person. But he told her about some of the trips he’d made—he’d traveled all over Coalition space. And once he told her about his dog.

Max.

It was the only time in the month she’d known him Riana had seen something like grief on his face.

Some time in the afternoon, Cain usually went on the “hunt” for some object he needed for his device. Riana always went with him—mostly to get out of the cell for a little while.

This afternoon when Cain got up from the floor where he’d been tinkering on his machine, Riana jumped to her feet immediately. She was restless today. Cain had been silent and brooding, and they hadn’t had sex since before the lights had come on. She’d washed out her camisole and hung it up to drip dry but that was all she’d accomplished all day.

She needed to do something.

Cain didn’t question her joining him. He was used to it by now. In fact, he didn’t say anything as he locked the cell behind him.

Sometimes when they returned, a prisoner was trying to break into the cell—either by force or by jimmying the lock. Cain usually just swatted them out of the way. It was 62

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always an act of hopeless desperation, since there was no way to get into the cell without the key. The bars were utterly impassable.

They started walking around the Hold, and Cain was clearly on the lookout for whatever it was he needed today. When they passed by a scuffle—evidently over a pair of shoes—Cain eased her toward the wall so she wouldn’t get struck with a stray blow.

She was forced so close to the wall that her shirt caught on a jagged edge of metal.

It tore, the fabric ripping at one of the seams so far that the gap exposed her bare breast.

Her camisole was still in the cell drying.

“Damn it,” she muttered, holding the torn fabric in place as a few prisoners who happened to see hooted or called out vulgar comments. When she realized the implications of the accident—one of her few pieces of clothing was permanently damaged—she felt vaguely sick. “Fuck, fuck, damn it.”

Cain had stopped when she did, but his expression looked mostly unconcerned.

“It’s just a tear.”

Her teeth snapped together as she managed to hold back an automatic retort. It wasn’t just a tear. Not in these circumstances. And any idiot would have known that.

She couldn’t comfortably keep holding up the torn fabric of her shirt, so with a defeated sigh, she said, “I guess I need to go back.”

“Why?”

Riana’s lower lip dropped slightly. “What do you mean—why? Because I have a gaping hole in my shirt and I’m not going to walk around the Hold half-naked.”

Cain looked slightly impatient and he gave a half shrug. “What’s the big deal?

They’ve seen you naked in the cell before. They’ve seen you with my cock in your mouth. What’s the difference?”

A flash of outraged anger overcame her as she stared at his handsome, infuriating face. There was a world of difference between the two situations. Yes, some of the other 63

Zannie Adams

prisoners had seen her in various states of undress and debauchery. But that had all been in the cell. The cell felt like home base. It might not be private but it was safe.

It was entirely different to parade around the Hold, revealing her body to every prisoner with eyes.

And if Cain had the slightest bit of sensitivity in his brute soul, he would know it.

“Of course, it’s different,” she snapped. “What the fuck do you—”

She broke off her words with a jerk, belatedly remembering that she couldn’t make Cain mad.

Swallowing hard, she overcame the urge to bite his head off and instead said,

“You’re right. There’s no difference.” Her eyes straight ahead, she let the tear in her shirt fall open and started walking again.

Without warning, Cain grabbed her arm and swung her around to face him. “Why the hell do you do that?” he gritted out.

Surprised by his burst of anger, Riana gasped, “Do what?”

“Cut yourself off whenever you have something to say.” Cain’s pale blue eyes pinned her in place, and his jaw was clenched with obvious tension. “It drives me crazy.

If you have something to say, just say it. Don’t act like a mindless, passive drone.”

For a moment, her vision blurred over—she was so enraged and affronted. Her hands fisted at her sides as she tried to keep herself from clawing lines down his face.

“Why the fuck do you
think
I stop myself! Do you actually expect me to challenge you, when you’re the only thing keeping me alive?”

Something on his face changed. It didn’t soften. She’d never seen Cain soft. Instead, his features tightened even more, until his lips were pressed into a colorless line.

Finally, he rasped, “You think if you say the wrong thing I’m going to toss you out to be torn apart?”

“What am I supposed to think?” All the suppressed frustration of constantly being on edge for the last month was finally boiling over. Her voice was hoarse with emotion 64

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too fiery and thick to control. “That’s our arrangement. You protect me. I please you.

We’ve never said it out loud but both of us know it. I’m sure as hell not going to
dis
please you.”

His eyes cut into her like a blade. “You think I’m that kind of an animal?”

“Of course, you’re that kind of animal. We all are. Look around you!” She made a sweeping gesture, taking in the Hold, the dirty chaos around them, the primitive way all the prisoners lived in this cage. “We eat and fuck and try to survive. That’s what we’ve been turned into. What the fuck do you expect me to do to?” Her voice faltered suddenly, overcome with a terror so deep it almost swallowed her. She might have killed herself here—by finally expressing what she thought. Lashing out at the one man who was capable of keeping her safe. She made a choking sound and looked at the ground. “I’m just trying to survive.”

Cain was silent. But she could feel the shuddering tension in his hard, muscular body, even though he wasn’t touching her. She could also hear him breathe. Loud, fast, wet, thick sounds of inhalation and exhalation.

She finally darted her eyes up to his face as she tried to keep her hands from trembling.

She’d never seen Cain truly angry before.

But he was angry now.

He was smoldering with it. Shaking with it. Like a volcano about to erupt.

And he was angry with
her
.

Cain took a loud ragged breath and turned on his heel, away from her. He didn’t move. Instead he stood with his back to her and simmered, as if he were struggling to get himself under control.

Riana stared at his broad back, the rippling muscles of his shoulders and arms, the way his t-shirt stuck to his damp skin, the distinct curve of his scalp.

And her terror almost swallowed her up.

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What if, because of her own stupidity, she’d lost Cain for good?

She could hardly breathe and she suddenly needed to get away. Back to the cell, where she felt safe.

With a muffled sound, she turned back toward their cell and stumbled away. She wasn’t thinking rationally. It was pure instinct driving her to escape. Had she been thinking, she would have remembered that the cell was locked and she didn’t have a key.

Despite her emotional state, she never once believed she was seriously in danger of being assaulted. Everyone knew she was Cain’s woman. And everyone was scared or intimidated by Cain. Just last week, when a man had tried to cop a quick feel during their morning run, Cain had beaten the man unconscious—in the presence of the entire Hold.

Even apart from him, she still considered herself under his protection.

Which is why she was completely unprepared when someone suddenly grabbed her and pulled her into a dim cell without bars.

It happened so quickly she could barely process it. One moment she was stumbling toward her cell and the next she was being thrown violently against a wall.

The impact hurt. It winded and jarred her so much she was too dizzy to react. Her assailant didn’t waste any time. He hauled her up roughly from the floor and then pushed her forward, forcing her to bend over the edge of a metal table. It was the same kind of table as the one in Cain’s cell—small and attached to the wall.

The attack was so fast and brutal that Riana couldn’t even tell who the man was. A forceful hand closed around the back of her neck, holding her in place on the table with so strong a grip she could barely even breathe.

She tried to scream but no sound came out. Either fear or the strangling grip on her neck made any noise impossible. She tried to struggle but she was helpless in this position, folded and pinned over the edge of the table.

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Her consciousness glazed over in a blur of terror and shock. One part of her mind knew what was happening. But the rest of it couldn’t even register it.

She felt a brutish hand jerking down her pants and panties until she felt the cold metal against her bare skin.

She tried to scream again. And it was the worst part of the whole experience. Her mouth opened but couldn’t shape any sound at all.

With what was left of her mind, she tried to prepare herself for what was going to occur, even as she futilely kept trying to struggle against the powerful grip.

Then suddenly the hands were gone. She heard a primal growling sound and the body behind her was pulled away.

She sucked in a desperate breath through her aching windpipe as she managed to push her bruised body off the table so she could see what was happening.

Cain had found her.

He must have torn the man off her and thrown him bodily out of the cell and into the public area in the middle of the Hold.

Riana now recognized her attacker as Asp, the tattooed man who’d confronted her when she first arrived.