Unlawful Seizure (Filthy Florida Alphas Book 1) (5 page)

I
’m a bastard for letting Tess think I’m leaving her to die. I’m so mad right now. I’m mad at her, and I’m mad at myself. Why did she let me touch her? Why did she let me make her come? God, why did she have to call out my name when she orgasmed? Before the woman was getting under my skin, and now; fuck, now she’s imbedded so deep I have a feeling I’ll never be free of her and if I’m honest that is what’s bothering me the most.

I had an uncle that I refer to as Crazy Uncle Raymond. He is the one that had that old bomb shelter installed underground. He believed the Zombie Apocalypse was close and wanted to hide out safely, while the government developed a cure. Too bad the old bastard didn’t put all that energy into giving up the bottle instead. He died driving home from a local tavern in Ormond, after wrapping his old El Camino around a tree.

Raymond also had an old hunting cabin about a mile away from here. I want to hit it before the law starts searching for me. I’ve been lucky; it’s been quiet so far. I figure they are still collecting information and trying to contain the damage from the prison break. I’ve got a good head start, but that’s going to disappear fast.

My legs are getting damn tired, but I’m afraid to rest. There’s no telling what kind of mess Tess will get into, even handcuffed. A steady jog gets me to the cabin a little sooner. It feels good to breathe in the fresh air and stretch my legs. Freedom. It is something that I took for granted before I went inside and shouldn’t have. I don’t know how long I’ll stay out. Chances are I’ll be killed by a cop before I get the chance to turn myself back in. Isn’t that how most prison-breaks end? With what seems to be happening with Tess, I think it might be worth it. One taste of life’s sweetness before I die. There are worse ways to go and it’s probably better than I deserve.

The old hunting cabin hasn’t changed a bit. Somehow I think I can still smell Uncle Raymond’s horrible old aftershave. When I decided to kill the bastard who robbed me of my child, I stored away certain things here. I wasn’t sure what I was going to do. Part of me wanted to leave the country, run away from everything and try to feel alive again. A larger part acknowledged I was already dead inside, and there was no reason to live. I prepared for both choices, hoping against hope that killing the bastard would free me from the darkness that had overtaken my soul. It didn’t.

My first stop in the cabin is the floor directly in front of the old ceramic sink. I get down on my hands and knees and pull the small handmade curtain that’s been hung around the sink in place of cabinet doors. I smile when I see Uncle Raymond’s old tool bag. Finding a screwdriver, I go to the fake plank that Raymond fixed. I pry the board back Underneath is a false bottom my uncle used to stash his money in. His reasoning was that as sneaky as the government was, you would have to be rich to afford a cure during the apocalypse. I never tried to talk him out of it, because hell, if that’s what the old man believed, who was I to argue?

Inside there’s a large roll of money and some fake ID’s provided by the Steel Vipers, a local motorcycle club I do ink for. I grab it and gather a few more things I think I might need. Before I leave, I go to the makeshift closet and take out the overnight bag I packed all those years ago. I’ve slimmed and bulked up thanks to prison life and routines, but the clothes there will still fit. I switch into jeans and a t-shirt, grab an old hunting sack that’s lying on the table, and store the rest of my finds in it—including the prison jumpsuit. I don’t want to announce I’ve been here, if I can help it. Then, I head back to the bunker. I swear when I get back I’m going to somehow manage to sleep for a couple of hours.

I don’t know what I expected when I got back to the bunker, but I don’t think it was finding Tess sleeping. She’s lying on the old army cot sound asleep. Her hair is wet and sticking to her jaw, and you can see the glistening tracks of tears on her face. Guilt sucker punches me in the gut. It’s not a feeling I’m used to having. Hell, the only time I’ve ever had it was when I lost my child.

I should have done something to pull my ex, Renee, out of the pit she had crawled into. I didn’t know it was as bad as it actually was. She kept it hidden, but even that’s not the complete truth. I didn’t care enough to know more. I was glad she was out of my hair.

Saying that, if I could go back, I would. I never should have messed with Renee. She was a muffler bunny the Vipers kept. It was just a weekend lay, because if there was one fucking thing that Renee was good at, it was sucking cock and riding it. Hindsight is definitely twenty-twenty.

I go to the chest my uncle kept and find the old army blankets inside. They are wool blankets that are soft and still in the plastic packaging. The National Guard passes them out in times of disaster, and somehow Uncle Raymond got tons of them. They can’t be washed without falling apart, but cleanliness was something that wasn’t a top priority for Raymond, so I guess he didn’t care. I cover her with one and smile at the soft whimper she gives. She’s beautiful really, but so tiny and frail I think a stiff wind would knock her over. On the heels of that thought are memories of her back-talking and arguing with me. She has grit and determination. Hell, she might have more substance than any person I’ve ever met before, but I can’t weaken towards her. Whatever I decide from here out, it’s probably not going to end well. I made my bed with my past choices, and there’s not a damn thing I could or would do to change them.

I store my stuff under the bed and decide to lay down beside her. It’s early, barely dusk outside, but this is just a temporary stop, and I’m going to need to find rest where I can get it. Tomorrow, I need to figure out what I’m doing. Not to mention, decide what in the hell to do with Tess. I’ve been acting like an idiot. I can’t keep her, I don’t even know why I have. It’s like someone else has taken over my mind and is calling all the shots. I have to let her go. I have to.

“You came back for me,” Tess mumbles from the bed beside me. I turn to look at her and nearly groan. Sexy should be the last thing she is right now. Her makeup is smeared; her eyes have circles, and her hair is a mess. I don’t think I’ve ever seen a more beautiful woman.

I don’t answer her and instead go back to staring up at the ceiling.

“You know when I was little, I used to dream of a man whisking me off my feet. We’d leave and go on the run. It would be fun and exciting and full of adventure. The dream is much better than the reality, Max.”

“Why did you want to run away?” My voice is gruff, probably because I fought questioning her, but I just had to ask.

This time, she goes silent. I think she’s going to ignore the question, but as she has all day, Tess surprises me.

“Some people are not good. They’re so far away from good it’s frightening.”

“Seems you attract us,” I grunt. I can just drop her off in town tomorrow once I get a car. I’ll set her out, go on my way and enjoy whatever time I have before the devil comes calling.

“You’re not like them, Max, you’re nothing like them,” the tone of her voice makes me turn to look at her again. Her eyes are closed, and she’s snuggled like she’s in a cocoon, except for the one hand which is laying out at an angle because of the cuff. The sight of her handcuffed to the bed talks to my dick and what it says makes him rock hard. “What you did had a reason. When I read your file, I secretly cheered what you did. Children should have someone to extract vengeance for them. They can’t do it themselves. What you did might have been wrong according to the judicial system, but they get so much shit wrong on a daily basis, who’s to say they don’t have this wrong too.

Her words roll over me, dig under the skin and lodge there. Lodge in a way I know they will fester and cause me trouble later.

“No one stood up for you?”

“One person, Rory. He stood up for me. He always stood up for me.”

“What happened with the two of you?”

“I married him.”

“You’re married?” I ask, and I do my best to ignore the way those words burn. It’s a good decision to let her go tomorrow. She has a man. She has a life ahead of her.

“Not anymore.”

“He stop taking up for you?”

“He died.”

“Tough break,” It’s an asinine thing to say, but then so is the feeling of happiness that an unnamed person is dead. It’s still what I feel inside.

“Yeah, it was. Did you go to your Uncle Raymond’s?”

“How did you know?”

“The hunting cabin and your uncle was in your file. I told you; I’ve been reading about you for months.” I don’t make a comment. I don’t think I’d know what to say. “Are you leaving in the morning, Max?”

“Yeah, it won’t be safe to stay.”

“Take me with you, Max. Don’t leave me here alone again, please?”

Across the room the light from the lantern flickers and then burns completely out. Darkness drapes over us and I hear her voice repeat in my head. Take me with you, Max. I can’t keep her, but maybe it would be okay to take her with me, just one more day. Truth is, I’m just not ready to let her go yet.

“Go to sleep, Tess,” I tell her, rolling over on my side and giving her my back.

“You didn’t answer. Please, Max? Don’t leave me here alone.”

“You’ll go with me when we leave, but you may wish you hadn’t before it’s over.”

“Sweet dreams, Max.

Again, I don’t know how to answer her. I don’t think anyone has ever said those words to me before. I need sleep, but I lay there a long time before sleep claims me, the last thing I hear is Tess’s plea in my mind.

“Take me with you, Max.”

A
clanging noise jerks me awake. I sit up and feel the sharp pain in my wrist as I pull too far away. Handcuffs. Memories from the day before surface and panic once again overtake me as I think Max has left me alone again. Relief almost overwhelms me when I find him standing over an old camping stove, cooking.

“You have food?” I ask, excited. I’m starved. It feels like I haven’t eaten in days.

“I’m not sure you can call it food, so don’t get too thrilled.”

“Oh my God, Max! Is that bacon I smell?”

“It’s more like cured jerky,” he says dryly.

“I don’t care what it is, just give it here,” I answer him, my mouth watering. “Please tell me that’s eggs,” I say when I see the fluffy mounds of yellow sitting on the plate, he brings me.

“More like dried powder. Still, they aren’t bad in a pinch,” he says putting the plate down on my lap. There’s the not quite bacon-bacon, eggs, toast and… “Peaches?” I question him.

He shrugs, “I thought you might want fruit. Women like that kind of thing right?”

I want to ask what he did with gruff, silent Max, but I don’t want him to make a reappearance, so I zip it up.

“It’s great…umm can I get, I mean will you unhook me so I can eat?” I hold up my hand waving it and making the chain rattle. He looks at me and back to the handcuff.

“I’ll feed you,” he says, his eyes darker.

My stomach flutters at the look in his eyes and I’m imagining him feeding me. I want that. I want more of what we did together yesterday, even knowing I shouldn’t. I need to divert him right now though and figure out exactly what I’m going to do.

“Max, this is ridiculous, it’s not like I can get away from you. Just let me loose so I can eat, and while we’re talking about it, I need to use the facilities, so…” I trail off wiggling the chain again.

He frowns, but pulls a key out of his pocket and undoes my lock. I rub my wrist, from reflex. It doesn’t really hurt; Max fixed the cuff so that it was very loose. I just don’t like the idea of being restrained. A flash of need has me picturing myself restrained; naked while Max is over me…I ignore it. That’s definitely not going to help me clear my head and figure out what to do.

“The facilities, Kitten, are an old lard bucket behind that row of shelves,” Max says, watching every move I make.

“A lard bucket?”

“No indoor plumbing in a cheap underground survival shelter,” he returns in his wry, statement-of-fact voice that I’m either beginning to really like or hate. It’s a toss-up.

“Of course not, was he afraid the zombies would crawl up the drains?” I ask, going behind the shelves.

“Don’t know, never cared enough to ask. You sure know an awful lot about me.”

My face flames and I’m glad I’m behind the shelves. Did I give away too much? Would he know how I’ve sat alone at night and combed over his files and pictures, enthralled with his life? Could he guess that before I even saw him at the prison yesterday, looking so cold and aloof, but still devastatingly handsome, that I was already infatuated with him? It makes me sound like a kook. I get that. Hell, I’m starting to think I am completely crazy. If you add in my reaction to him and the fact that I don’t hate him or want to maim him right now, I just might be certifiably insane.

“I told you, I had to research the file that the county of Ormond has on you to prepare for your parole hearing,” I lie and it is a straight-up, bald-faced lie.

“I thought you said your boss threw this on you yesterday morning, without warning?”

I forgot about the high intelligence notes the warden and guards reported about Max.

“He did, but I am the one who prepares his arguments and notes,” I return, carefully avoiding his eyes, in case he can see the lies on my face. “Do we have water and you know, maybe some soap?” I finally ask, to divert him. I need to stop talking about this. I’m afraid of what more I might give away.

“Over by the old basin.”

I look in the direction he gestures and see an old, silver, antique wash basin and pitcher and beside it is a gallon jug of water. I wash my hands quickly and come back to the bed and grab the food that Max gave me earlier. He has a similar-looking plate on his bed, and I’m secretly excited as a teenage girl over Justin Bieber. Inside there’s a part of me squealing that I get to eat breakfast with Max Kincaid.

I take a hesitant bite of the eggs. It’s definitely not five-star cuisine, but passable. The bacon is very disappointing, but I manage to swallow down a couple of strips. The toast is…yeah, I’m not touching whatever that is.

“Umm…what are these things?” I ask looking at my plate dubiously, after tasting the cardboard…err…bread and putting it back down quickly.

“Kind of a homemade version of an MRE,” he says, having downed all of his and finished his drink from the box. I carefully puncture mine and stick the attached straw in it. It’s not horrible, I’m not sure you could call it orange juice, but the flavor is kind of there, so I drink it.

“A MR what?”

“A MRE, Meal ready to eat. The military feeds them to astronauts or soldiers overseas. National Guard also…”

“They feed our soldiers this? That’s horrible! They deserve real food. Why…”

His laughter stops the beginning of my tirade. It’s a beautiful sound, and it’s a sound that if I never hear it again for the rest of my life, I will still never forget it.

“There isn’t really restaurants or even ways to cook in times of war.”

Okay so he’s right, but still.

I stop thinking at all when Max gets down on his knees in front of me. Heck, I’m not sure I can find my voice. For the first time, I allow myself to look at Max Kincaid, and I mean really look. He’s wearing a worn, faded white t-shirt that looks bright next to his dark skin. He’s got jeans on that seem a little tight, but he wears them perfectly. His five o’clock shadow gives his face even more depth and somehow highlights those dark, soulful eyes of his even more. I can see the tattoo he has on his shoulder peak out from under the t-shirt, and I wish I could see the rest of it. His file says he has eight tattoos, and I’ve always wanted to see each one personally. Certifiably insane.

“What are you doing?” I ask, eventually finding my voice even if it comes out hoarse and croaky like a bullfrog. I shouldn’t have asked because he’s taking my shoes off, so I know. Still, I’m nervous. These thoughts of Max I keep having, combined with what happened yesterday…what my body keeps craving more of…Maybe once I get free, I can sign up for therapy. I hear it can do wonders, and I think it’s pretty clear I need it.

He reaches over to his side and gets a box, handing it to me. First-Aid Kit, I read on the lid. Guess that was his answer. He works in silence, taking the old torn pieces of cloth off my feet and setting them with my shoes to the side. He puts my feet down and goes back to the basin, bringing it over, with the water and an old towel that he throws over his shoulder. I hiss in pain as the cool water flows over my poor feet. There are so many open raw spots from blisters that have burst; I want to weep. He works, quietly efficient, making sure my feet are clean and padding them dry gently, but with a firm hand.

“Hand me that roll of gauze,” he says, startling me out of the semi-trance I was in.

I open the lid and quickly grasp it, handing it to him.

“And a few of those cream packets, the antibiotic ones.”

Once he treats the worst of the blisters, he rolls the gauze over my feet, securing it with the tape from the box. Then he goes back on his heels and looks at me.

“We can’t go anywhere today, there’s no way you’d last trying to walk on those feet.”

“Is that safe?” I ask, knowing not only that the law is on our heels, but also the other escapees. I don’t want to think about what might happen if they accidentally find us.

“We don’t have much of a choice. We’ll let you rest up today and head out early in the morning.”

“You could take me into town and leave me, Max. You should leave me. You need to keep on the move; it’s not safe.”

“Since you work for a lawyer and all, shouldn’t you be urging me to turn myself back in?”

“Would you listen to me if I did?” I counter.

“Not hardly.”

“That’s why I said you should keep running. Besides, it’d be better if you go to a police station and turn yourself in. Out here…”

“You think they might shoot first and ask later?” He says dryly with a cold smile on his face that in no way reaches those beautiful dark eyes.

“Probably…” I answer truthfully, and the very thought of it causes my blood to run cold. I can’t let that happen. I need to make it my mission to make sure Max gets back in jail safely and still be eligible for parole. I have no idea how I’m going to make that happen; I just know I need to.

“Last night you didn’t want me to leave you,” he says, getting up to return the things back where they belong. He sounds angry. He pours the water into a big barrel in the corner. It’s on my mind to ask what happens when that gets full, but since I won’t be around when it does, I guess it doesn’t matter.

“I don’t know what I want when I’m around you,” I answer with complete honesty. “I’m torn between wanting to go back to my quiet apartment or run off to Maine with you.”

“Maine?” he asks with a sardonic smile on his face.

“No one ever wants to go to Maine. Seemed like a good place. When people go on the run in the movies, they always head for the border. I always thought a quiet state to hide in would be better.”

He shakes his head and doesn’t say anything else. It almost feels like we’re friends, and then he does something I’d like to slap him for. He puts the handcuffs back on me. I don’t argue, instead I find myself staring at the light in the lantern he must have lit before I woke up.

Therapy. I definitely need therapy.