by Gemma James
Until Zach broke it by groaning against my mouth. “Your cunt is beautiful.” He stilled, dick pulsing inside me. “You will never feel him like this again. Only me.” The vow was a dark caress on my lips, spiraling its poison and tainting the air I breathed. “Only me, Lex. Say it.”
“Only you.” The promise was complete horse shit. The mothership of all lies.
Because this couldn’t be the end. I wouldn’t allow it to end like this, even if I had to claw my way out of here. Even if sitting on his lap and fucking him with as much willful intent as I could muster gave me the smallest of advantages, a sense of cooperation on my part, another lie in the script of Zach’s fantasy.
“I’m going to make you come so fucking hard,” he said, setting a rhythm that felt too damn good.
Don’t let him take more pieces of you. Fake it, Alex.
The thought had barely formed in my mind when liquid heat flared between my legs, and a needy moan departed my lips. His gaze bored into me, growing darker as the physical connection between us intensified. He hit my G-spot just right, with enough skill and willpower that it wasn’t long before I lost sight of what was fake and what was real.
This felt real, too fucking real, and when he pulled me into another kiss, I gladly welcomed the distraction—the opportunity to lose myself in the only thing that didn’t feel sick and dirty and wrong.
The thought of Rafe.
I wrapped myself in the memory of my husband’s heat, the solid security of his muscles, the certainty of his punishing hand. A vision flickered through my mind, unbidden, and I saw Rafe’s palm come down on my backside, again and again until my skin reddened with pain.
“Fuck…” I groaned through gritted teeth, duplicity unnecessary as I came in a horrendous rush, like a tsunami nobody saw rushing toward the shoreline. All the while, I pretended a pair of green eyes watched me shatter.
10. The Pit
Rafe
Twenty-four hours had passed since Zach left with the key. In my waking hours, I’d done little else but pace the dinky room, fighting to keep it together. Horror tainted each breath. Frustration at my forced inactivity weighed down my feet.
This cell reeked of desolation.
For the tenth time in the last hour or so, I eyed the door, imagining the narrow hall behind it. Imagining it empty. It fucking sounded unoccupied. My son was alone, just down the hallway, waiting for someone to rescue him from this hell.
As his father, that someone should be me.
I pounded my fist against my palm in furious succession, and those harsh smacks tore through the silence, matching time to the pad of bare feet.
Impatient feet.
I wanted to do something, needed to do something.
Pulse throbbing at my temples, I closed my eyes, thoughts returning to Zach and the key he’d stolen from me. The waves of what-ifs crashed over me. What if Alex couldn’t withstand what Zach wanted from her? What if he broke her beyond repair?
What if he took her to a place buried so deep that no amount of searching the globe would help me find her? I might never see her again, and that thought alone had me breathing hard in the corner, one hand bracing my shaking body against the wall. Urgency flooded my system, and I gulped in breath after laborious breath in mounting panic.
But when I opened my eyes, the worn wall in front of me crystallized, snapping me back to the ground. Going into a fucking panic attack wouldn’t solve shit. Only one thing stood in the way, and that was two inches of wood and the balls to take a risk. As I studied the door, noting the height of the lock panel, I peeled my ears for sounds of life outside the chaos in my head.
The apparent vacancy of this place settled around me in disquiet temptation, tainting the air with the kind of dangerous hope that would make any desperate plan seem infallible. Before I could overthink it, I sent a swift kick to the door. That first strike merely strained the wood. The second got me a satisfying dent. The third broke through the final barrier, allowing me entrance into the hall.
Now that I’d broken through, I froze, questioning everything, especially the probable stupidity of this plan and how it was destined to fail. Getting to my son would be the easy part—it was getting him out undetected that worried me most because I had no clue what kind of security Shelton had in this place.
Did he have cameras installed? Men posted outside?
Fuck.
There was no going back now. I looked left then right, squinting in the dim light and searching for Shelton or his goons, but the hallway was as empty as I’d suspected. With light steps, I hurried in the direction of my son’s room.
Of his fucking prison cell.
But I didn’t want to scare the shit out of him by breaking down the door. Rapping my knuckles in three gentle strikes, I called out his name in a muted tone. The ensuing seconds of silence grated on my nerves, energizing my foot into a constant tap against the ground.
And then I heard it.
Three responsive knocks, small fists against the wood in inquiring hope. “Are you going to get me out?” His question was barely above a whisper, but somehow, I still heard it, detecting the color of blind trust in his tone.
“I’m gonna try. I need you to sit on the bed. Can you do that for me, Will?”
“Yes,” he said in a loud whisper.
I gave him a full minute before veering back in preparation. Putting as much strength as possible into the strike, I busted into his cell on the first try. The ruckus made me cringe, but there wasn’t shit I could do about that.
Will sat huddled on the cot, and the wide set of his deep green eyes punched me in the gut. I’d forgotten the resemblance, how staring at him was like looking straight into my childhood.
“Let’s get you outta here.” I held out a hand for him to take, experiencing his curious stare in a tangible wave over my skin, and I couldn’t help but wonder if I looked familiar to him. Did he sense the shared DNA between us?
Shaking the question from my head, I pulled him to his feet. There would be plenty of time later to speculate on what Will knew and what he didn’t. First, I had to get him to safety.
I turned, hand surrounding his smaller one, prepared to bolt, and that’s when the tall figure standing in the doorway caught my eye. My heart slammed against my ribcage.
“Going somewhere?” the guy asked, shifting, and the dim bulb behind him caught the top of his head just right, revealing Shelton standing between freedom and me. I stepped in front of Will while still keeping him in my periphery, but it was too late.
My son had seen his face. I was sure of it, and I was certain Shelton knew he’d been made, even as Will dropped to the cot, head in his hands to hide the sight of the man responsible for this situation.
“Don’t hurt him,” I said, trying to keep the plea from my tone. The less emotion I attached to the kid, the less power Shelton could wield over me.
“You fucked up, Mason.” He stepped inside as his favorite three goons filed in after him. They settled between the busted door and me, their arms crossed, feet perfectly spaced apart in the same stoic disregard. Military Dude, standing to the left of Shelton, cracked his knuckles.
Shit.
They had me cornered.
“Let me guess,” Shelton said with a wave of his hand. “About now, you’re realizing the mistake of your actions. Am I right?”
I took another step toward Will. “Leave the boy out of it. This is all on me.”
“Normally, I’d agree,” Shelton said, taking a calculated step forward. “Except what you do falls back on him.” He nodded in my direction, and before I knew it, two of his goons descended. I got in several good blows, drawing blood and curse words until Shelton grabbed my son.
Will let out a terrified shriek, and I froze. The way he looked to me for help gutted me.
The fight in me fled as suddenly as it had come. “Wait!” I shouted, allowing Shelton’s men to slap a set of cuffs onto my wrists.
Shelton put a knife to Wil
l’s throat, and the boy’s complexion blanched. He stopped struggling as the solid metal pressed against his skin. We exchanged horrified glances. Time slowed to a crawl as a cold-sweat erupted on my skin.
“Don’t hurt him! Please. I’ll do whatever you want.”
“Why should I give you another chance, hmm? What are you going to do for me in exchange for the boy’s life?” He tightened his hold on Will, making him cry.
“I’ll cooperate. I’ll make you a shit ton of money.”
The next several seconds dragged past in heart-pounding anxiety. Slowly, Shelton lowered his arm and let Will go. My son scurried to the twin bed, folding himself into a ball in the corner as if he could simply disappear from the danger in the room.
I ached to hold him, to offer whatever comfort I could, but there wasn’t time. Shelton ordered two of his men to take me out of the room. They pushed me around the busted door and stalled in the hallway.
Shelton pointed at Military Dude, who stood inside Will’s room. “Find our guests secure accommodations and get this shit fixed ASAP!”
Hands shoved me from behind, moving me down the narrow hall past the busted door of my cell. They ushered me outside, and a deluge poured on us. My toes sank into mud as we trudged through knee-high grass.
“Where are you taking me?”
“Shut up,” one of them muttered, pushing me forward.
I heard the dogs before I saw them.
Muscular bodies hit the chain-link fencing, and vicious barks ripped through the night. Five Rottweilers, showing off angry teeth, imparting deep growls.
Shelton climbed a staircase that led to a platform at the top of the kennel, and the men herding me up the stairs after him halted, fear tainting their mannerisms. “What’s going on, boss?” one of them asked, shooting an anxious glance at his buddy.
“Which one of you bozos dropped the ball?”
Both men took a step away from the opening in the platform. The dogs jumped and snarled from eight feet below. “We checked on him before taking a smoke break. He wasn’t makin’ a sound in that room.”
“That must have been some break. Did you go to fucking Egypt?” Shelton crossed his arms. “If I hadn’t shown up when I did, he might have gotten one up on us. Fucking idiots!”
“Sorry, boss. Won’t happen again.”
“Damn right, it won’t.”
The next few seconds slithered by in slow motion. Heartbeat thrashing in my ears, I watched in horror as Shelton grabbed the shorter of the two men and shoved him into the pit.
The guy’s screams would stay with me for the rest of my life, those terror-filled shrieks increasing as the sound of ripped flesh and tendon sliced through the night. I buckled over, spewing vomit onto the planks of wood underneath my muddy feet. A lesser man would have pissed himself too.
Shelton closed the short distance between us and wrenched me up by the hair. “I’m not in the business of hurting kids,” he said, “but if you fuck up again—if you sneeze too loud—I will feed your brat to the dogs. Are we clear, or do I need to show you another demonstration?”
Shelton’s remaining goon backed up, face going as pale as snow.
I shook my head, and despite shaking knees, straightened my spine and met the determination in Shelton’s cold eyes head-on. “We’re clear.”
He studied me for several long moments, his shrewd gaze a constant threat. Finally, he gave an imperceptible nod before pivoting on his heel, hand waving in the direction from where we’d come as he made his way down the stairs. “Put him back where he belongs,” he barked at his guy, “and make sure he stays there this time.”
11. Save Yourself
Alex
Zach slept like the dead, one arm slung over my stomach, secure in the knowledge that the shackle around my ankle would keep me at his side. The most I’d done was doze in fitful stages, awaking every hour, witnessing the night pass in slow agony as I confronted the numbers on the digital clock through bleary eyes.
He stretched beside me, and I felt the blanket of his gaze weighing me down. “Good morning, beautiful.”
“I really have to pee.” I lifted my ankle. “Can you unlock me?”
He wore the fucking key around his neck, just like Rafe. As he bent to free my foot, I averted my eyes. Watching Zach steal my husband’s role—using his key, taking over our house, sleeping in our bed—ignited an intolerable ache in my chest because Zach’s presence in this space tainted the memory of my wedding night.
Another piece of me fizzled out as I hurried into the bathroom, urgent to relieve my pissed-off bladder. By the time I finished my morning business, Zach had pulled on a pair of jeans. He sat at the end of the bed, still wearing the key around his neck.
I halted just out of his reach. “Is it okay if I cook us breakfast?”
The smile that flit across his lips was so…unguarded and earnest. He was desperate to latch onto the tiniest of hope that I’d forgive and forget. He was fucking insane, but I’d use it to my advantage.
“I’d love for you to cook. I miss your eggs.”
I bit back a snort. Did he not remember that I despised eggs? I could cook them, but they’d turn out barely edible. He gestured for me to exit the bedroom first, and when we reached the kitchen, adrenaline sizzled in my veins.
“It’ll only take me a few minutes to make breakfast.” I halted next to the eat-in nook, hoping he’d take the hint and sit. “Is scrambled okay?”
“Scrambled’s more than okay.” He accepted my silent cue, claiming the bench seat, and a relieved breath drifted off my lips.
I stood on tiptoe and reached for the pan, praying to God he would stay put and let me get my hands on the skillet. Slowly pulling it from the rack, I counted the seconds, ears peeled for the slightest of sounds.
The rustle of denim.
A bench leg scraping a fraction of an inch.
His booming voice demanding I put down my makeshift weapon.
But nothing happened, and I let out a stuttered breath as I set the skillet onto the stove. Opening the fridge, I let my hair obscure my face as I bent to retrieve the eggs, worried he’d figure me out if he glimpsed my expression.
Just breathe, Alex. Five in, hold, five out. Repeat.
“I could get used to watching you fix me breakfast naked. You’re so fucking sexy. You have no idea.”
As I cracked the shells and dumped the contents into a bowl, I sensed the burden of his stare on my backside. “Orange juice okay, or do you want milk?”
“I’ll have whatever you’re having.”
“Two orange juices coming up.” While the pan finished heating, I grabbed two plates and set the table, and he grabbed my hand.
“I love seeing you like this.” Slowly, he let my fingers slip from his, a goofy smile transforming his lips.
“What do you mean?”
“Relaxed. You seem…kinda happy, Lex.”
God, he was blind. It took every last bit of mental fortitude to hold on to the facade, to plan my attack without hyperventilating. I wandered back to the stove and began whisking the eggs.
“I’m just glad to be out of that prison.”
“I’d never lock you up like that.”
“You wouldn’t?” The question came out weak with nervousness as I poured the mixture of eggs into the pan. “Where are you planning to take me after we leave here?”
He didn’t answer at first. “I have a cabin in the mountains.”
Another fucking cabin.
“You do?”
“Yes.” Another stretch of silence, and then he cleared his throat. “We leave tonight, Lex.” He shifted, and I froze, praying to God he wasn’t leaving that seat.
Five in, hold, five out.
Before I could repeat the ritual, I turned and faced him, wiping my face of the terror heating under the surface of my calm, same as the damn eggs. But Zach still sat on that bench, comfortable in his certainty that he’d won.
And he would if I didn’t do something f
ast. I had less than twelve hours to turn the tables on him, to save myself before he took me away from the island forever. He might not have plans to lock me inside a cage, but he’d keep me prisoner just the same. The fact that he thought that somehow made him better was laughable.
I’d willingly given Rafe the key to my freedom. Zach had stolen it, and no amount of twisting the truth would change what he’d done.
Every muscle tensed in preparation. I wasn’t sure I had the balls to go through with the idea simmering in my mind, but I didn’t have much choice. I had to be strong—had to keep fighting—even if the fear of getting caught paralyzed me.
“How did you get the cabin?”
“Let’s just say Shelton paid me well while you were gone.”
By gone, he meant he’d been unable to find me.
“So he just welcomed you back with open arms?”
“Not exactly. I had information he wanted.” He paused a beat too long. “We came to an understanding.”
“Such as?”
He averted his eyes, and the shame tinting his face surprised me. “I knew about Rafe’s kid.”
“How?”
“Dad’s known about him for years.”
His admission seemed to reverberate off the walls, and a chill traveled down my spine. “So instead of selling your soul to the devil, you sold Rafe’s son.”
“I’m not proud of it, Lex. But I needed a fucking ally, and Shelton has connections. The guy set me up with a whole new identity. Plus, I needed to find you, and you were nowhere to be found.”
“I was right where I was supposed to be.” The eggs finished cooking, and before I could second guess what came next—the what-ifs and all the things that could go wrong—I carried the skillet toward Zach. “I was with Rafe.”
“You should have been with me.”
“No,” I said, voice shaking, “I should have killed you when I had the chance.” Gripping the pan with both hands, I swung with all I had and brought it down on Zach’s head with a sickening thud as hot eggs went flying.
