Under Control

by Zoë Normandie

  I can’t save her.

  He refused to accept it.

  “She should have taken the meds. She should still be awake,” he panted, his voice distant and distraught. Finally, his voice cracked, “I need her to wake up.”

  She was still going to wake up. She had to.

  He felt the nurse squeezing his arm tighter.

  “She can’t die. I never got to say…” Carrick choked then sealed his mouth. He couldn’t fucking talk anymore.

  His throat made a bizarre noise and the nurse immediately pulled in his stiff body for a bear hug. She must have been a foot shorter and a hundred pounds lighter, but the strength of her hug was undeniable. The strength of a nurse… He folded like a fallen soldier into her—dropping into something he hadn’t felt for a while.

  It wasn’t fair.

  It wasn’t fucking fair.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Carrick

  Carrick heaved the last black duffel bag into the back of his pickup truck and stalked around to the driver’s door. His movement was heavier and angrier than he wanted to show, but he couldn’t keep it in any longer. The situation was all fucked up, and he was running out of the patience to deal with it.

  A vibration came from his cell phone in his pocket, and he whipped it out. Delta was texting him again, and the message wasn’t good—a shit storm had started that morning. Carrick gritted his teeth together as he read the words.

  Lovely day today. Received several threatening calls from her daddy, and now I’ve got lawyers chasing you down for breach of contract. Hope you are having a great time at the beach.

  Carrick ran his fingers over the cold glass of the phone, a knot twisting in his chest. He shouldn’t have fucked off yesterday. He should have been there. He was asking too much of his friend.

  Well, fuck. I’m on my way back. I’ll deal with the critical issues. Do me a favor… Go home and get some rest. You’ve done enough for me.

  Carrick jumped up into the driver’s seat of the truck.

  Slamming his foot on the pedal, he pulled out of the San Onofre State Beach parking lot, hearing Danica squeak beside him with the powerful movement of the truck. Everything was silent between them and had been so for an hour since they’d finished packing up camp on the beach. He reached over and flipped on the radio, finding some boring news station that wouldn’t make him crazy.

  But very clearly, he realized that was fucking unavoidable.

  “Can you drop me off at the train station?” Danica asked, sending him over the goddamn edge.

  He practically snapped the steering wheel in half from the pressure of his grip. Heat rising up his throat, he turned his head to snap at her.

  “Where the hell are you thinking of going?” he grunted.

  “I don’t know yet,” she slouched in her seat, avoiding his gaze.

  “Jesus Christ.”

  Carrick clenched his jaw in disbelief as he found a way onto the highway. They were about an hour’s drive from his place at Sunset Beach, but the train terminal was less than halfway there at one of the bigger beachside towns.

  He could drop her off and be done with all the bullshit—let her deal with it in her own way, which was absolutely not going to work. He gripped the wheel harder, hating how deep he’d gotten, knowing that getting out now wasn’t realistic for him—and there were many, many reasons why that was.

  Chewing on every possible option before him, Carrick knew he needed to make a plan.

  A better plan.

  For that, he needed time to think.

  “So, you get on a train—then what?” he challenged her, buying himself time.

  She didn’t reply and seemed to shrink even farther into her seat. The fury emanating off him had obviously hit her hard, and she fingered the door handle like she was ready to spring.

  He continued, not waiting for her. “You know Daddy is just going to show up, yet again, harassing the shit out of you to do whatever he wants. Are you ready to finally tell him to fuck off? Finally going to tell him he’s not welcome in your life?”

  “He’s not my daddy, Carrick, first of all.”

  “Might as well be, the way you’re giving in to him.” Carrick curled his lips in disgust, hating every moment of what was happening. “Letting him do whatever he wants.”

  She turned toward him, and though he wasn’t looking at her, he could tell she was pissed. Indignant. Good—he wanted her to be pissed. He wanted to light a fire in her because that was exactly how he felt.

  She needs to fight.

  “I’m not giving in to him. I’ve never given in to him,” she corrected him fiercely. “I ran as soon as I feasibly could and got myself into school to get a job. That job, speaking of which, has probably already fired me for not showing up.”

  “You’d be fired anyway after you let Petrov fly you to Russia to be Andriy’s little wife,” he scoffed.

  “Russia? What are you talking about?”

  A silence filled the car briefly, and he knew he’d said too much.

  She started again, realizing what was going on. “Have you been talking to him? Are you keeping things from me?”

  Briefly, he flickered his gaze over to her. Wide-eyed, Dani slowly leaned against the door, clutching her seatbelt for dear life. He quickly whipped his gaze back to the road, too full of fury to keep his eyes on her.

  Emotion rushed over him as he remembered her lips and how they tasted. From his peripheral view, he could see the softness of her thighs reflecting from the sunshine beaming into the truck. The memories of what they’d done the night before gutted him.

  I took her virginity. What the fuck is wrong with me?

  Angrily, he shrugged. “Well, there’s no point in me telling you anything.”

  “And why is that?” her tone remained vexed.

  “It’s not like you’ll do anything about it,” he snapped back harshly. “Not like you are willing to stand up for yourself.”

  Realizing that he was too invested, he was plain furious. He couldn’t sit back and watch her life crumble, see her make terrible decisions.

  “Anyway, you are not getting on a random train,” he commanded. “I will figure this out…alone.”

  She grasped the truck door handle and moved to take off her seatbelt. He knew she was bluffing, so he let her.

  “Going to jump out on the side of the highway?” he asked in disbelief.

  “It’s better than being stuck with you in this fucking prison.”

  “Be my guest, then.” He pulled off the highway onto a deserted offramp.

  Slamming the truck into park, he turned to her, giving her a final salute. “Good luck, soldier.”

  She sat there, her mouth open, searching him.

  “That’s what I thought,” he grumbled. But as he moved to put the truck back into drive, she opened the door and launched herself out into the sandy desert dirt on the side of the road.

  “Jesus, fuck!” he yelled and jumped out fast behind her.

  Running around the side of the truck, he realized she was bolting—on foot—up the arid hill. Her little hands were clawing at sandy dirt and desert rocks as she tried to scale the steep incline, trying desperately to get away from him.

  “Leave me alone!” she cried back at him, slowly making her way.

  He sprinted up the hill, looking up only to see a perfect view of her bare ass under the mini skirt, accented by light blue lacy panties. He groaned, feeling his cock harden.

  “I’m going to teach you a fucking lesson,” he roared.

  His own violent desire was unstoppable, and he gnashed his teeth together as he reached up and grabbed her heel, pulling her back down the dirt hill toward him. In that moment, an animalistic instinct grew within him, overpowering his senses. God damn, he wanted to clamp her down on that dirt hill and fuck her—take her from behind, holding her down and biting her neck—showing her orgasm after orgasm.

  “Fuck off!” she yelled, kicking at him as he slid her down the hil
l toward him, using one of the self-defense moves he’d shown her.

  “No!” he yelled back, turning her onto her back and pounding her into the dirt underneath him. “You do not run from me. Ever!”

  Tears were streaming down her angry red face as she whipped her body back and forth, trying to escape from under his hold—but it didn’t matter. He’d pinned her down and was holding her wrists as he panted violent desires onto her. Her arms flexed, and her whole body tensed. All it would take would be for him to lean forward slightly and he could have her mouth under his.

  “I didn’t trade Petrov trying to control my life for you trying to control my life!” she screamed at him.

  Her words hit him hard, but he chewed on it, letting the message bounce right off. He was lying to himself, of course—because her words were exactly what he feared.

  He had become the bad guy.

  He was a bully.

  “You’re coming home with me,” he ordered, staring down into her face as she desperately tried to fight him. “And we are going to figure out what to do with you.”

  “What if I say no?” she challenged him, her eyes livid.

  He felt his grin turning crazy wild. “Say no, then. Tell me no.”

  Her eyes widened as she apparently realized what door she’d opened. He tightened his grasp on her wrists and she winced, arching her back in that way he loved.

  “I want to hear you say ‘no’.” He pressed his body into her, the hard ridge of his cock angry underneath his board shorts.

  Realizing her fate, she relaxed her limbs, panting and locking eyes with him. Her anger was drinkable and so was her pussy. That same animalistic desire thudded hard in his cock as she gasped beneath his grip. All he wanted to do was slip his hand up her mini skirt and just feel how wet she was, rip her panties off—and fuck the shit out of her.

  But no matter what the urge, he was never again going to give in.

  He’d learned his lesson.

  She tightened her lips together as she looked up at him, and he knew he had her in checkmate. She didn’t really want to leave him, didn’t really want to go anywhere.

  She doesn’t want to say no to me.

  He eased his grip, freed her wrists and scooped up her body. Throwing her over his shoulder, he slid his hand across the back of her thigh to stabilize her as he clambered down the steep hill. She was relenting, though under protest. She didn’t have much else to say.

  Neither did he.

  Both of them had pretty much said their piece.

  And now it was détente.

  He threw her into his pickup truck through the door she’d left open, not even caring how much dirt she brought in with her. Her pink hoodie was ruined up the front from where he’d grabbed her and pulled her down the hill. A snarl crossed his lips as he slammed her door shut and made his way back to his side. It was time to get on with shit, and he would tolerate no further shenanigans.

  He was going to be her new daddy when they got back to his place, and she was going to quickly learn how strict he could be. It was for her own good anyway, wasn’t it?

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Danica

  Danica breathed in deeply, looking out over the last remnants of the sunset as she pushed her dark-rimmed glasses up her nose. Her inhalation worked through to the bottom of her lungs as she held her yoga tree pose, trying to ground herself in Carrick’s living room.

  Why can’t I fight back against Petrov? It was so much more complicated than Carrick realized.

  As much as she tried to get Carrick’s velvety voice out of her head, she just couldn’t. All she could think about was the man who had made it his mission to change the course of her life. And it made it much harder to forget him, since she’d been hearing him all day long. His deep voice had been echoing through the house with every phone call he made.

  They’d gotten back to his place at Sunset Beach in the late morning, and he’d dismissively dumped her upstairs to spend the rest of the day—alone. She hadn’t seen him since. He’d made camp on the entry floor of the house, roaming between his office at the back and the garage at the front.

  Well, she had sneaked a peek down—just once—and it hadn’t gone well. A few hours before, her stomach gnawing, she’d tiptoed down to see him, desperate to talk. She hadn’t known why. He was furious at her—and she at him. It had been icy between them since…she’d run.

  When she’d snuck downstairs, he’d been on a call at the time, sitting comfortably and confidently in his leather chair at his long, wooden desk. Her nose filled with the scent of heady musk, rich cedar and leather when she’d stood at the entrance to his office. Before he’d noticed, she flitted her gaze around the room, observing a tattered American flag hung on the wall along with what appeared to be a series of plaques and trophies. She even saw some vintage guns and heavily used rope strewn up on the wall like decorations. It was only a few seconds before he’d turned around in his chair and seen her, jumping up immediately to push her out of his office and motion silently for her to go upstairs—never breaking from the call he was on.

  That had been hours and hours ago.

  Now, as she looked out over the Pacific Ocean at the purple sky that was quickly turning indigo, she tried to stay strong, to find her balance. Yoga and meditation always helped, but being stuck in a house alone with that man was dizzying.

  I can’t stay here.

  The question she kept asking herself was, did she regret giving herself to him? He’d taken her virginity the previous night in the tent on the beach. He’d kissed her like she’d never been kissed before. He’d made her feel something brand new—like he cared, like he gave a shit. God, he made it feel so real. It had all been too good—until she’d climbed out of the tent that morning and realized where they stood. Nothing had changed. Well, everything had changed, but also nothing had. He was still keeping things from her. He was still pushing her to do what he thought she should do.

  He was still laughing at her plans like she was a child, as though he was the only one who knew anything. He still expected her unquestioning obedience.

  Danica dropped her foot from tree pose, and she wobbled to find balance, frustration and anger rising in her chest. It wasn’t fair. She just had no idea what she was supposed to do—or what she could do.

  Tugging up her yoga pants and readjusting her strappy purple tank top, she took her hair out of her ponytail, relieving some of the ache in her head. Her throat was tight and her face felt strained. No matter what she’d done, she’d felt two seconds from crying silently to herself all day, but she wasn’t going to give Carrick the satisfaction of hearing that.

  Suddenly, his office door slammed shut, and shortly after, his familiar heavy steps were climbing up the stairs. Immediately, panic rose in her and she looked around to…well, to appear normal.

  She ran out of time.

  Carrick, the monster himself, looking hotter than life in black jeans and a light gray T-shirt, crested the top step, pausing as he looked at her before moving into the kitchen.

  “Did you eat?” he grunted at her, looking away just as fast.

  She swallowed, knowing how rough things were between them. But she held her ground.

  “I found some fruit in the fridge,” she replied, not even sure if he’d care about her words.

  “Fruit? That’s not enough.”

  “Sometimes I follow a fruitarian diet when—” she started but stopped suddenly.

  Just another stupid thing to say.

  Carrick’s eyes had grown big as he listened to her, clearly incredulous. But he said nothing and turned back to the fridge, opening and closing it without taking anything out. She watched him angle toward the corner upper cupboard, and he reached his defined arms to grab something. She narrowed her eyes as she realized what he was carrying.

  Is he for real?

  Marching over to her with a bottle and two shot glasses in his hand, he motioned for her to sit in the chair in the living room. He
put the items down on the square coffee table, positioning himself on the couch. With the table between them, he reached out to organize the bottle and shot glasses in a neat row.

  “I’ve done a lot of diving off the coast of Mexico,” he started, his tone careful and guarded. “I brought this bottle of tequila back a handful of years ago.”

  He cracked the top, breaking the seal of the full bottle of liquor, and poured two full shot glasses. He pushed one toward her end of the table, watching her carefully.

  “It’s expensive. It’s delicious.” He rotated the bottle in his hands. “And I always found it was good for one thing.”

  “What?” she asked, her lips parting with her shallow breath.

  “Getting the truth out of people.” He looked back up at her, his violent blue eyes throwing her off her game, as they always did. He grinned, as if knowing his power over her, and continued his story. “Seeing people’s true colors. And that’s why we are going to play a little game here.”

  “A game?” She clamped her fingers tightly against her thighs, filled with pure nerves and anticipation.

  “My house—my rules.”

  He pushed her shot glass over the table. With shaking hands, she reluctantly reached out and picked it up, trying not to let the golden liquid spill.

  “I’m not much for shooters, Carrick.” She looked up at him, nervously adjusting the glasses on the bridge of her nose.

  That devilish grin crossed his lips.

  “Even more incentive for you, then. We are going to play Truth or Dare. Play your cards right, and you can walk away from the game with only one ounce of this in you.”

  He picked up his own shot glass full of light-yellow liquid and brought it to his lips. “First, one just to get things started.”

  He nodded for her to follow suit and she did so as her brain tried to process what was happening—and how to get out of it. She absolutely did not want to play, but what was she supposed to do?