by Kim Jones
“Dammit,” I mutter, finding it locked.
When I’m finished in the bathroom, I make my way back to the couch—my face pinched from the pain shooting down my neck and shoulders as I slowly lower myself to the cushions. Closing my eyes, I breathe in through my nose and out through my mouth while twisting my neck from side to side and rolling my shoulders.
“I can fix that,” he says, his low voice causing me to still. I crack open an eye and see him observing me from the other end of the couch.
Smirking, I shake my head. “If I take my shirt off, you won’t be able to resist, baby. And I’d rather suffer than have you salivating all over me.” It’s a shallow thing to say, but it’s the only excuse I can come up with that might have him dropping the subject. Of course it doesn’t work.
“You don’t have to take your shirt off,” he deadpans. “I won’t use the cream. It’ll hurt like hell, but you’ll feel better when I’m finished.”
“That’s what she said,” I quip, blowing the smoke from my finger guns.
He smiles at me. I don’t like it. Not even a little bit. And that warm and fuzzy shit going on inside me? I don’t like it either. Clearing my throat, I continue my head lolling and shoulder shrugging.
“Come here, Winter.” The seriousness in his tone leaves no room for negotiation. It’s so commanding and promising, my legs shake with the urge to carry me to him. He speaks like the guy from that movie—the one where he tells her to, “come here,” right before he puts her over his knees and spanks her. For that, I’d gladly go to him.
“I have really sensitive shoulders,” I breathe, the excuse as pitiful as it is ridiculous. Of course I have sensitive shoulders. I’ve been tied up like a fucking captive for six nights.
A fleeting look of apology flashes across his face. “I didn’t think you’d take this long to break. You’re incredibly strong, Winter.” He drops his eyes then shakes his head as if to clear it. I’m still reeling when he looks at me again. This time, there’s humor in his eyes. “And fucking infuriating.”
“You didn’t break me,” I say, my voice strong.
He nods slowly. His voice a little sad when he speaks. “But if I have to, I will.” He doesn’t apologize for that, but the regret in his eyes is unmistakable.
What Jinx says is definitely true. He will break me, eventually. Expose me one layer at a time. That’s the kind of man he is. He’ll stop at nothing to get what he wants. He’ll do what he has to, to keep me here. Call me crazy but I have to respect him for that.
Not many people are willing to sacrifice so much just to see something through. Even if it means giving up a piece of their soul. Maybe that’s why I respect him. Because I’m like him. I’ll stop at nothing to get what I want, too. Which is the fuck away from here. And I can’t do that if I’m all stove up and hunched over.
“You’ll stop if I tell you to? If it’s too much?” A single nod is his only response. “And no funny business? No tricks or accidental nipple flicks?”
“Last time I checked, your nipples weren’t on your shoulders. They were centered on those perfect tits of yours.” Perfect tits? I mean, considering I paid eighteen grand for them they better be perfect. But he doesn’t say it like that. He says it like he appreciates them. “Did I pay for them?” Okay…maybe he didn’t mean it like that.
“For your information, asshole, I got these right out of high school. Before I took your money.”
“And Pierce said you pissed that money away.” He shrugs. “Personally, I think it was a good investment.”
“You just can’t help yourself can you? You go from decent to dick in one second. Must be exhausting.”
“Not nearly as exhausting as you, sweetheart. Now come here.”
I shoot him a disbelieving glare. “Fuck you.”
His eyes harden. “Come. Here.” There it is again…that spank voice. My pussy clenches and nipples tighten.
“Are you going to spank me?” What? Mothershit. Assfuck. Dammit. Why the hell would I say that?
He quirks a brow. “Do you want me to spank you?”
“Uh, no,” I scoff, breaking eye contact because…mothershit. Assfuck. Dammit.
“You’re a great liar until it comes to your body. I bet that little cunt of yours is soaked.”
“No it’s not,” I snap, like a teenage amateur. Still unable to meet his gaze.
“I’ve always told you, Winter,” he says, his tone that velvety smooth sexy one. “All you have to do is ask.”
“Well, I’m not asking for that. Ever. So put the kink back in the closet.”
“It’s not my kink to hide.” I hate him. I hate him. I motherfucking hate him. “Now come here and let me make sure your shoulders aren’t out of socket. That turtle look you’re wearing is starting to creep me out.”
“That turtle look you’re wearing is starting to creep me out,” I mock, making my way over.
“Over my knee,” he demands once I’m standing next to him. I still and look down at him in shock. His face breaks into a smile. “Kidding. Sit.” He pats his thigh and I flip him the finger before taking a seat.
Immediately his hands move to my shoulders. Working. Massaging. Kneading the sore muscles there. I bite my lip to stifle my cries. Tears burn my eyes and my nails dig into his jean clad legs.
“Relax. You’re only making it harder,” he says. Then I feel his lips at my ear as he whispers, “That’s what he said.”
I release a small laugh and he takes that exact moment to press his thumbs firmly on either side of my spine between my shoulder blades. I cry out and try to pull away but he holds me in place.
“Relax, baby.” Baby? What the shit is that about? And why does it make me ease into him? “Deep breaths.”
I do as he instructs, breathing in deep, shaky breaths as I squeeze my eyes shut against the agonizing torture. Focusing on the pain rather than the way that word baby makes me feel all mushy on the inside.
Years later, I finally start to feel the tension subside. The pressure lightens. His firm touch softens. Becomes more of a caress. One that has my vagina waking up, looking around, finding him in those sweats, licking her lips and mouthing, “Fuck me.”
“Thank you,” I say quickly, standing too fast and having to reach out for something to steady myself. I realize he’s given me his hand and withdraw before grabbing the bottle of scotch and pouring a glass. I down it in a single gulp and mutter an excuse about going to the bathroom.
I sit on the side of the tub and hold my head in my hands. This guy is getting under my skin. Which reminds me of what’s on my skin. For years I haven’t really given it much thought. Now that I’m suddenly trying to hide it, that awful night threatens to resurface.
A light knock sounds and I wait for Jinx to barge in. When he doesn’t, I wait a few seconds longer before forcing a smile and pulling open the door. He stands there as indifferent as always. Hands in his pockets. Head slightly turned. Eyes appraising emotionlessly.
“You good?” he asks, bored. Whether he really is that uninterested in me or just pretending to be, I’m not sure. I’m thankful for his concern no matter the reason.
“Great,” I say on a relieved breath. “Netflix and chill? Minus the chill?”
His lips quirk. “After you.”
I lead the way, my socked feet silent on the floor. His boots loud as he follows behind me. In what I’m calling the living room—the couch and T.V. area of the main room—I curl up on the sectional under the blanket and he sits at my feet. I’m not cold, but you don’t realize how much you miss covers until you don’t have any for a while. So I’m taking advantage.
Jinx orders us pizza and it arrives by the time the third episode of Prison Break is finished. By the end of episode four, my stomach is full. Body relaxed and warm. Mind focused on the show and not on a trip down memory lane.
Settling further into the cushions, I pull the blanket up to my nose and stretch out my legs. My feet collide with something hard for only a se
“This is better than the woods.” I stifle a yawn, refusing to give in to sleep because this show is just too damn good.
He chuckles. “Giving up already?”
I shrug. “Maybe.”
“Smart girl.”
“I mean, I like this. T.V. Covers. Food.” I look at him. He’s watching the T.V. but when he feels my stare, he turns his head toward me.
“And as long as you’re here, you can have this. That is, if you don’t run.”
I smile. “Oh, come on now, Jinx.” Shooting him a wink, I add, “Where’s the fun in that?”
18
WINTER
“Shit…” I whisper, my anxiety rising by the second. “They’re gonna get caught.”
“Doubt that,” Jinx says, completely calm. But the cigarette he’s lighting suggests he’s as anxious as I am—it’s his fourth one this episode.
It’s early morning. I have no idea what day it is. Since I started watching this show, I haven’t moved from the couch. I’ve barely slept. Eaten. I haven’t even been in the mood to drink. And I’ve finally made it to season one’s next to last episode of Prison Break—the one where they escape.
Jinx has been with me most of the time. If he’s not here, he’s at the table with a laptop, outside or on the phone. I’ve yet to discover what he’s working on, what he’s doing outside or who he’s talking to. Not that I’ve done a lot to figure it out. I’ve been too busy absorbed in this show.
I’m not even sure if he’s slept. If he has, it had to have been while I slept, too. But I’ve never caught him. And he’s changed clothes and showered twice. I haven’t done either of those things. In my defense, though. I haven’t really done anything to warrant a shower. My ass has been here. On this couch. And if I’m gross, who cares? It’s not like Jinx has made a move on me. Not that I want him to.
“Give me that,” I snap, snatching the cigarette from his fingers. I’m on the edge of my seat—literally. Covers, pillows, candy wrappers and empty water bottles surround me.
The Thai takeout container with last night’s broccoli sits on the table along with a brand new bottle of untouched scotch—ready to be consumed and take me to that drunken state I dreamed about all those days in the woods.
“Twenty bucks says the big guy don’t make it,” I say, picking at my nails—a nervous habit.
“I’ve got three hundred grand on the old man.”
Glancing away from the screen, I narrow my eyes on Jinx. He smirks back at me. “Not that I have anything to lose.” I ignore his comment and roll my eyes back to the T.V.
Thirty minutes later, I slump back on the couch breathless as if it was me who just escaped from prison. Jinx mirrors my position, except he looks a lot more composed than I do. “Looks like we both win.” I grin at him and offer up a fist. He looks at it then back at me before slowly shaking his head. “What? Too cool to fist bump?”
“I don’t fist bump,” he deadpans.
“You don’t do anything.”
“Says the girl who don’t shower.”
I frown, fighting the urge to sniff myself. “I shower,” I say in defense. “Just not lately.” Trying to be discreet, I pretend to stifle a yawn and press my nose into my arm and inhale.
“You don’t stink,” he says. “Because you’re wearing my deodorant. And my shirt. Even though you have clothes of your own.”
I look down at his shirt I’d found on the bathroom counter a couple days ago. After figuring there must’ve been something special about it, I decided to do some investigating. It didn’t take long for me to discover exactly how he was finding me so easily in those woods. And why he was so nervous about me running the first time I wasn’t wearing it.
The clever son of a bitch had disguised a tracking device as a button. The tiny button at the collar, where it was less likely to get torn off by a limb. Or discovered by me. And the bastard was pretending to hate me wearing his clothes, knowing I’d wear them just to piss him off.
“You really hate that don’t you?” I tease, grinning at him. “Me wearing your clothes.” His brows draw together a little and his nose scrunches just the tiniest bit.
“Yeah. I do. If I asked nicely, would you stop wearing my shit?”
I laugh and shake my head—finding his answer even funnier now that I know the real truth. “Nope.”
“Didn’t think so,” he mutters, standing and pulling his phone from his pocket. He eyes it a moment before looking at me. “I have a call to make. Don’t watch the next episode without me.”
“Must be nice to have a life,” I mumble.
“It is.” His condescending tone matches his grin as he walks away.
I look over the back of the couch, watching him disappear out the back door. When he’s gone I stick my head in my shirt, inhale and learn two things in that moment. Jinx is a liar and his deodorant is shit. Because I most definitely stink.
“She bathes,” Jinx says, nearly scaring the piss out of me when I open the bathroom door to find him standing on the other side. He eyes me in the white, cotton tank I’m wearing that’s just long enough to cover my panties—pausing on my nipples that are visible without the protection of a bra.
“And he likes what he sees,” I shoot back, crossing my arms over my chest.
His voice is gruff when he openly admits, “He does.”
“Well, are you going to fuck me? Or are you going to stand here and gawk? I don’t have all day.”
“You seem impatient. Got somewhere to be?” He smiles that smile that suggests he knows something I don’t. Then he holds up the butter knife I lifted this morning from the kitchen—twirling it between his fingers. I stare back at him blankly—giving nothing away.
“Let me guess,” he starts, pausing dramatically to pretend to think hard. “You found the back door padlocked and figured since you couldn’t pick it, you’d just use this to unscrew the metal plate from the frame.” Only after I found the doors wired with an alarm and the windows screwed shut from the outside….
I shrug. “Or I planned to sharpen it with the file I found under the couch then stab you in the neck, take your keys and wallet and walk right out the front door.” Winking, I whisper, “Never can tell about me.”
He breathes out a laugh and licks his bottom lip as he studies me. “How did it take a clever girl like you nearly six years to figure out a way to get away from Cain?”
“Who said I was trying to get away?” I ask, bored by the question.
He closes the distance between us until his chest brushes against mine. Instead of cowering away, I look up at him with an amused expression. “You know what I think?” he says, his eyes on the dull knife as he drags it from my shoulder to my elbow. “I think you were running through that garage trying to get away from Cain and his men. Not because of some bullshit understanding the two of you had about what to do if the other got caught.”
Needing distance, I place my hand against his chest and push. Surprised, he takes a step back. “You really shouldn’t think so much, Jinx,” I say, stepping around him and dismissing the subject. “It gives you premature wrinkles.”
When I walked out of that bathroom, my head was everywhere. My solution was sleep. Curling up on the couch, I closed my eyes and slept on and off again for the next three days—only staying awake long enough to use the bathroom and eat the occasional meal.
Yesterday, I showered again. I’d hoped it would wake me up. It didn’t. When I made it back to the couch, Jinx was sitting silently on the other end. He was absorbed in his phone and barely seemed to notice me. He made some smartass comment just as I closed my eyes. I didn’t understand him and was going to ask him to repeat it, but I was already too far gone. When I woke up, it was a new day and Jinx was telling me breakfast was ready.
I’d noticed that this “clubhouse” sure seemed vacant a lot. When I asked where everyone was, Jinx reiterated that they left because they didn’t like me. I was sure that was true, but it was still suspicious. Before I could demand more information, he told me the real reason.
He’d said a new clubhouse was now conveniently located closer to the bar where most of the club is employed. He also reminded me that there was only one way in and out—a perfect trap for any unwelcome guests. Oh, and he figured isolation was the best way to get me to cooperate. Obviously, it’s working.
I haven’t tried escaping in over a week. Not even thoughts of Cain showing up can force me to abandon the warmth of the clubhouse for the bitter cold outside. And on day fourteen of my captivity, I’m still warm. Cain has yet to show and I find myself sitting at a table across from Jinx, enjoying scrambled eggs and bacon like the obedient little captive I am. Since I took the butter knife, he makes me eat with plastic cutlery. I’m pretty sure I can melt it down and still stab him with it.
I yawn.
“Can you unlock that back door for me tonight?”
He pauses mid-chew and shoots me, what I swear, is a hopeful look. “Getting restless?”
“I’m getting lazy,” I say, picking at my eggs. “I just woke up and I’m already tired. Maybe a day running through the woods will give me that energy I’m lacking.” I wiggle my eyebrows at him. “Or we could fuck.”
He’s surprised but quickly recovers. “That was a one-time thing,” he says, avoiding my gaze by lighting a cigarette.
I place my hand on my chest and feign shock. “But Jinx…we had that spark. That special energy coursing between us.”
“No we didn’t.” He’s so matter-of-fact, I can’t help but laugh.
“Fine, no fucking. So can you unlock the back door?”
His eyes flit to my shirt a moment before resting on my face. “There’s a trampoline out back. You should try that first.”
I want to laugh at the uneasiness in his eyes at the sight of me in my own clothes. No tracking device on this shirt, asshole. Somehow, I refrain.
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