It’s a standard room. Four cheerily painted walls in a robin’s egg blue. One painted white closet door, one painted white door to the hallway and one large window, white painted sill and trim.
He sits on the edge of the bed, leaning over to set the tray on my lap. Dressed weekend casual, he’s in a pair of dressier-looking navy sweatpants and a shade lighter blue T-shirt tucked into the waistband. White sneakers on his feet. The whole scene is surreal. Yesterday, this gentle-looking man blew a security guard’s face off. Splat, just as if he’d shot a ripe melon. He abducted me. Sedated me. And honestly tried to have his way with me.
“How are you feeling?” Michael’s question breaks into my thoughts. He’s smiling happily, like he’s surprised his girlfriend with breakfast in bed, not his captive.
I touch my forehead. “Groggy,” I say honestly. If he’s not in a bad mood, no sense putting him there. He has to trust me for me to even stand a chance at escape.
Let him trust me. Let him trust me. Without a hint of revulsion, I don’t flinch when he cups my neck to draw my lips closer and gives me another one of his wet, sloppy kisses. “Sorry, Liv. This was my fault.”
Yeah, tell me something I don’t know, I think as he continues on. “I think I gave you too much tranquilizer, so we’re taking it easy until it’s all out of your system.”
When he pauses, I know he’s waiting for a response. “Oh, um… thank you,” I say placating this man, whose jugular I’d really like to shove a knife into and run.
Apparently, my response is the right one. Where’s my Oscar? Best actress during an abduction. His smile turns—well, if he weren’t a crazy SOB who kidnapped me, I’d say it turns sexy. Tipping up at one corner.
“Eat,” he orders. Dammit, I hear the rumble in my stomach and the food looks delicious. Coffee, oatmeal with brown sugar and butter, and a delicate, buttery croissant. He even set a sprig of green grapes on the plate next to the croissant. “You need to get your strength back.”
He’s right about that. If I stand any shot of escaping this crackpot, I will definitely need my strength.
“Thank you, Michael. You’re being very kind.”
“Nothing’s too good for my girl,” he replies.
If I hadn’t seen him blow that man’s head off yesterday, I’d almost feel sorry for the poor guy.
The way he watches so eagerly as I spoon up some of the oatmeal into my mouth, there’s a brief, unbidden fear that he’s drugged my food. But that fear evaporates quickly enough. To get what he wants, he needs the drugs out of my system. So putting more in me makes no sense.
“Delicious.” I praise him. “You make wonderful oatmeal.” Then I pick up the sprig of grapes and pull one off with my teeth. I turn and offer him some, too.
He bends forward to suck a grape into his mouth. “Mmm…” Juice squirts from between his lips as he chews. “Thank you, Liv.”
It’s unnerving the way he won’t look away. Surveying, scrutinizing each of my movements. Since the grape-sharing went so well, I take a chance and pick up my coffee. After my sip, I offer him one. It’s a dance, this back and forth we perform, that we continue to perform until we’ve eaten every last bite.
“I know,” he says suddenly. “Let’s go for a walk.” I avert my eyes to my bare legs, then back to Michael’s. “That’s no problem, I’ve got clothes for you to wear.”
Clothes for me to wear? Shit. He’d been planning this, planning it for a while. When I shift the tray off my lap to set it onto the billowy bedcover, Michael stands and walks over to the closet pulling out a pretty flowery sundress, yellow. He had been planning this. It’s exactly what I would have picked for myself, had I picked it.
I take the hanger from his hand and nod my thank you, then wait for him to leave. He doesn’t leave. I wait longer. His smile dips to a frown. “Come on, Liv. Get dressed.”
He’s given me no bra, no underwear. Which means when I pull the T-shirt up over my head, I’m completely naked in front of him. Of course he’s seen me naked before, but I need him to stop thinking of me as a sexual being. When he reaches a finger out to run a line over my breast, there’s a gleam in his eye. That kind of gleam I’d associate with a young boy who’d just gotten exactly what he wanted for Christmas and was waiting expectantly for it to be assembled.
Don’t shrink. Don’t shrink. Don’t shrink.
Gage must be out of his mind with worry.
Quickly, I drape the light summer fabric to skim down over my skin, covering my body up. Not that it stops him from staring; I swear the man has x-ray vision. The barrier of cotton fabric doesn’t seem to exist between the space from his eyes to my chest. I stand awkwardly with my hands hanging at my sides, then fold them over my chest. His eye twitches, which I take as him not liking the move, so I drop them again. Thus ends the eye twitch.
For a diversion, I pull my fingers through my hair. “Do you have a rubber band?” My voice moves his attention to my long locks, thankfully ending the creepy glare.
“I like it down.” It’s a command as much as a statement. Michael wants me to wear it down.
“Okay. Then I’m ready for our walk.” Get us moving. That’s a good idea.
Until he takes me in top to toe. “You need shoes. Wait here.” He turns to walk into the hallway. There’re upper and lower linen closets. I know he said to wait but I have to see what he’s doing. The bottom linen closet has a thick latch and thicker padlock securing the door. Pulling a keyring from his pocket, he fumbles through the keys until he finds the one he’s after and unlocks it. I can’t see everything in there, but I know that’s where he’s keeping my shoes.
At first, it’s like, why lock up my shoes? But it clicks. If he locks up my shoes, he thinks I won’t try to escape. What he doesn’t know, I’d gladly take mangled, bloody hamburger feet if it means I get to see Gage again.
Before he turns around, I slink back inside the room all the way to resume standing in the spot I’d been in before he left. Michael walks back in with a pair of tan leather thong sandals. Reminiscent of a shoe salesman, he kneels down in front of me to gently grab my heel. Unlike a shoe salesman, he runs his finger along my ankle before gliding the thong along the pad of my foot and between my toes. He repeats the action exactly with the other foot, except before setting it back down, he kisses the inside ankle.
When he straightens, he takes my hand, lacing our fingers. We walk through the house and outside. He padlocked my shoes but not the front door. Interesting. It’s a bright, sunshiny day. I smell the pollen and woods. What I don’t smell is ocean. I have no idea if we’re even still in Virginia.
There’s a narrow stone walkway leading to a dirt drive to the left and a path carved through the grass into the trees to the right. The SUV is parked in the drive, no doubt the keys on the keyring he keeps in his pocket. We veer toward the trees.
The sun dances along the edge of the woods, making the deep green tree leaves appear a lighter lime color, though the light drops off considerably once we leave the open grass. The temperature drops, too.
It’s beautiful. As we walk along the path, Michael is considerate enough to point out the poison ivy and even poison oak. Does poison oak grow in Virginia? He gently moves me away from each patch of shrubs.
Birds chirp. We see gray squirrels scurry from the branches above our heads. Then I hear a buzzing. It gets louder and louder until a huge bee hive, probably a wasp hive, appears in a tree just off the trail. We aren’t close enough to provoke them, but it’s good to locate the tree in question. To store in my memory bank for later. Neck deep in this clusterfuck of a kidnapping situation, knowing where to find the beehive might help save my life.
I find it hard to reconcile the two personalities of Michael. The man who shot the security guard in cold blood, kidnapped me and even trashed my house. Or the man who points out which berries are edible and keeps me away from poisonous plants. Every so often he lifts my hand, the one he’s holding, to his mouth to drop delicate kisses on it.
In his mind, we’re really a couple. In love. Lovers. We walk far enough in to reach the beach at a hidden lake. Not an overly large lake, but a lake with fishes. I see the little bubbles pop every now and then along the smooth surface of water. It’s peaceful here.
“Would you like to sit for a minute?” Michael asks.
I smile at him, nod and slip off my sandals, walking over to the edge of the shore to sit down. Only my toes dip in the water. Michael drops down behind me, pressing each bent knee against my waist, his legs to my hips. Then he shifts my hair over my shoulder so he can press kisses down my spine, from my neck to where the dress starts.
“Slide your arms out of the straps.” He orders. My body goes tight.
“I—um—I thought we were waiting for the…uh…the tranquilizer to fully wear off.” Panic has me stumbling over my words.
“We aren’t having sex here, Liv. The first time I have you won’t be on the hard ground.” He says this in a low, seductive voice. A voice that if he weren’t bat-shit crazy, would get him a whole lot of action. Just not from me. I have a man. “Now, slide your arms out of the straps.”
Not wanting to anger him, I do as directed, sliding each arm out of the strap. Michael folds the bodice of my dress down, exposing my breasts. Then inexplicably, he begins telling me about his childhood in Southern California, the whole time gently rubbing, twisting and flicking my nipples. That’s what he wanted, to play with my nipples. I realize it’s about control. Will I fight him or won’t I? He won’t trust me if I fight. I can compartmentalize. I have to. For my sanity. For my relationship with Gage.
“…then I realize my aunt is standing in my bedroom naked.” Oh, god. What? My mind had trailed off. His aunt? Naked?
“How old were you?” I ask.
“I told you, Liv. I was ten. Pay attention.” There’s an underlying annoyance to his tone, even though he chuckles at my faux pas.
“Ten?” I ask.
“She taught me everything.” He ignores my question. “Everything a woman likes. I was a good student, had to be. She punished me when I got it wrong.”
“Ten?” I breathe out again. “Punished?”
He returns to dropping kisses along my spine. “Promise, Liv. You’ll enjoy yourself.”
When he glides his hand up my skirt, I begin to sweat. When he runs his finger along my pelvic bone, I find myself making quick, repeated gulps to swallow back the bile burning at the back of my throat. It’s that or flinch. And I can’t afford to flinch. It’s working. He’s trusting me.
Thankfully, he doesn’t rove his wayward finger any farther down. Compartmentalize. I can do this. I can do this.
“…and then he fell off the roof.” Michael chuckles softly against my ear. Shit. I trailed off again. But I know better now than to ask him to repeat and I chuckle softly in return. This would be my Tony Award.
A crane fly lands on the surface of the water. One lone bubble bubbles up before the insect is snared in the mouth of a bluegill and sucked down to its death, leaving tiny waves rippling out from the scene of the crime. I can’t help wonder if enough tiny waves rippled out from the scene of the crime at Smitty’s for Gage to find me.
“Tell me about your family,” Michael orders softly. That’s something I never had to do with Gage. He already knows my life story because he is my life story. At least a major contributor to several chapters.
I hate talking about my family. Gage knows that, too. Michael doesn’t, and he waits. I can do this. I can do this. “My parents are both dead,” I say for an opener, then immediately regret the word choice. It’s probably not smart to remind a crazy, kidnapping murderer about death.
“I’m so sorry for you. So you’re alone then?”
“No, I have G—” Oops! I catch myself. “Got a brother, I add quickly.”
“Older or younger?” Michael asks.
“Older by two years. He lives in Kentucky.”
He kind of grumbles out an “mmm” for a response while sucking the skin under my jaw gently into his mouth. “Maybe we’ll go visit him after we’re settled. Would you like that?”
God, I really do feel sorry for him. How do I feel sorry for this guy? He killed someone. He kidnapped me. But, dammit. He needs help. Inpatient care for probably the rest of his life.
“Liv, I asked you a question. You answer when I speak to you.” His words come at me hard before he sucks the spot harder, so much that it feels like he might break the skin. Those words from earlier stick in my brain. Punishment.
I swallow hard, wanting to push him away and rub the sting from where he’s bitten me but don’t dare risk it. Not now. “I’m sorry,” I lie. “I was so…” How to put it so he won’t get angry again? “So taken by the feel of your mouth, my brain stuttered. Um… yes. I’d like to visit my brother.”
Michael reaches around to flip back up my bodice. “We should get back, get dinner going.” I slide my arms back through the straps and wait for him to stand. He holds his hands out to help me up and I let him. What I want is to take a shower, to wash away the kisses that don’t belong on my body.
Gage will understand. I know he will. But god, I don’t want any other man’s kisses to taint what he and I have.
Compartmentalize. Shut it down, Liv.
Right. I smile and flash my shy eyes at Michael. Hopefully, he won’t figure out what I’ve been thinking. Then I let him guide me back through the woods.
The moment we step inside, he turns on me. “Shoes,” he orders. Confused, I furrow my brows. “Shoes,” he repeats harsher. It clicks, then I slide my feet out of the thongs and bend to pick them up, handing them off to Michael’s waiting hand.
I watch him walk down the hallway until he reaches the linen closet, fishes his keys to unlock the door and stores my shoes away.
Instead of letting him know I watched, I move to the kitchen and wash my hands at the sink. Turning next to the refrigerator, I peer inside. He has our favorite beer. And there’s a butcher-paper-wrapped package with a cow sticker stuck on the top.
I hear him walk into the kitchen. “Ground chuck,” he says.
“Do you like meatloaf?” I ask, not looking at him.
“I love meatloaf. I’ll peel the potatoes.”
Apparently, we are going to have meatloaf and mashed potatoes for dinner. I see salad fixings. This whole day has been surreal. Here he is acting like we’re a real couple again. Hoping to keep the positive vibes going, I grab him a brew, uncap it and set it on the table next to where Michael sits.
He sets the paring knife down to grip my wrists and pulls me down onto his lap. “Thanks, honey.” Looking in my eyes, he leans in to kiss me, sloppy and wet, as I’ve come to expect.
Sweetly, I push out of his arms. “I have to get that meatloaf going.” Thankfully, he lets me go without incident.
Michael chitters on about sending his resume to a company in northern California. About how if he gets it, he’ll make sure to find us a home by the beach because he knows how much I love the water. I just continue to smile and let him indulge his fantasies. I will never move to northern California with him.
After dinner, and after cleaning up, Michael tells me to go shower, which I do. I’m glad to do, making sure to take care of all my business. The cascading water from the showerhead feels wonderful, cleansing. When he’s decided I’ve been in here long enough, he sticks his hand in and turns off the water.
I step out to Michael holding open a fluffy towel for me. He tenderly dries my body and hands me over a silky, spaghetti-strap negligée. Once again, no panties. I slip it on and let him take my hand to guide me back into the living room.
We lay on the sofa together, just like Gage and I used to. He flips a blanket over the top of us, then turns on a movie. In the stage he’s set, we really look like lovers; the way he drapes his arm over my waist to tuck me closer. The way he sighs contentedly before dropping another kiss to the top of my head. If he didn’t smell so different, I could almost imagine I�
��m snuggled with Gage. Unfortunately, a full belly and Michael’s warmth at my back, and the fact that he’s not scaring me currently, means my eyes begin to drift shut.
11.
Livvy
The feel of the room when my eyes open is completely different from the night before. I know it’s morning by the light shining through the windows. I spent the night on the sofa. Michael stares down at me, dressed in a gray pair of sweatpants, not as dressy as yesterday’s. His glare is hard. He’s angry. I know it, can see it. But I don’t know what could have set him off. I just woke up.
I suck in my bottom lip. Had I talked in my sleep?
“What’s wrong?” I caution to ask.
“I told you you’d need to be punished. It’s time, Liv.”
“What?” I shriek.
“You knew this was coming. Don’t make it harder than it has to be.”
Michael has one hand resting on his hip, the other he has draped to his side, a thick wooden switch—probably a thin tree branch—fisted tightly.
I leap from the sofa, but my foot gets tangled in the blanket and I trip, clipping my chin on the coffee table, opening up a small gash.
“Told you not to make it harder than it has to be.” He bends down to grab me by the hair at the nape of my neck, twisting it hard and yanking me up at the same time. I fight to jerk from his grip, clawing at the tightening fingers.
Violently, he shakes me, I’m a bobble head in his arms until he begins moving, dragging me toward the room opposite the bedroom, a guest room, where he tosses me on the bed face down. Pulling me to the edge of the bed, he puts a knee to my back to keep me in place, hard enough to keep me trapped. My arms are tucked under my body.
I squirm, but that’s the most I can do. He flips the negligée up to expose my bare bottom. There’s a second where I hear a whoosh and then feel a horrible stinging against the skin there.
Between the Devil and the Deep Blue Sea (Brimstone Lords MC 3) Page 9
