Prisoner Mine

by Megan Mitcham

  Her lids opened, looking for the culprit. She instantly regretted it. Tears pooled, distorting her already-fuzzy vision to the equivalent of a fun-house mirror reflection.

  “Drink this.” The deep, familiar voice rumbled in her ear. Hot breath soothed a path across her cheek.

  A sharp inhale stabbed Greer’s throat. To her utter horror the tears spilled over her lids. They ran down her cheeks, cooling her already chilled, wet skin. Why was she soaked? Why was she so cold? Better yet, why was she crying?

  Greer clamped her eyes shut. She hadn’t allowed herself to cry before, but now…

  He’d come back. Now she was safe.

  A shiver wracked her frame. Her bones rattled like a baby’s toy. Safe, yes, but not okay. Not yet, anyway. Something cold hit her lips. It triggered a shock wave that stung her raw nerves anew. She cringed from the pain.

  “Drink.” The barked order leapt head first off the high dive straight into her ear. Its impact rippled across her brain.

  Greer tried to cover her ears, to still her quaking head from the vibrations. Her right arm flailed high and wide until she hit something immovable. The impact added to the tilt of her formerly-ordered world. Her hands splayed, searching for an anchor in the tumult of her agony. The tips of her fingers hooked the edge of something hard and cold.

  “Mother fu…” His curse turned to a growl. The crack of shattering glass splintered the air. “It was just water. All you had to do was open and swallow.”

  His harsh words shattered Greer along with the glass. A sob seeped from her lips. Greer buried her face against her arm.

  Why was she so oversensitive to noise and light...and him?

  Through the pain, the emotions that—seconds ago—threatened to dent Greer’s pride, evaporated in the heat of her anger.

  Zach Saulter had saved her, but it didn’t mean he gave a shit about her. The man she called Captain Saulter for six long months of training with the private securities firm, US Elite, the man she’d taken orders from before dawn until after dusk, the man whose unreachable stare she’d suffered hadn’t changed a bit. This had nothing to do with her and everything to do with completing the mission they’d been tasked with a month ago.

  She and her partner, Derrick Coen, had been given a top-level exit-training mission: Infiltrate the Stas, the US faction of the Russian mob, learn as much as you can about their facilities and inner workings, then report back. Captain Saulter—though mercenaries didn’t really have rank—hadn’t given them orders on the mission, but he’d been sent to assimilate into the Stas pecking order and make certain they didn’t screw up.

  After so many days fighting the drugs, she’d given up hope of rescue and let them take her to oblivion. Too soon the bliss of the void faded. His voice penetrated the haze and his heat drove it back. She’d opened her bleary eyes and his piercing gray eyes stared back. He’d looked different. A beard covered his chiseled jaw. The arsenal he usually strapped across his wide chest had been replaced by a tailored suit. But the complete focus with which he assessed his target remained. And she’d been his mark.

  Greer took to mentally chanting Zach…Zach…Zach. His unreachable, unfeeling, sexy-as-sin features had filled her head. The hope of him returning had been the only thing to shake her from the fog long enough to tell Raisa what she needed to know to help save them. In all that hope she’d made him out to be more than he was. She’d made him out to be the fantasy that had instantly supplanted her intelligence and seeded itself in her subconscious the moment he’d stalked onto the training field.

  Where was Raisa? Where was she for that matter?

  “You have to drink,” Zeke demanded.

  She would have told him to go screw himself, but the void pulled her back. Now that she was safe she didn’t fight the rapture of ignorance.

  Greer didn’t know how long it lasted, but it could have lasted longer. Agony checked her like a 200 pound defenseman. Greer pumped her legs in a desperate attempt to find the blankness. Her feet slipped on the ice. Her lids popped open to the darkness of night, not nullity. This time the pain stayed with her. Nothingness slipped away. Pain ground her into the glass…only it wasn’t glass. Her palms pressed against cool wood, smooth from use, not the work of a sander. The planks dipped and rose in uneven waves. They dug into her hands.

  Greer tightened her muscles. Try as she might she couldn’t get her cheek off the dirty floor.

  “Stop fighting it.” Zach rose from a misshapen bed. No, not a bed, but a small mountain of hay covered with a blanket. He crossed the room without a sound, though he wore scuffed leather work boots, jeans, and the weaponry she’d learned to expect on his work-horse body. The brown-rounded tips of his large shoes stopped inches from her face. He loomed above her. “I told you, no.”

  No? Like she’d asked him for something or permission to do something. They’d failed their mission, and as far as she was concerned US Elite could shove it up their ass. They’d sent them in with backward, if not all together bogus, intel, plus no support. Greer wouldn’t take another order off him and she’d tell him so, just as soon as she swallowed past the dust bunnies in her throat.

  Two weeks ago Zach had disappeared. She’d thought he’d completed his part of the task and dropped from sight like they’d been ordered to do, just without giving her the signal like he was supposed to. When she’d been taken she’d known he must have been too…though she couldn’t imagine anyone getting the goods over on Zach Saulter. The man never looked relaxed, not even when reclined in an easy chair watching the football games on which he and the other trainers at US Elite used to gamble.

  Greer’s body jerked of its own accord. She huddled into the fetal position. Her fists clamped together. The points of her knuckles dug into her chest.

  “Please…give me a hit?” She would have been surprised at the grit and desperation in her voice, but she hurt too damn much.

  “Even in American English no means no. How many times do I have to tell you no before you get me?”

  How many times had she asked? She didn’t want drugs. She wasn’t a druggie. Sure enough though, she’d asked for them. This was bad.

  One of Zach’s steely arms jostled her shoulder, and then she flew. The ceiling dropped high and fast. Her stomach constricted. Helpless to stop it, Greer retched into her T-shirt and black boxer briefs. Luckily, or not, nothing escaped her mouth. His arms tightened around her until the never-ending fit subsided. The ceiling receded more slowly.

  A thousand tiny points stuck into Greer’s skin, agitating her further. She rolled onto her side, found she also had a hay bed, and realized that comfort wouldn’t find her tonight…not even if she slept on a cloud.

  “Everything hurts,” she croaked.

  “I’m not here to make you feel good. I’m here to help you.”

  Zach snatched a blanket off the floor. The bulge of thigh-sized biceps eased her attention from the discomfort for a brief, if euphoric, moment. Bits of hay clung to the worn comforter. She only noticed because he tried picking them off one by one. When that proved too time-consuming Zach lifted the fabric high into the air. The fitted T-shirt clung to the distinctive flare of his lats. His arms sliced toward the ground. Partially frayed ends snapped like whips. Tiny fragments of hay rained in an unusually beautiful spectacle.

  He leaned forward and draped the comforter over her shivering body. He stooped low. His clean shaven face threw her. Well, in all honesty it was his face—shaven or not—that did stupid things to her insides. The fine lines around his impenetrable eyes crinkled.

  “Now start helping me.” Zach jabbed her with those simple words and then stood and walked away.

  Greer didn’t hear or see him again during the unrelenting night. His makeshift bed remained empty. She twisted and tossed herself around, tangling the covers about her legs in the vain effort of finding relief from her physical irritation and the hollowness his absence stirred. No, it wasn’t his absence. It was the loss she endured only when ill. Sh
e yearned for the unconditional love and care only a mother could give, even the maternal nagging she’d never experienced.

  Yeah, that had to be it.

  Pain distorted the sunrise through the gap in the chained barn door. By the time the sun lit the interior from all directions the worst seemed to have finally abated. Her lungs filled without the hitch. The tensions in her neck relented. She no longer shivered or dripped sweat. Best of all the pulsing of her heartbeat receded from her eardrums and back into her chest.

  “Raisa?” She whispered the girl’s name. Greer doubted she could scream if she tried. Three more times she put her scratchy voice to use with no results.

  Shortly after she found that lying on her back with her arms out to her side no longer hurt, the scent of bacon hit the air. Greer rolled to her side and clutched her stomach in preparation for tremors that never came. The rich salty smell sailed up her nostrils and over her tongue, seducing her to the first hint of hunger she’d had in…she didn’t know how long. How long had the Stas had her? How long had she been here? Where was here?

  A dull ache in her frontal lobe stopped the line of inquiry. Right now it didn’t matter. She needed a bathroom, asap. The stench she’d thought to be hay during the night was more than likely her. First, she needed to sit up, which seemed a feat at the moment.

  Greer extended her feet over the edge of the dried grass. Gravity did the rest. The tips of her toes tingled as though she’d suddenly regained circulation. She wiggled them until they steadied. Hay crackled and dipped under the weight of her braced forearm. She pressed against the surface. Her shoulder felt more like gelatin than muscle, but inch by labored inch her world shifted back toward normal, though it remained quite out of reach.

  It took several minutes for Greer to catch her breath. Each one zapped strength she needed to stand. Her head hung between her shoulders without permission. She saw it then, the evidence that her body hadn’t asked her for permission for anything over the last day or days. Greer let her horrified gaze drift back to the white cover on which she’d lain. Three significant yellow rings marked her disgrace.

  “Oh God.”

  Bolstered by humiliation and resentment for the sons of whores who had drugged her, Greer gathered the covers into her arms with clawed hands and sharp, angry swipes. Panting and at a loss as to what to do with the soiled bedding, she dropped them into a heap and turned her back with a huff that threatened to loosen the tears she’d kept at bay for the last few hours.

  Greer firmed her lips and sucked in a breath so deep her lungs burned. Determination and rage drove her. She settled her palms on either side of her thighs and pushed. Her bottom cleared the prickly bed, but adrenaline and anger proved insufficient fuel.

  Her legs buckled under her weight. Momentum pitched her forward. Greer’s hand shot out to cushion the fall, but again she lacked the strength to follow through. Her palms scraped across the uneven surface. She landed with a resounding thud.

  An answering crash came from up a single straight flight of stairs that ran half the length of the wall her head had been facing while on the cot. Another metal on metal clank of pots maybe, echoed down before Zach’s leather boots appeared at the top of the steps.

  More than almost anyone in the world Greer didn’t want him to see her like this. Vanity had a little to do with it, but more than that she hated the disdain that rolled off him in waves. From the first day in training to the last day she’d deposited drinks to him and the other bouncer at the Stas’ night club, Sable, before he’d disappeared, nothing she did won his approval. When others finished a course first it earned them the slightest nod from Captain Saulter. Every time she’d finished first his frown deepened.

  When his shoes once again appeared inches from her nose she refused to meet his gaze. Part of her hoped he’d leave her there. The other part really needed to pee and forbid doing so in her—no, his—boxer briefs again.

  “I need a bathroom, please.”

  Zach’s large hands slipped under Greer’s arms. His palms and fingers splayed across her upper ribcage and hoisted. Her feet found the ground. With his strength supporting her deficit, she stood.

  Before she could revel in the accomplishment Zach slid his left arm behind her back and pulled her to his chest. Her bare right arm draped over his shoulder and traps. Only their T-shirts separated her breast and abdomen from his skin. An inferno sizzled everywhere their bodies pressed together. She’d been cold for so long, and he radiated heat. The move also forced her gaze to his. His chilly London-fog eyes contrasted so starkly with the warmth she pulled from him in greedy waves.

  He bent at the waist. Panic rattled Greer’s heart.

  “I can walk.” When his lips thinned she added, “...with a little help.”

  “Stairs,” he said by way of explanation. His arm grazed the backs of her calves.

  “I’m disgusting.” She croaked more than shouted, but still she hoped he’d reconsider.

  Zach scooped her into his arms, a place she’d been in plenty of fantasies, but a place she never truly wanted to be. He’d been a force beyond her reach. She’d recognized it immediately and been wise enough to steer clear. Yet, in her dreams she’d touched him, but not like this. Not tainted. Damn him for ruining the bright spots in her bleak nights. Damn him for…

  Greer’s gaze snagged on a ring of round red scabs that circled Zach’s neck like a sadistic choker. The marks didn’t make sense. They were too deliberate to be an accident. Maybe he was into some kinky stuff. And yet, she couldn’t imagine him allowing anyone to have the upper hand, no matter how good some said it felt.

  “What—”

  “Don’t,” he bit.

  Yeah, the barely-hinged rage in his voice told her all she needed to know, and it shot a fresh chill through her bones.

  He carried her upstairs into another large room without sparing her another glance. Greer waffled between wanting to hide her face in his shirt and wanting to toss herself to the floor. She settled on accepting the ride. She looked straight ahead, trying not to show too much interest in the surroundings, and not meeting his gaze again.

  They passed a well-worn oak desk at the top of the stairs and curiosity won out. Maps, a ruler, and an assortment of pens and markers littered the top. Across from it a king size mattress lay on a bare frame, its headboard the unpainted barn slats that blocked the midmorning sun. Tousled sheets hung off the far side, held up from the floor by a closed laptop in the center of the bed.

  Light shone from three windows, one on the rear wall at the top of the stairs near the desk. The largest one had once been loft doors in between the desk and bed. A long rectangular window had been cut out over the small corner kitchen. Zach strode past a small dining table so unblemished and gleaming that it had likely never been used.

  Zach aimed for a large rectangular partition at the end of the room bound by the railing on one side and a refrigerator on the other. He sidled sideways into the faintly lit box and bent. Greer’s bottom and legs landed on terry cloth. His arms slid from her body, taking his heat with him.

  She hugged her arms around her bent knees and held her breath. Less than a second later the flip of a switch accompanied light from a rustic silver fixture over a small sink. He stepped around her in the center of the floor. In order to follow his movements, she released her death grip and turned her head.

  The shower curtain sang under Zach’s hand. He scooted it all the way to the side and reached for the faucet. She thought he’d been searching for towels or something, but he looked ready to settle in to her bathing routine.

  When he turned and reached for her the twine holding her heart in place snapped and the thudding organ dropped into her stomach. Acid splashed up, stinging her throat.

  “I can clean myself.”

  Zach hoisted her off the floor like he had before, like a toddler incapable of bathing herself. He ignored her completely, his gaze on the open lid of the toilet. One step in that direction and instinct took ov
er.

  Greer struck at his exposed throat. Normally the move took a hundredth of a second at this proximity and inflicted maximum damage. Now her strike played out in slow motion, taking an eternity to leave his bicep where she’d held on for dear life.

  Inches from her mark Zach’s thumb pressed the pliable skin between her thumb and forefinger. His other fingers locked around her palm and twisted. Without his body holding hers up gravity sucked her down. Her knees hit the ground with a resounding crack. A cry shot from her lips. Her arms flailed in a feeble attempt to catch herself. The vice grip on her hand kept her from cracking her head on the toilet.

  “God damn it." Zach snatched her off the ground in one arm and glowered. His gray eyes sparked. It was the first emotion she’d ever seen in them. “I’ve already seen you naked. Multiple times. Get over yourself. I’m not some barely-strung beast who’s going to rip away your virginity.”

  Greer’s mouth moved, but no words came out. For a minute she just stared at him in disbelief. No one knew she was a virgin. It wasn’t something she talked about, and since she hadn’t dated ever and quickly neared spinster territory she might never have to.

  “How do you know I’m a…” She couldn’t even say it.

  One of his brows lifted. “Your price and white gown gave it away.”

  She remembered very little past the first day at the compound. The bits she did remember were blurry and disjointed, until Zach had appeared and given her hope.

  “How did they know?” She breathed the word so quietly it sounded to her own ears like she really didn’t want to know the answer.

  Just like that the spark vanished. The cold curtain swung into place. “It’s probably best you don’t remember.”

  A thought struck her hard and fast. He’d said price. Her price had been high. He was a mercenary. So was she. Thanks to her daddy-issues. She had a savings account, but nowhere near the amount of money she’d seen some of the men throw around for the used girls that first night.

  Greer gripped his forearms because if she didn’t she’d fall on her face. And stupidly she needed his strength to be able to look him in the eye.