Captor Mine (Base Branch Series Book 13)

by Megan Mitcham

  Bad move!

  Lightning bolts shot up his calf, through his thigh, into his groin, and ricocheted back down, ending in an explosion at his knee. Hunter doubled over in pain. His right hand shot out toward his leg to stem the ache. Katherine, Kathleen, or Katie’s hand railroaded his. Their palms met, and her sleek, long fingers wrapped around the back of his hand.

  “Hold on to me,” she demanded.

  Hunter tried to pull away. Her strong grip held him in place. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

  “I’m not a waif like all the Katherines, Kathleens, and Katies you’ve known.” Grit braided the strain in her voice, and her hold didn’t waver.

  He couldn’t argue. His teeth melted together. Sweat dripped from his nose and down his chest.

  “It will pass. Give it a minute.”

  Her promise seemed hollow in his ears, but he didn’t have much choice. The eternal minute passed. The pain remained, though more bearable than before.

  “It’s that obvious,” he wheezed, “that I’ve known my share of Katherines, Kathleens, and Katies, huh?”

  “You fellas all have the same tell.”

  “What’s that?”

  “It’s the look.” Her red lips rubbed together, as though determining exactly how much information to reveal. “It’s like y’all are staring at your next meal, and you haven’t eaten in a while.”

  “How long has it been since I’ve eate—?” Another wave of agony crashed against him, stealing the last syllables from his mouth. He tried to be strong and unflappable, but he’d never experienced pain like this. It knotted his insides and assaulted his brain.

  “You’ve been here nearly seven weeks.”

  The words stunned him almost as much as the shearing of his flesh from the bone. At least, it felt like that. As if he was being skinned alive, he crushed her hand in his. He couldn’t stop himself. If she let go, he might fly off the bed to get away from the torture. “What the fuck is wrong with me?”

  “Your body is going through the process.”

  “Of what? Am I turning into a werewolf?”

  A small smile curved her mouth, creating the slightest of dimples in the hollows of her cheeks. “Not a werewolf, I’m afraid.”

  “Superpowers?” He joked because he knew this was bad.

  “From where I’m standing, you already have them. Your body is healing from some pretty serious injuries.” She pulled a cloth from somewhere and blotted it across his forehead and down his neck.

  “Well, you sit here and let me stand there. From this vantage point, death would’ve been easier.”

  Her sweet, stern face drew close enough to kiss, but the stance almost threatened. Surprised at the sudden move, he reared back. A dark halo appeared around the room.

  “You’re not a guy who likes easy, are you?”

  “Easy’s relative.” He huffed and struggled to focus on her words. On her mouth, too. “It’s all been pretty easy until now.”

  “I’m not easy. This won’t be either, but you’ll make it through. A little at a time.”The room went blurry. He liked it. The pain receded. Her hand stayed.

  8

  Kat didn’t know what to expect when he first woke, but that hadn’t been it. The fear her father had instilled in her colored her outlook on this man for the first week. Back then, she hadn’t expected to live past the encounter. Yet here she stood with breaths rushing in and out of her lungs and her heart thumping in her throat. He was nothing like what her father had promised.

  His hand held hers. Actually, now that he was unconscious again, it was the other way around. Her fingers were white from the grip she had on this man she’d grown far too attached to over the past several weeks. Why was she holding his hand? She hadn’t wanted him to see his leg, not for the first time he was awake. Why did she care? He was her patient. Kat never got involved with patients. Then again, she’d never been with one after surgery. She had her father to thank for this. Kat pried her hand from her patient and straightened. She’d finished her end of the bargain. Her patient was out of the woods. Therefore, he was no longer her patient.

  It was time to reclaim her independence.

  Kat turned her back on Pete and ran for the door. She needed sleep and proper clothing, but she needed her freedom more, and this was her chance to grab it. This was what she’d been waiting on for too many weeks. Joy and elation didn’t bubble inside. A fissure formed across her chest. If she didn’t seize it at this very moment, it would crack and grow large enough to swallow her whole. If she thought too long about Pete’s fate, if she allowed herself to get sucked into those kind eyes, she would lose herself, the parts she’d worked so hard to attain. When she reached the door, her fists went to work before her mind could calculate the repercussions. The thumps echoed like a gong in her ears, and she knew the noise could very well wake Pete. Her insides twisted at the thought of leaving him behind.

  Instinct told her this man was not who her father thought he was. He might not be an innocent. Far from it, judging by the way he’d gulped her in. Being a lady’s man didn’t qualify someone for… What? What did her father have planned for him? Kat glanced one last time at the man on the table, praying—for the first time—that his gaze didn’t meet hers. She swallowed at the memory of his hazy eyes focusing on her, scanning and cataloging all her features. This man was a connoisseur of women. His reaction to her said he wasn’t at all picky. Apart from their obvious difference in skin tone, she likely had drool dried on her lips and pillow creases on her cheeks. On her best days, she was a disheveled, asexual robot whose priority was to keep people alive.

  Well, she’d done her part, and it was past damn time they released her from this hellhole. If she hadn’t been fired yet, she had an internship in Berlin to return to and a life. Sure, it wasn’t much of one, but it was hers all the same.

  The door beeped and swung wide. Before she could stop herself, Kat threw herself through the opening and ran face first into Aron’s chest. He grabbed a hank of her hair and yanked her backward. She stared into the eyes of pure evil. Aron was dangerous, not Pete. Menace blasted from his gaze and tight mouth.

  “I thought you learned your lesson last time.”

  “I’m not trying to escape.”

  “Then what the fuck are you doing?”

  Good question. Kat had no idea what she was doing. This man would not release her whether Pete woke or not. She’d been held captive, for Christ’s sake. When he did release her, she’d run straight to the police and have him thrown in jail for the rest of time. She scrambled.

  “I need to speak with my father.”

  “Is the prisoner awake?”

  Kat had never been a good liar. Her face spoke volumes before her words ever could. The question hit her like Aron’s hand had the other day. She used the shock to her advantage. “It’s a good thing you’re large and know how to fight and use a gun. Otherwise, you’d be useless. He just flatlined, moron.”

  “He’s dead?” Aron’s bellow could wake the dead. It shook her eardrums while he shook her shoulders.

  “I brought him back, but something is wrong. I need to speak with my father immediately.”

  The jerk ignored her request and pointed into the room. He held his tongue. Everyone in the house held their tongues. When her father had pulled her from her sabbatical and demanded she save this man’s life, he’d used as few words as possible. She’d barraged him with questions, but he hadn’t fielded a single one before leaving her with a house full of security. They had security when she was younger but never this much. Never this brutal.

  Aron shoved her into the room and slammed the door without a word. Tears welled in her eyes. Kat stared long and hard at the large black man she knew only as Pete. If her father would not answer her questions, then she’d get them from him, the man with the kind eyes and dangerous body.

  9

  Hunter lay awake for several minutes before he gathered enough bravery to open his eyes. The throbbing was only
a dull roar compared to what it had been before he’d passed out. He feared any movement would incite the vicious beast inside him to awake. He listened, alive and alert and wholly aware of the unfamiliar surroundings. Silence filled the room save for his breaths and those of another. They were soft, silken, and far away. Centimeter by centimeter, Hunter opened his eyes one at a time.

  Light filtered in through a floor-to-ceiling window. In front of it, Kat lay curled on her side in a small chair facing away from him. Cascading curls dropped over her shoulder and spilled down her back. She had ditched the cotton and lace pajamas. In their place were boxy, baggy scrubs. Still, the angle in which she sat accentuated the dip at her waist and the swell of her ass. The special operations soldier inside him begged for intel, yet his gaze refused to move from the exquisite sight. Seeing nothing but blackness for so long left his eyes—and other parts—starved for beauty and compassion.

  Her ribs rose and fell at a leisurely pace. For a while, he thought she slept. She didn’t fidget with her hair or the hem of her shirt. She didn’t rock with angst. Everything about her was still and calm until her triumphant fist pumped into the air.

  “Ha! I win, Pete. That’ll be five more bucks. That brings us back to even.” She turned toward him, and the wide smile fell from her face. “Pete?”

  Well, this was some crazy daytime TV episode he could do without. Who the hell did this chick think he was? Pete? It was possible he’d been hit on the head so hard he imagined an entire life full of blazing guns, whiskey, and babes, but not likely. His mind raced with intel and tactics that the normal person had no right to possess. He had friends—no, brothers—who depended on him. He couldn’t have made them up. So this lady was several beers short of a case.

  “Oh.” Her fingers covered her mouth. “I know your name isn’t Pete. I’d just taken to calling you that.” She shrugged. “You know, habits.” Her gaze bumped around the ceiling for a second before returning to him. “Good morning.”

  “What day is it?”

  “August first,” she answered.

  “Well, fuck me.” Hunter scrubbed a hand over his face. Smooth skin met his touch. She’d shaved him. The thought of her close to him with a blade should have scared him since he didn’t know her from Eve. Instead, it woke his inner naughty boy, which never slept for long.

  “What’s wrong?” Kat stood and stepped tentatively in his direction.

  “I spent my birthday unconscious. Not my first, but at least I enjoyed the lead-up of the others.”

  “Others?” Her blue eyes went wide.

  “I have a wild streak. What can I say?” If she had half an idea about how wild, she’d blush. He’d like to see her cheeks pink and skin slicked with sweat.

  “How old are you?”

  “I thought you weren’t supposed to ask that question.”

  A smirk gave her away. “No, you’re not supposed to ask women how old they are.”

  “So how old are you?” Hunter gave her a devilish grin. Even though he probably looked like shit, he couldn’t help himself.

  “You first.” She gestured in the general direction of the hospital bed in which he lay.

  “Thirty-one.”

  “You’re a baby.”

  “Nah. They get to suckle at the breast all day, every day for a year; it’d be nice.”

  Kat’s lips pressed together, and her head shook. She pulled the stethoscope from the drawer of the nightstand next to his bed. “I need to check you out.”

  “If you insist. It’s lady’s choice while I’m flat on my back.”

  “Have you ever been sued for sexual harassment?” Kat smacked the cold flat surface of the stethoscope against his chest with more effort than necessary.

  “No, babe. I like the willing.”

  “And what am I?”

  “You’re intrigued and don’t want to be.”

  She said nothing to his answer. Her gaze averted to the ceiling once more, and he let her escape for the moment. The uptick in his heart rate from imagining her touch intensified the throbbing in his foot. Kat moved around the bed and grabbed various instruments, shoving them into his mouth and flashing them in his eyes. Finally, she pressed her fingers to his neck and assessed her watch.

  “Well, nurse, am I going to survive?”

  “Ego intact, I’m afraid.” She moved to give him her back but stopped. “It’s doctor, by the way.”

  “Hey, I’m sorry.” He reached out and grabbed her wrist before she could get away. “Seriously, I didn’t mean to offend you. You apparently have no trouble doing that to me, though. You’re jumping to conclusions. You don’t even know me.”

  Her gaze snapped to his hold on her wrist and then back to his. He released his hold. “No, I don’t know you. Why don’t you fill in the blanks for me?”

  Her tone held several layers of curiosity but no hint of flirtation. Red alerts squawked and flew in every direction. She wasn’t interested in him. She wanted information about him. He’d dealt with enough women to know the difference. His gaze roamed the room. Base Branch had numerous boutique doctors and setups around the world. He’d been in enough of them to know. But this one was different. The walls had never been this ornate, and the doctors this hot and inquisitive about him, more so than his injuries.

  It was about damn time Hunter quit flirting and started thinking about his current situation. He should analyze, calculate, and interrogate. The things he did best.

  Hunter sat forward with intent. Again, a bad move. The sleeping demon inside his leg roared to life with a battle cry so ferocious it threatened to level the opposition. Him. Every muscle in Hunter’s left leg convulsed in the worst series of cramps known to man…and woman. Childbirth had nothing on this shit. A guttural moan seeped from between his lips, and without command, his leg curled toward his chest. Hunter reached for the source of the pain.

  Kat’s hands shot out. “No. Keep your legs straight.”

  Too late. It was past time for him to find out what the fuck was going on with his body. In all the commotion, the sheet fell away. The surprise awaiting Hunter rocked him more than his twenty-first birthday party had. That surprise involved four strippers, a crate of whiskey, dance music, and his two best friends. It had taken him a week to recover. This would take longer, and it guaranteed to rank zero on the fun scale.

  A gauze-covered stub occupied the space where the lower portion of his leg used to reside.

  The elite, trained, and battle honed soldier he’d become over the past thirteen years stayed calm. An emotional reaction wouldn’t help anything. So…he didn’t have a leg. It could be worse. He could be dead. He could be paralyzed. He could have no legs and no arms. In all the years he’d spent traveling the world, battle had been the most ruthless, relentless, and unforgiving thing he’d ever experienced. Many of his comrades never made it home to their families. Many more made it home with insurmountable physical disabilities. Others suffered the mental turmoils of war.

  Until now, Hunter had been spared any major hurdles. He loved fighting for those unable to fight for themselves. Silver stars and gold bars had always been the result of his efforts but not the driving force behind them. He was due for a good challenge.

  “Pete?” Her voice held a genuine level of compassion that unraveled the neatly sewn argument against freaking out.

  What was a lost leg? Nothing, if you had a really great personality.

  Right?

  One-hundred percent wrong.

  In an instant, his universe shrank to a tiny, self-centered pinpoint. At the sharp and devastating tip was his nub. Without a leg, without a foot, everything changed. Screw walking. How was he supposed to fuck without two legs? How was he supposed to work? If he couldn’t climb down a ravine and up a mountain in a ghillie suit and hide among the rock and vegetation, how could he protect his brothers? And if he couldn’t protect his brothers, what good was he at all?

  None.

  10

  “My name isn’t Pete. Goddam
mit.”

  Kat hadn’t known this man for all that long—while he was conscious anyway—yet his reaction seemed completely incongruous to the man she’d met early that morning. How exactly was a man supposed to act when he found out his leg had been amputated above the knee? Sweat cascaded in tiny rivulets across his cheek and down his stout chin. His kind, amber orbs zipped around the room at lightning speed. The whites of his teeth ground together so hard she feared the enamel might crack.

  “Here, let me help.” Kat reached for the morphine drip she’d secured to his IV line nearly a month ago.

  “No!” His strong arm released the bandage around his thigh and shot out. The impact of his five fingers and palm against her sternum threw her back a step. Breaths stalled inside her lungs. Heat and anger flew to her cheeks and chest. “You’re not going to make this go away.” He pointed at her and shook his head. Tears threatened to run over his lids, but his grit seemed to keep them at bay. “Not unless this is some fucked-up dream.”

  “It’s not a dream.” He hadn’t hurt her, but her hand flew to her chest over her heart. He seemed oblivious to everything going on around him; the captivity, all the questions, even her.

  “Nightmare?” His tone begged.

  “Reality.” She hated bearing the bad news. It was the worst part of her job.

  His teeth clamped audibly. A roar, unequal to any she’d heard before, drowned out the chomp of his teeth. He stared at his leg, knowing it had been smashed by something heavy enough to kill him instantaneously had it landed almost anywhere else on his body. The half-moon of his nostrils flared with aggressive breaths. His imposing chest heaved. Then his gaze lifted.

  “Where is Oliver?” He poured all his anger toward her with a menacing glare.

  “I don’t know who that is.” She held her ground.

  “Where am I?” Pete lurched forward. She thought he would have learned better by now. Another wave of agony twisted his body in its unforgiving grip. Kat took a tentative step forward and offered her hand. Pete—no, Not Pete—took hold as though it were a life raft in a stormy sea. He rode each wave with more determination than the one before. His gaze narrowed. “Where am I?”