Runner: The Fringe, Book 3

by Anitra Lynn McLeod

  He slapped the cuffs to her wrists and ankles, then entered her cell.

  As she stood fully bound, he looked at her for a long time.

  With her arms behind her back, she inadvertently thrust her breasts out, drawing his gaze to her chest. His intense stare made her acutely aware of her vulnerability. If he tossed her on the bed to have his wicked way with her, she couldn’t do anything to stop him. Even if she weren’t cuffed.

  His azure gaze fell to the short chain that bound her ankles. He bit his lip and sighed hard, like he wanted to chew his way through the restraints in order to make his way to the juncture of her thighs.

  “Mr. Nash?”

  He scowled and shook his head, tossing that seductive fringe of bangs out of his eyes. Without a word, he scooped her up onto his shoulder and carted her down the hall.

  She made sure she didn’t move. She didn’t want to do anything he would take as threatening, or inviting, for that matter. After he set her on her feet against the inside bars of the new cage, he looked at her with that odd, probing gaze.

  Strange. She didn’t find his attention frightening, only curious. No man had ever looked at her quite like that. Hot and dirty and filled with a thousand erotic punishments. Shame on her that she felt an answering welcome, as if she wanted to throw herself upon his mercy. Whatever he decided to do to her, she would willingly let him.

  He broke the spell with a shake of his head. Turning sharply, he exited, clanging the door shut behind him. He walked off without a word and without releasing her.

  She thought perhaps he tested her, so she stood with her back pressed to the bars. While she waited, she couldn’t help but think of what he could do to her, even with her arms and legs bound. She’d just gotten to what he could do if he placed her on her knees, her looking up the long, imposing length of his body, when he returned with an armful of items.

  He unlocked the door, dumped them on the bed, exited, and clanged the door shut. He uncuffed her wrists and ankles, his fingertips touching her in the most fleeting way, which only exacerbated her lusty thoughts.

  Shaking off the tingles from her captivity, she found a towel, soap, shampoo, toothbrush, toothpaste, a packet of laundry soap, a pair of socks and a huge flannel robe. He’d been far more generous than she’d thought he would be. The pile of small luxuries almost brought tears to her eyes.

  “Thank you.” She turned toward him.

  He stood tall as he dropped his voice. “Now you do something for me.”

  “Of course, let me see your—”

  “Not that.”

  His gaze swept her body.

  She took an involuntary step back.

  “Take off your shoes.”

  Puzzled, she glanced down at her white sandals. They’d been pretty when she’d put them on, but now they were almost gray with dirt, along with her feet. “Why do you want my shoes?”

  “Take them off and hand them to me.”

  “That doesn’t answer my question.”

  He only glanced at her briefly, then moved to draw his weapon. “You’re making me all kinds of nervous not wanting to hand them over.” His hand rested on the butt of his gun. He could draw the firearm and shoot her long before she could blink.

  More confused than afraid, she sat on the bunk and slipped her decimated sandals off her grungy feet. “Here.” She tossed them out of her cell.

  He picked them up and inspected them critically.

  Did he think she could somehow craft them into a weapon? Honestly, the man thought her some kind of master criminal. The only thing she knew to do with her sandals was to wear them. On her feet. Right where they belonged.

  Seemingly satisfied about her shoes, he riveted his gaze on her once again. “One last thing. I need your bra.”

  She uttered a nervous laugh. “Your pectoral muscles are large and well defined but not really big enough to need the constraints of my—”

  “Take your bra off and hand it over.” He lowered his hand to the cell keys. “Or I’ll come in there and get it myself.”

  “You’re serious.” She stood from the bunk and stepped back, crossing her arms over her chest.

  “When I tell you to do something, you do it.”

  Fumbling at the zipper down her back, she pulled the tab down to her waist, unhooked her bra and slipped the straps off, yanking her bra out the armhole. Once she’d zipped up and settled her dress into place, she stepped to the door of her cell. “This is absurd. What horrible crime could I commit with a lacy white bra?”

  He plucked the bundle from her hand without a word. She noticed his gaze was riveted on her chest. When she looked down, she rolled her eyes. Her nipples showed clearly through the thin lilac fabric. As her nipples tightened, his eyes widened.

  “Seeking cheap thrills, Mr. Nash?”

  He drew his gaze to her eyes and bit his lower lip. “I wouldn’t say cheap.” He rolled the word around his mouth, tasting the tone of it like a rich candy. “A lady like you isn’t cheap. I’m not looking for a thrill, either.”

  He plucked a knife from his belt, cut two small slashes in her bra, removed the flexible plastic underwires, then tossed the bundle of white lace into her cell. “I won’t complain if you choose not to wear it.”

  “Are you finished?” She plucked her bra off the floor. Realizing she couldn’t put the garment back on the same way she’d taken it off, she tossed the scrap of white lace to the bunk, and crossed her arms protectively over her still-pointed breasts. “I’d like to take a shower and wash my clothes.”

  “Go ahead.” He leaned casually against the bars.

  She stood nonplussed for a moment. “You’re going to stand right there and watch me?” Somehow, she thought if he did watch, he would do so clandestinely via the com.

  “Sure,” he said, grinning as he nodded, his leer turning his handsome face sinister.

  “Like an IWOG boy glued to the Tasher on a lonely Friday night?” She couldn’t believe a legendary Fringe player could be so juvenile. Refusing to be intimidated, she met his gaze, hoping against hope he would back off first.

  “Nothing else to do at the moment.” He flipped his bangs out of his eyes and hitched his thumb to the belt loop above his gun. “Go ahead, Sweets. Take a shower.”

  Dismissing him by giving him her back, she asked, “You don’t see me, do you?” She placed the shampoo and soap in the shower. “You see a blonde woman with large breasts, and you can’t wait to see me take off this filthy dress and shower. How pathetic.” Hands on hips, she glared at him through the bars. “You don’t have to see me as even human if you reduce me to a sexual object.”

  He cocked an eyebrow. “You said you didn’t care. You said, given my reputation, you would expect me to watch.” He glanced to the com unit above him, then back to her. “Here or the bridge, I’ll see the same show.”

  His arrogance and the cocky thrust of his pelvis enraged her. “You think I’m putting on a show for you?”

  “Aren’t you?” He flashed her a smile that oozed with innuendo. “I’d hate to disappoint you.”

  “This isn’t about you.”

  He uttered a derisive snort and continued to watch her beyond the bars.

  “I would have sold my soul for a shower. I want this luxury. If my payment is to let you ogle me, then I’m willing to pay that price. However, the deal I offered you was that if you moved me to this cell, I would medically address your injured finger. I offered nothing else. Implied or otherwise.”

  “So, you’d be bothered if I watched?”

  “You are missing the point entirely.”

  “Nope. Saw both points real clear.” He dropped his attention to her thrusting nipples. “Still can.” Lifting his gaze to drill directly into her eyes, he smiled. “Looks to me like I’m not the only one getting a thrill.”

  “A purely biomechanical response. I removed my bra, which stimulated my nipples. The only thing you have to do with it is that you ordered me to remove my bra.” Thankfully, h
e hadn’t looked too closely at her bra, or she’d have a lot of explaining to do.

  He narrowed his eyes. “You think?”

  “I’m not an imbecile.” As she approached the cell door, she crossed her arms more tightly over her breasts, inadvertently pushing them up, creating a distracting cleavage that he couldn’t help but consider. “You have barely managed to keep your gaze off my chest since I arrived.”

  “I only wanted your bra for these.” He held up the two bits of plastic that formed the rigid cups of her brassiere. “You’d be surprised what women have managed to do with them in the past.”

  “No doubt I’d be floored. But again, the only thing I know to do with my bra is to wear it on my chest where it belongs. I’m certain that somehow, with my shoes and those bits of plastic, you could take over the Fringe. I, however, couldn’t escape this cell. Even if I kept the fork.”

  He tilted his head to the side. “You try to come across as such a clueless babe in the woods, but I’m just not buying it.” When he shook his head, his hair flopped into his eyes, and he whisked the sandy blond fringe away with a flick of his head. “You think if you flash me a bit of the good stuff, I’ll fall all over myself for a taste, right?”

  Again, she was disappointed but not surprised. She shook her head. “I’m attempting to honor the Fringe tradition of barter. You give me a cell with a shower, and I give you medical advice. My understanding is that, as a fully trained doctor, I automatically have a certain reputation.”

  “For evil,” he said without emotion.

  Another surge of frustration filled her. “You honestly believe what Roberts told you.”

  He shrugged, pulling his tight shirt even tighter against straining muscles. “The IWOG trains doctors to hurt.”

  “Not my training. I’m not a neurochemist with ties to IWOG marketing. I’m not a social engineer with the IWOG military. I trained as a surgeon, then a general practitioner. I do not hurt people, I heal them. Do you know who Hippocrates is?”

  “I know what a hypocrite is,” he said with mocking coldness as he hitched his thumbs into the front pockets of his jeans, dropping his fingers down to outline his already prominent bulge.

  “Hippocrates is the father of medicine. He said, ‘first do no harm.’ I took that oath because I believe in those words. I’ve never intentionally hurt another person.”

  He laughed.

  Somehow, even after everything she’d suffered, his mocking cut her more deeply than all the lies, the pain and the unwarranted shame.

  Several deep breaths failed to calm her, but very quietly, and with as much dignity as she could manage, she said, “I don’t care how bad things are, or what Roberts says about me, I’m not going to change who I am.” She pointed to his finger. “Do you want me to look at that or not?”

  He flashed her a boyish, biting grin filled with surface lust and empty desire. “Take a shower first.”

  Lifting her chin, locking her gaze on his, issuing a challenge she knew she would lose, she unzipped the back of her dress.

  Chapter Five

  Foster moved from the cell room to the infirmary. He pulled the first-aid kit off the sickbay wall and removed anything sharp. He tossed in a few other items he thought Jynx might need. Dawdling, he made sure he gave her plenty of time to shower and dress. His gaze settled on the nearest audvid. Right about a foot from his face. With the flick of a switch, he could watch her. If he wanted.

  Desire came with a niggling guilt.

  At first, he thought she wanted him to watch. He thought she did so in a misguided attempt to seduce him. Nope. She wanted to take a shower. Period. Jynx didn’t care if he observed or not. When she’d drilled those wicked eyes of hers into his, he’d backed off in a stumbling burst of embarrassment that almost tripped him over his own big feet.

  Thing was, he wanted to see her voluptuous body glistening with water, her sexy legs with soap bubbles tumbling down, her hands cupping her heavy breasts.

  He grunted and adjusted his belt, forcing his erection to the right of his now way-too-tight jeans.

  He did have a fascination for her breasts, just as she accused. For the life of him, he couldn’t figure out why. Hers weren’t the biggest he’d ever seen, nor the most perfectly shaped. Displayed through clinging lilac motton, punctuated with dark straining nipples, her totally unaware and completely unable to do anything to stop her body’s reaction. Yeah, that, and something about them just being…hers.

  Rolling his eyes, he moaned. “I don’t even know her!”

  Then why did he feel like he did?

  Frustrated, he opened the white plastic box with the red cross and shifted through the contents again. He realized he just wanted to know her in all the ways a man could know a woman.

  Hormones.

  That’s all this was. Stupid, juvenile hormones. To combat his cravings, all he had to do was spend a few hours on the Tasher with some porn. That would set his body to rights. Hell, it wasn’t like he’d never tamed the snake before. Living alone, out in space, he’d become more than intimate with his right hand. There was no shame in that. Better that action than buying some poor woman who probably didn’t want to be bought. Forcing Jynx to his needs caused a surge of lust that he quickly and emphatically denied. He was not that kind of man. Then why was the vision of her bound so enticing? Although, to be fair, in his version, Jynx was bound of her own free will…

  Tossing his hair out of his eyes with a flick of his head, he decided the best course of action was not to let his little brain lead the way. He’d have her examine his finger, then stay the hell away from her.

  “Sounds like a smart plan.”

  Mentally patting himself on the back, he returned to the cells. Jynx stood at the sink, washing her dress while she wore one of his old flannel robes. Tartan plaid in rows of black, red and yellow skimmed down her body. Short on him, the robe fell to her calves. Her sleek and strong calves that could wrap around his hips with fearsome strength. Again, he shook his head, hoping desperately to fling her from his mind. When the water finally ran clear, she wrung out the excess and hung the lilac dress up on the showerhead with her bra and panties.

  White lace panties.

  Almost a thong.

  A low growl came from his chest.

  Jynx spun around.

  Thin flannel swirled around her gorgeous legs as faded jeans tightened below his belt.

  Focus, Foster. Keep the big brain in charge.

  “I brought the first-aid kit so you can look at my finger.” He slid the kit under the notch in the door. Bending over hurt, and he stood up fast, backing away.

  He hoped she didn’t notice the rapid swelling in the front of his jeans. He could just imagine having her address that problem for him. Yes, Doctor, every time I get near you, my pants seem to swell. Simultaneously, I lose my ability to think. Whatever could be causing this problem, Doctor?

  Jynx flipped open the white-and-red cover. Impatient hands sorted through the mishmash of items.

  “What are you looking for?”

  “Gloves.” She shook her head. “Never mind. Force of habit. Let me see—” When she reached out to him, he flinched back.

  Jynx recoiled, thrusting her hands up to protect herself. With a deep breath, she recovered and shot him a don’t-be-ridiculous frown. “I’m going to have to touch you.”

  Feeling somewhat abashed, he said, “Force of habit.” He stepped forward and put his right hand out to her.

  Her soothing touch felt wonderful until she probed too closely to the bite mark. Forgetting all about the swelling in his jeans, he let out a startled yelp.

  “I’m sorry.” She stroked his forearm with her fingertips in a calming motion. “I didn’t mean to hurt you. Please, I need you to hold still.”

  He felt her warm breath against his tender skin. He smelled the sharp tang of toothpaste and wafts of strawberry shampoo that came from her gently shaking head as she inspected his hand.

  “How long have yo
u had this?” She tilted her face up toward him.

  My fascination for you or the injury?

  For a moment, he feared he’d said the words aloud. He swallowed hard, determined to get a grip on himself, but he lost his hold as soon as he gazed into her otherworldly eyes.

  “How many days?” Jynx peered up at him with clinical detachment, wearing a serious-doctor face.

  “I delivered my last package two weeks ago, I guess, give or take a day or two.” His last package. Scary Mary. She of the deadly knee, foul mouth and chomping teeth. Transporting her to Michael “Overlord” Parker had been the most recent of their many dealings.

  “And you just ignored it?” Jynx uttered a frustrated sigh, admonishing him with her tone and reprimanding glare.

  “I washed it off,” he defended. “Stupid bite didn’t hurt until recently.” Christ, to his own ears he sounded like a first-class moron.

  “It’s badly infected. Tell me if this hurts.” When she tried to lift his index finger, he yelped and yanked his hand back.

  “Well, that answers that.”

  “What? That you’re a sadist?”

  A wounded frown darkened her face. “No. Your tendon is infected.” Jynx turned back to the med kit and pushed the supplies around. “I need a lance.”

  “A what?”

  “Something sharp, pointed. I need to drain your wound.”

  “No way.”

  “Fine.” Jynx sat on the bunk and placed her hands placidly in her lap. “I hope you enjoy your new nickname. Let me know when you’re ready for surgery.”

  Her swift change in demeanor gave him pause. “What are you talking about?”

  Calmly, as if she were discussing nothing more important than the weather, she said, “If I don’t drain the wound, the infection will spread. Eventually, if you leave it long enough, I’ll end up amputating your finger. Afterwards, you’d have a new nickname. Nine-Fingered Nash. Not as flashy as Never-Fail Nash, but certainly more interesting.”

  He glared down at his swollen finger. “It’s not that bad.”

  “Yet. It will be. Soon. Your choice is a little pain now or a lot later on with a long recovery.” Jynx considered his hand critically. “That is your trigger finger, isn’t it?”