by Tori Carson
“Well, I was wrong. I don’t want them on.” She pushed her blouse completely off and wiggled to remove her pants.
He sat back on his heels and tilted his head, studying her. Her body was truly amazing. A confident smile was once again firmly in place. This was one area of human nature he was comfortable with. “So, you’re ready to admit that I knew what you needed all along? Very good. You’re learning.”
She moved then, fast and with surprising strength. She knocked him over backwards. Her nude form pinning his fully clothed body under hers, she began to tickle him relentlessly.
He grabbed her shoulders and pulled her down. As her succulent breast filled his waiting mouth, her struggles stilled, her giggles replaced by erotic moans. Drawing back to ensure that he didn’t hurt her, he rotated them back onto the mattress, her beneath him where she belonged.
“Now, you don’t have to call me Master just yet.” His grin widened as she bucked to push him off. She was full of fire.
“I’m not Jeanie and I will never call you Master, you pig-headed, egotistical male.”
She beamed as if she’d just told him off good and proper. He was going to thoroughly enjoy making her take back those words. A moment later, he realized his face actually hurt from smiling for so long. His muscles weren’t used to it. They’d have to toughen because he wasn’t giving her up. He might as well just admit it and figure out a way to keep her safe.
“Yeah, we can hold off on that for a little while. ‘Sir’ will do nicely for now.” He was a little slow ducking and she whacked the top of his head before he swung down to kiss her senseless.
“You will obey my commands the first time. No back-talking or rolling those beautiful eyes of yours. And remember, any insolence on your part will have immediate repercussions.”
“You can’t be serious?” she asked in exasperation.
“I just told you, darlin’.” He smiled again, feeling free from the dark cloud for the first time since this whole mess had begun. “You’re gonna do exactly as I say and I promise to fulfill your wildest desires.”
“And if you don’t?” she asked smartly.
“If after I’m done you can still speak in complete sentences, I promise to follow your commands to the letter.” He had no intentions of ever being done with her. She was his. Nothing would change that now. Lord have mercy on them both.
* * * *
Sammy wasn’t taking any chances this time. Foster was a dumbass, but he’d delivered the goods twice and the slimy computer bastard had slipped away. Not this time. He’d retrieve the bastard himself.
* * * *
Teague gently turned Channy over and adjusted the pillow beneath her head. She’d had more orgasms than her endorphin-laced brain could count, each one more intense than the last. “No more. I can’t take it,” she pleaded, breathless and exhausted.
A satisfied smile, full of promise, danced across Teague’s face. “Okay, darlin’, you’ve earned a rest. Sleep for a bit and soon I’ll wake you for round two or eight or nine depending on how you’re counting.”
“Teague.” She waited until he looked her in the eyes. “I’m not letting you go. You know that, right?”
“I know, darlin’.” He bent down and brushed a lock of sweaty hair from her face. “I’m working on it. It was never you. You know that, don’t you? I just have to make sure I can keep you safe.”
She searched his eyes, wanting to believe him, needing to believe him. He held her heart in the palm of his hands. “Let me help.”
“No, Channy. This is my fight. You can’t have any part in this.” He searched her face for a moment, his body language tense. “I know it’s too soon. You hardly know me, but I love you, Chantel Donley. I’ve learned a few things these last few years. All the hard way.” He chuckled. “I know the real thing when I feel it. We’ll work it out. Trust me.”
Her heart leaped. Teague was not a man to say those three words lightly. She knew he meant them. “I love you too, Teague Brodie, and you’re not getting away from me.”
He dug a pair of sweats out of his bag. “Put these on. I’ve got a nagging feeling in the pit of my stomach. No one should be able to find us here, but it’s best to be prepared.”
After he had dressed, he double checked that his weapons were carefully concealed. Trouble was headed their way, he knew it. His preparations had paid off. Confident that he was ready, he turned back to his computer, hoping that the battery still had some juice. He’d been completely focused on her and had forgotten he even had the damn thing turned on. Stupid, but typical. He never thought straight when Channy was around. If he planned to do this thing, he’d need his wits about him and that meant that she had to go.
* * * *
The plan was working perfectly. Her new home was prepared for her arrival. The cameras had been purchased—damn that meddling monkey—and installed. He was meticulous as he tuned each one to give him round the clock access. Even as he chased the monkeys away, he could monitor her every minute. She wouldn’t leave him. Not this time.
Chantel would be his tonight. His cock was hard and jerking against his zipper in anticipation as he brought up her coordinates. He frowned. What was she up to? He used a grid map to look over the locations. Her car was in a neighborhood not too far from her work.
As he pondered his options, he noticed that the signal from her car was on the move. Interestingly, it was moving straight toward him. That would be too easy. He’d wait and watch.
* * * *
“Channy, wake up, darlin’, we’re about to get company. It might just be a lost hunter, but I don’t think so.” He put her pistol into her hand before moving aside more boards and urging her through. “Go down the path—it leads to a shed. Inside you’ll find a motorcycle. Wait fifteen minutes. If I don’t come for you in fifteen minutes then head to your father. Don’t come back here for any reason. Do you understand me, Channy?”
“No, Teague.” She sat up and looked around. “What are you planning?” Worry strained her face and tears were beginning to well in her eyes.
“I’ll meet you at your dad’s house. I promise. Trust me to do this. It’s the only way we’re going to be able to be together.” He pushed her toward the opening he’d made. “You know I keep my word. Now go, darlin’, and don’t come back.” He watched her leave. With his heart in his throat, he replaced the boards. This plan had better work.
Minutes ticked by. What was taking so long? He’d rigged an alarm at the turn-off and had activated it when he’d booted his laptop. Could he have been wrong? Was it just a hunter? Inaction was killing him. He wanted to run after Channy and make sure that she was safe, not lie on the air mattress where they’d just made the best love of his life and feign sleep. Desperation was setting in. He wanted to make sure that they hadn’t somehow snuck around behind him and were on her tail. If this was to work, G.’s men couldn’t have any idea that Channy was with him.
He prayed that he hadn’t timed it wrong. If they didn’t get here and leave before Channy started the motorcycle there would be a hell of a firefight and he’d be right where he was now with no clear way to end this.
He heard rustling—faint but audible. He forced himself to relax, take slow, calming breaths. A shadow moved past a crack in the wall, blotting out the dawn’s light. He sent up a quick silent prayer for Channy’s safety and the strength to see this through.
Wood splintered as Sammy’s foot tore the door from its frame. Teague sat up and pulled at the pistol in his shoulder holster. He used two hands, but couldn’t yank it from its catch. The safety snap was holding it in place.
Sammy shook his head and snickered, extending his Colt semi-auto to within inches of Teague’s face. Docilely, Teague put both hands above his head in surrender.
“Get on your knees, slow and easy.” Sammy watched him closely. “Use your left hand to remove the holster.”
Teague did as he had asked, using two fingers to slide the leather off his shoulders, his right arm s
till above his head, taking no chances on spooking him.
“Turn around.”
Teague hesitated, unwilling to take his eyes off him.
Sammy cocked the hammer. Teague knew it was only for effect. The handgun was a double action capable of firing without that extra step. “Hey, man, what do you want? You’ve got my gun. You want my wallet? It’s on the floor over there. Just don’t hurt me, man. I didn’t do nothing.”
Without even blinking, Sammy fired a shot burning through the tip of Teague’s ear. He dropped his hands to catch the blood rushing down his neck as he tamped down his anger and allowed fear to show on his face. It was easy enough—he was afraid, truly afraid that Channy would come running. He zeroed in on that and concentrated until his legs quivered. Just a little. Enough to be noticed. He needed them lulled into a false sense of security.
When Sammy aimed the gun at his head again, Teague turned around and braced for the worst.
“Put your hands behind your back.”
Teague wiped the blood on his jeans as he followed the instructions. He heard another man walk through the cabin’s door.
“Wrap him up.”
In seconds, he felt the bite of tie wraps into his wrists and ankles.
“Check him.”
Here it was. The moment of truth. If they found his weapons, all his weapons, he was screwed.
Hands patted his ribs and lingered on his crotch lighting a cold, deadly anger he stoked with glee. He was taking these bastards down this time.
Ultimately, only one knife strapped to the outside of his right ankle was found. A token throwaway he’d expected to lose. Come on, gentlemen, time’s ticking. Get this show on the road.
The newcomer pulled a talkie from his belt. “Bring up the van.”
“Grab that computer shit. G. will want it all.”
“On your feet, slime ball.”
Teague felt his arm wrenched damn near out of its socket as he was dragged out of the cabin.
“Lift his feet, this dickhead weighs a ton.” Already panting, Sammy ordered his men to throw him in the van.
* * * *
Chantel ran down the path to the shed. Hiding behind a tree, she turned around expecting to see Teague following her. Nothing. The slats had been put back into place covering her escape. She looked at her watch—thirteen minutes. Come on, Teague, run for it. I need you with me. Safe.
At eight minutes, she crept into the shed. The motorcycle was a classic. Her father had owned one for a while. It could run equally well on dirt or pavement. She hadn’t ridden in years and hoped that she remembered how to shift. She’d always sucked at it.
Six minutes to go. Her heart was pounding. Why wasn’t he with her? She needed him, damn it. She needed him safe and in her arms. A gunshot rang out, sending her heart into triple time. She was on her feet, wanting desperately to run to him. Would she be a hindrance? He had sent her away on purpose, made her promise not to return to the cabin. But damn it, that was before something or someone had gotten shot. Please let it be Teague doing the shooting. “Come on, handsome. Get out of there.” Her whispered plea was lost to the wind.
Minutes turned into years and still she waited, watching for any sign of Teague. She heard the van before she saw it round the corner and pull up to the front of the cabin. Teague was going to kill her, but she couldn’t run. Not when he needed her. Back on her belly, she crept up the hill, avoiding the path. She hoped they wouldn’t be watching the tree line as she came around from the side, wanting a clear picture of the van. How many were there? How many would it take to get the best of him? He was armed for bear. Only one shot had been fired. What did that mean? Damn it! What should she do?
The van door slid open. Inside, another man, bloody and hurt, lay curled in the fetal position, unmoving.
A gasp escaped as she saw Teague bound, blood streaming down his face, flung on top of the other man.
Involuntarily, her pistol in hand, she tracked the movement of the three men. Could she hit all three? From this distance? She doubted it. She was packing wad cutters. Great for self-defense, rotten for any kind of distance. Shit. Slowly, too slowly, she crawled toward them. What was she going to do? Just before the door slid shut, she caught Teague’s gaze. Frantically, he motioned with his head back down the hill. He wanted her to go. He was trusting her to get help. But how?
Follow them? She had to assume they had Teague’s weapons. If they figured out she was tracking them, they could kill him before she had fired a shot. She wasn’t cut out for this kind of shit.
As the van pulled away, she got a good look at the license plate. Knowing her memory sucked when she was scared, she scratched it into her arm, refusing to take a chance on getting it wrong. She ran down the hill, confident that she was out of sight from the road.
Inside the shed, she hopped on the blasted motorcycle. Why did it have to be a motorcycle? She couldn’t very well keep up with them in first gear, and she never could shift worth a damn. “Not cool, Teague. We’re going to have to talk about your choice of getaway vehicles.” She talked to keep calm. “You’re lucky it wasn’t a pull start, buddy. You’d really be in trouble then. I’d never get this sucker started.”
She sat the bike up straight and kicked at the stand. It laughed at her. Why did it have to be on the left side? Most people were right-handed—didn’t it stand to reason that most people were right-footed too? Finally, she pushed it back into place and hit the starter button. It caught immediately.
Very gently, she rolled the power on, scared of crashing. If she laid it down she’d never have the strength to get it back up. “Your choice in vehicles sucks, Teague. Can you hear me?” She prayed they’d get to have this conversation for real.
Please let him be safe. Please let him be safe. It was her new mantra. “We’re definitely going to talk about this. Just as soon as I save your ass. Listen to me! You’ve got me swearing like a sailor.”
She eased the bike down the trail following the dust from the van. She didn’t want to alert them by stirring up any of her own. Time to shift, damn it. Off the gas, pull in the clutch, click it, now release the clutch. After a heart-stopping series of bucks and lurches the revs came down and the bike accelerated. Yea! She’d done it.
When she reached the pavement, she panicked. Without the dust, how would she know which way they’d gone? She wasn’t cut out for this cloak and dagger crap. She was a teacher. A tear ran down her face. He was counting on her. Think!
Looking at the pavement, she saw two faint tracks of dirt heading south toward I-40. She had to catch them before they hit the freeway. She had to know the direction. If she could just get that, she could find a payphone and call her dad. He’d know what to do. Teague was wrong about him. He wasn’t dirty. She’d know, she was his daughter for goodness’ sake.
Chantel got on the gas a little too hard coming off the gravel and spun the back end around. Her foot came off the pedal instinctively trying to keep the bike from hitting the ground. Too fast. She was going way too fast to put her foot down. Her ankle twisted. Pain shot up her leg. She jerked the bike hard the other way needing to get the weight off. Miraculously, she righted the bike and got it back on the pavement. Somebody upstairs was looking out for her. She never could ride a bike worth a damn. With both feet firmly on the foot pedals, she gunned it.
Chapter Twelve
“Sid, what’s going on? Why are you driving Chantel’s car?” Ed got close enough to see inside the windows. Everything looked in order.
“Hey, Ed.” He shrugged, not wanting to offend the man. The chief spoke very kindly of him. “Just following orders. You know the drill. Drive this here, drop this off there. I do what I’m told and don’t question the big guy.” He smiled, hoping that his unease didn’t show on his face. Ed gave him the willies.
“Need a ride?” Ed asked.
“No, thanks. I’ve got it handled.” Why would a special forces trained, tough as nails bastard like Ed be content to run Donley’s estat
e? Chantel had told him that Ed had been a part of the family since before she was born. Maybe Donley had saved his life or something and now he was repaying him. Whatever, it wasn’t his place to ask.
“Should I lock up? Will Donley be back soon?”
“You know the boss. He makes his own decisions. I don’t see any harm in locking up, though. Just in case.” Sid had no intentions of discussing the chief’s whereabouts with anyone, especially Ed.
* * * *
Chantel dropped the clutch, popped a wheelie going into second gear and scared herself half to death. Just up ahead, she saw a white van. Her heart thundered so loudly she couldn’t hear anything else. Was it the same van? She’d have to get closer and double check the plate. Should she wait for more traffic? Did she dare? How many white vans were there out in the middle of the forest? With her luck there was a white van convention caravanning through the state and she’d never find the right one.
Hugging the right line, she got as close as she dared. It was hard to see—no helmet, no eye protection, the wind making her eyes tear. Yeah, it was the right van. Teague was right there, on the other side of that door, bleeding and counting on her to help him. Please let her get this right.
She backed off, formulating a plan. She could track them to their destination. Probably get caught and most likely wherever they were taking him would have more bad guys and more weapons. Not a good plan. No one was on the freeway this early in the morning. Just a few truckers and early travelers. If she found a phone and called her dad, told him where they were and the license plate, they could surround the van, save Teague and catch the bastards that had hurt him. Her throat tightened just thinking about him.
