“Wow.” Jackson slid his hands under my shirt and pulled it over my head. “That’s an interesting trick.” He flicked open the clasp of my bra with one hand, and his warm palms covered my breasts. I arched my back. “I can’t feel what you want,” he said, running his fingers featherlight over my inner thigh. “You have to tell me.”
“You know what I want.”
He sat up and pulled me down onto my back, ranging himself over me and bracketing my face in both hands. “Tell me anyway.” He stroked my cheeks with gentle fingers. “Tell me.” He unhooked the button of my jeans and undid the zipper. Just the sound of it made me moan with anticipation, and when he pulled them off completely, I thought I’d come right then. If he touched me, I’d have no hope. “Tell me.”
“Touch me,” I said, “please...”
“Where? Tell me where.”
I grabbed his hand and pulled it between my legs, and he obliged, sliding two fingers to my center.
“Is this right?” His voice was dark and demanding, but he was brushing me with delicate strokes, making me shudder.
“Lower,” I gasped, panting, barely able to form words.
He slipped his fingers into the slick heat of my cleft, and I came in a broken, desperate sob.
I was embarrassed by my hair-trigger response, but Jackson smiled.
“Wow,” he said, looking down at me with a grin. “Let’s do that again.” He scootched down and dipped his head, and I raced my hands into his hair to hold him back.
“Jackson...”
He stilled. “You want me to stop?”
“No, I just want you to have a turn.”
“Oh, I will,” he said, and slowly, surely, he brought me over again.
We made it to the bedroom at some point. I managed to get his clothes off, managed to take the hard length of him into my body. I was too overstimulated for a third orgasm, but the intimate rub of him and the tensing of his muscles as he came, the feel of his teeth at my neck and the shuddering groan he made with his release—it was a different kind of satisfaction. We drifted off naked, sweating, sated.
It was late afternoon when we woke up.
“This is some bedroom,” I said as we lazed in bed.
“Thanks.”
I flipped onto my back and stared up at the ceiling, which had exposed beams made of some sort of blond wood. The late-day sun was pouring golden through the windows, which I now saw overlooked the lake. When I shifted position, Jackson let his hand rest warm on my belly.
“I wanted to catch the light.”
I sat up a little. “You designed it?”
He blushed. It was adorable.
“You did! Why didn’t you tell me?”
“It was a long time ago.”
“It’s beautiful.” I nestled more firmly against his chest and wrapped my arm around his shoulders, feeling the raised numbers on his shoulder blade. “What are these?” I ran my fingers over them. “I’ve been wanting to ask.”
“The date my brother died.” He shifted under my hands, muscles rippling. I propped myself up on my elbow, and he scooted into the hollow made by my body.
“When did you get it done?”
“A year after. I burned them in.”
“Using your powers?”
Jackson nodded. I thought about the level of control that must have taken, how much time. Jackson turned so he could see me. “I should have been there with him.”
“You don’t know that you could’ve stopped it.”
“I don’t know that I couldn’t have, either. And at least he wouldn’t have had to die alone.”
“You loved him. Your father and your mother loved him. He didn’t die alone.” I settled my hand over his biceps, and he pulled his arm in so he could kiss my knuckles.
The doorbell rang, and Jackson’s brow furrowed.
“Right,” he said, his expression clearing. “Grocery delivery.”
“I’m not getting up.” I plumped up my pillow and wrapped myself in the covers like a burrito.
Jackson nipped the nape of my neck. “Lazy lazy lazy.” He hopped up and pulled on boxers. “If I get this, you have to make dinner.”
“Ooh, deal. Prepare to be amazed.”
He smiled at me and pulled on a T-shirt. I gave a contented sigh and burrowed into the covers. I wondered what the thread count was on the sheets and decided I was better off not knowing. Downstairs, I heard the door open and shut and figured I’d better go and see what I was going to have to work with.
I had no clean clothes, so I made do with one of Jackson’s discarded button-ups. It was like wearing a tent. I frowned into the huge floor-length mirror next to the bathroom door.
“Jackson,” I yelled, “do you have anything that might fit me in this mansion you call a cabin?”
He didn’t answer.
“Hey! Can you hear me?”
There was a loud thump from downstairs.
“Jackson?”
No answer. I gripped the front of the blue-and-purple-striped shirt. “Hello?”
Floorboards creaked. Just the grocery guy. It’s just the grocery guy. Jackson went out to help with the bags. I pulled on my dirty jeans and forced myself to go to the top of the stairs. All I could see in the foyer was the light coming through the skylight.
“Hello?” I said again, but it was barely a whisper this time. The sheer size of the house was terrifying me. So many places someone could hide. I took a step down the stairs, then another, until I could see into the grand designer living room. Jackson’s arm was lying flat out on the geometric pattern rug.
I ran down the stairs. “Jackson!” He was out cold with his face on the rug. Everything I’d ever heard about not disturbing unconscious people flew out of my head. I rolled him over to his back, my hands shaking, my vision condensed to his face. I shook him. Nothing happened.
“Oh, God.” I dug frantically in his pockets for his phone and swiped it on. It was locked. How did you make an emergency call on this thing? I looked wildly around, as though someone would tell me.
Paulie was standing in the entry doorway.
I wasn’t thinking about why he was there. “Paulie! I need to use your phone. Jackson...Jackson...”
“He’ll be all right,” Paulie said. He was oddly calm.
“We need to call an ambulance. We need to call 9-1-1. Where’s your phone?” I kept pressing random spots on Jackson’s phone’s touchscreen. I didn’t know the code.
“It’s going to be all right, Mina,” he said, and it finally registered through the panic that he shouldn’t be here. That something was wrong. I stood up carefully and took a step backward.
“What are you doing here?” My voice was careful.
“Don’t worry.” He pulled a tranq gun dart out of his pocket. Before I could react, he jammed the needle into the side of my neck and I crumpled like a paper doll.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
I came to feeling cold. My cheek was pressed to something smooth, hard and freezing. I tried to shift and found I couldn’t. I tugged my arms experimentally. They were handcuffed behind my back.
Fuck.
I wrenched myself into a seated position, pulling a muscle in my neck in the process. My feet were bound at the ankles. Nothing seemed to be broken, but my head felt vague, and the memory came back to me all at once. Jackson. Paulie in the cabin. The dart.
I scuttled backward until I felt metal at my back. Shelves. I was in a garage.
The automatic door was in front of me. The shelves had been emptied, and when I tried to make my way toward a set of prefab cabinets along the other wall, I found out my ankles had been tied to the shelf behind me. He’d left a fleece blanket, an energy bar and a bottle of water on the bottommost shelf.
&nbs
p; A door clicked open somewhere to the right, past where I could see from my position. I heard feet on stairs and the click of a light switch. Fluorescent lights flickered on a few moments later.
I blinked against the light. Paulie walked into view.
“You’re awake,” he said. “I didn’t know how long it would last.”
“Paulie, what are you doing? Why am I tied up?”
He walked forward but stopped several feet away from me—the length of the rope that bound me to the shelving unit. “I’m sorry about knocking you out. I didn’t have a choice. I didn’t think you’d come with me if I tried to explain.”
“Explain what?” I stayed as far back as I could.
“I can’t let you stay with Jackson. When you couldn’t ground me, I knew Jackson was trying to keep you for himself.”
“Paulie, it’s not like that. He doesn’t want to be grounded. No one does.”
“I do. I need it, Mina.” He walked around the perimeter of the garage, just out of my reach. “I have to protect you, from Jackson and Simon. They’re just using you. I shouldn’t have paid those guys to kidnap you—I know that now. It only scared you. I’m sorry. But it’s going to be okay.”
The knowledge that Paulie, not Simon, had sent kidnappers after me hit me like a freight train. I would never have dreamed it was possible. But looking back on my encounters with Paulie, on the increasing desperation he’d had, I realized I should have been more wary of him. He’d been growing less stable by the day. I just couldn’t see it. Any hope I’d held on to that this could all be resolved with a sensible discussion about learning to manage your powers evaporated.
“Look,” I said, “we can work something out. I can drain you once a week—three times a week. We’ll make out a schedule, okay? And I’ll stick to it. Everything will be fine.” Any lie that got me out of here. Any lie that got me back to Jackson.
Paulie laughed. I forced myself not to wince. “Mina, I know about you and Jackson. I know he won’t be able to keep his hands off of you.” He came a little closer. “I can tell how you feel about each other. I can feel it.”
The memory of Jackson on the floor of the cabin came over me like wildfire through a hayfield. “Paulie,” I said, keeping my voice calm, “where is Jackson? Did you—” I couldn’t finish the sentence. But Paulie was an empath.
“He’s not dead.” As though he was telling me he was out of cornflakes. “But don’t you see? You’ll be safe here. I’ll feed you and keep you away from them, and you can ground me every day.” The bliss that came over his face with that last sentence scared me more than anything he’d said yet.
I pulled on the ropes.
“Stop it, Mina.” He picked up something shiny and metallic. “I can’t be sure you won’t break out.”
I stilled. It was a tranquilizer gun like the one Jackson had given me.
“Where are we, Paulie?” I had to keep him talking. It was too late to wish I’d cut him off when I had the chance, but maybe it wasn’t too late to get out of this. Get him to relax, get him to untie me. Maybe there was some hope.
“Somewhere safe,” was all he said, then, “Wait here,” as if I could go anywhere. He turned and trotted up the concrete steps at the far end of the room.
I used his absence as a chance to start working on the ropes. Feet first. I had to be able to run. I couldn’t quite get my fingers down to where my ankles were tied. Luckily, Paulie hadn’t thought to bind my knees. I grabbed the shelving behind me, took a deep breath, and wrenched. The rope didn’t give way, but the knot tightened and the fibers stretched. It was looser. I pulled again, and felt the skin around my ankles tear, even through the socks. Blood soaked into the fabric. I pulled again, ignoring the pain, but it was no good, and Paulie came back in with an enormous—body-sized, I noticed—duffel bag. I had to stop.
“I brought you some things,” he said, setting the bag down. “I want you to be comfortable.”
He unpacked the bag. It looked as though he’d gone through my apartment and picked up everything I hadn’t taken to Jackson’s. Shirts, socks and jeans were jumbled together. He’d even brought my pillow. I wondered if it still smelled of Jackson and had to control the sob that caught in my throat when I remembered his motionless body on the rug. Paulie felt it.
He gave a little whimper and put his hands over his ears. “Don’t get upset,” he said. “I can’t stand it when you’re upset.”
“Okay,” I said, ruthlessly fighting down all thoughts of Jackson lying on the floor in the cabin. “I’m not upset.” I choked on the words. “I’m a little bit cold, though. Maybe you could give me one of those sweaters?”
Paulie looked doubtful.
“You don’t want me to be cold, right?” No way was I sitting here waiting for someone to notice I was missing. Paulie was getting more unstable by the minute—I doubted his sanity would last another twenty-four hours.
“Which one?” he said, and I wrestled with my triumph.
“The blue one. That’s my favorite.” It wasn’t. So much the better.
He fished my too-tight, too-short blue sweater out of the pile. I held my breath, waiting, while he came closer. Just a few more steps, just a few more...
He stepped into my range, and I released the dam I’d put on my emotions. I had plenty to work with.
The fear that pounded in my chest when I’d been mugged. The gun in Charlie’s hand, as impossible to escape as a black hole. The terror of being buried under a fishing shack all those months ago, the press of the mud on my chest, the scuttle of insects over my skin, the total blackness. Those memories were still as fresh as my dreams, and I reveled in them, calling back every sickening feeling, every panic attack and flashback. Then, I focused on the raw memory of Jackson lying like death on the floor.
I was in love with him—I knew it now the way I knew I needed air, the way I knew the balance of my body and the tone of my own voice. He had become a part of me, and living without him would be a hollow substitute for the life I wanted. Imagining losing him—his bravery, his shy creativity, his strength—was enough to overwhelm every scrap of hope and calm I had.
Despair, terror and panic flooded me. It was an unholy trinity of negative emotion. Paulie went still. He didn’t make a sound at first, but his eyes went vacant, and he started rocking back and forth, the sweater twisting in his white-knuckled hands.
“Noooo...” he said.
I didn’t let up. I had plenty of material. Paulie’s moan morphed into an awful wailing shriek, and I was glad I couldn’t feel the mental backlash of what he was going through. He hit his knees.
I crawled toward him. Handcuff keys. He had to have handcuff keys. I went through his pockets while he moaned, too overcome to stop me. I found them, two tiny silver keys on a cheap metal key ring, and relief flooded me.
That was my mistake.
As the negativity I’d been channeling washed away, Paulie recovered.
“No!” He slapped at my hand and then tumbled into me, sending the keys skidding across the concrete. “You can’t leave, Mina. You can’t.” He pinned me with his knees and forearms. I thrashed, but he was stronger than he looked, and the contact was draining his empathy, lessening my influence. His eyes went terrifyingly clear. “I’m sorry, Mina.” He brought up the tranq gun and pressed it to the side of my neck. “I can’t let you leave.”
Terror washed through me. The gun wasn’t meant to be used at point-blank range. He was going to slit my throat when he fired it.
“No, Paulie, please, I won’t fight you—” Panic was taking hold of me. Then his neck split open.
It took a moment to register. The blood seemed at first like ink, like a stain. Then it started to gush. It couldn’t be pouring from him like that, like a faucet in time with his heartbeat. Paulie made a horrible gurgling sound, and blood surged from th
e wound. He slumped forward with a hand over the slash, as though he was trying to hold the blood in his body, and fell onto my chest.
Horrified, I bucked and slid him to the floor, shrieking.
“Wouldn’t...hurt her...” Paulie said. His eyes were glazed. His shirt was soaked red.
My own shirt—Jackson’s shirt—was covered with blood as well. I was afraid to look up, but I did anyway.
“Mina.” It was Simon. I tried to scoot backward, but my hands landed in the warm pool of Paulie’s blood, and I flinched away. His body was still, and I had to work to control a fresh round of screams. “I’m afraid you’re just too valuable for Paulie to keep you all to himself.”
I wasn’t exactly surprised to see Simon. Dismayed, yes. But not surprised. What did surprise me was watching Bridget walk in right after him and clap her hands over her mouth.
“Oh! Mina! Mina, are you okay?”
“Bridget?” I stared. Had she been involved the whole time? I couldn’t believe it.
“Simon said...he said...” She looked around uncertainly. Then she saw Paulie’s body on the floor. It took her another three heartbeats to notice the blood. Any doubts I had about her not being involved ended when she started shrieking.
“Shut up,” Simon said, and backhanded her across the cheek. It worked. She went silent in shock. She stared at me, then at Paulie’s body, and started whimpering. Simon rolled his eyes and took out a gun—a real one, this time. He pointed it at her head.
“Get up,” he said to me.
I struggled to my feet, wobbling on bound ankles.
“Walk,” he said to Bridget. “Now.” He pressed the gun harder into her temple.
She took shaky steps toward me.
“Touch her,” Simon said. “Go on.”
I didn’t have much grounding potential left, but Simon didn’t know that. Bridget wasn’t a telepath. There was no way to tell her. I met her eyes and prayed she’d understand.
“Do it,” Simon said. Bridget didn’t move. “Go on, Bridge. I don’t want to have to kill you. I always liked your father.”
Broken Shadows Page 28
