by Jasmin Quinn
He was brutish and barely civilized, for sure. But tired as she was, her legally-trained mind was working in overdrive. And it was telling her that he was telling the truth about his situation. Why? Because she was a liability and if he wasn’t who he said he was, she’d be dead right now. He didn’t need a hostage and he didn’t need dead weight. He’d have a two-day head start before anyone would notice her missing and come looking.
And he didn’t really hurt her or take advantage of her vulnerability. He was clearly aroused by her. The way he looked at her, the way he’d touched her last night. He could have easily raped her when he tied her to the bed. But he didn’t. She knew he was thinking about it, maybe not rape, but trying to seduce her. Of course, if he had tried to make a move, it would have completely freaked her out. So, his walking away was a calculated decision and it told her a little bit about who he really was.
Her mind drifted then, away from her current predicament to remembering his naked body in the shower. She wished she hadn’t been so terrified – it would have been nice to savour the moment just a little bit. He was tall, 6’2” at least, and holy god was he strong. If in his weakened state, he’d tossed her around like she was a feather pillow, what would he be like at full strength?
She closed her eyes remembering the shower, her hand running the soap across his broad hard chest, the way his biceps and the muscles in his shoulders bulged as he leaned his hands against the shower wall and let the water stream down his back. And speaking of bulges, he was no shrinking violet. She tried to remember what you called a man that had a larger than average penis – oh yes, hung. He was hung!
Her nipples hardened as she started to tingle, a warmth in her belly spreading down to her pussy. She could feel herself getting wet. Good grief, she thought, I’m getting turned on by a cave man. She tried to stem the flood of lustful thoughts by turning her attention back to the night before. To the parts that weren’t so nice, like when he pushed on her chest so hard she had trouble breathing, when he bruised her wrists as he gripped them, when he roughly threw her to her knees in the bedroom. Yes, he was hurt and afraid, but he could have handled her differently, more gently. He could have asked her to help him instead of forcing her to. He could have explained what he needed and why without dropping his pants and shoving her into the shower with him. He was by all accounts a bastard, even if he was a cop, and didn’t kill her and was super-hot.
Kelsie lay quietly for a few more minutes willing Dean to wake up. His back was to her, exposed as the bed covers tangled around his waist and his legs. He had a strong back, a tattoo of a dagger on one shoulder, some light scars down his back that made her curious. No sign of fat anywhere. How does someone get that buff? He didn’t really seem like the type of guy who frequented the Y.
She didn’t want to have to face him so early in the morning, and without coffee, but her arms ached, her hands were numb, and she had to pee. “Dean,” she called softly, “Dean, are you awake?” When that didn’t elicit a response, she said his name louder and shook the bed by bouncing her backside on the mattress a couple of times. This was met with a gentle snore. No choice, she thought, she was going to have to touch him. She inched her leg closer to his under the covers. She hesitated, gathering her courage and then, “Dean. Wake up,” as she ran her toes gently down his strong calf muscle.
He mumbled a little and shifted onto his back, flinging one arm up and across his face. But his breathing was still deep, his eyes firmly closed. Kelsie was losing patience. “Dean!” she said again, more loudly as she shoved at his calf with her foot. The instant her foot connected with his leg, his eyes flew open and he tackled her, throwing himself forcefully on her. She felt his full weight driving her body into the mattress; her breath whooshed out and her arms felt like they were being pulled from their sockets.
She could see that Dean was in a fog as he opened his eyes; they were cloudy and unfocused, his lips twisted in an angry snarl. He was definitely not here with Kelsie, maybe back in the Russians’ basement being kicked to death. Wherever he was, in that moment, he needed to defend himself.
Then he grimaced in pain and clutched at his side as Kelsie tried to snap him out of his stupor, her voice urgent, “Dean, get off! You’re hurting me!” He looked down then. He had his full weight on top of her, pinning her down, his left hand tightly gripping her neck. “Dean, please!” she cried out. She was fearful that he would snap her neck or choke her to death.
“Fuck,” he groaned shifting his weight slightly, but not moving off her. Instead, he stared into her eyes, his face shifting from pure rage to confusion to wonder. He loosened his grip on her neck and brought his free hand up to her face, then to her hair, tangling his fingers through the long strands. He was still breathing hard, but had clearly crossed the line between anger and passion.
His erection pressed against her thigh as he closed his eyes and lowered his lips to hers, kissing them softly at first, then a little more urgently, forcing her mouth open, sliding his tongue in. She could feel herself responding, could feel her pussy throbbing, wetness pooling on her thighs. But she also couldn’t breathe, and her arms were being painfully stretched. She was not sure she would survive his “lovemaking.” And he was still in a fog, a woman in his bed and why not fuck her? But Kelsie didn’t want to be taken this way.
She moved her head to the side when he came up for air. “Please get off me,” she implored with as much courage as she could muster.
Dean snapped his head up and looked at her, his eyes clear and aware. “What the fuck!” He hesitated, then rolled off her, onto his back. Kelsie lay unmoving disconcerted by his indecision, knowing for a fraction of a minute he thought of taking her, whether she consented or not. She drew deep breaths of air into her lungs, doing a mental assessment of her ribs and her arm sockets. She would be sore and bruised, she concluded, but nothing broken.
“I was trying to wake you up.” She wanted to add ‘you Neanderthal’ but wisely kept the thought to herself.
“Well you succeeded! Maybe you could be a little more subtle next time,” he growled.
So many things she wanted to say to him – like, maybe you could not attack me before ascertaining whether I am a mean Russian thug or a helpless tied up woman; and also, what ‘next time’ and also, is the word ‘sorry’ not in your vocabulary? But instead, she said, “My arms are aching and my hands are numb. I need you to untie me.” Then as an afterthought, she added, “please.”
Chapter Eight
Dean eased himself into a sitting position, leaned against the bed frame and looked down at her. The covers were everywhere and not where they needed to be as her succulent breasts were exposed to the cool air and her nipples were hard and beckoning. If only he could wake up to that sight every morning for the rest of his life, he mused as he felt blood flooding his cock. His erection was never going to go away.
He took a deep breath to settle himself down and then reached over to pull the covers up over her chest. He swung his feet to the floor, swayed a bit as he got up, grabbed at his side and sat back down to clear his head. He grunted and then got to his feet again, steadier this time, and walked out of the bedroom. “Where are you going?” Kelsie called after him, panic clear in her tone.
“Just wait,” Dean tossed over his shoulder as he walked through the house to the laundry room. He pulled the load of clothes out of the dryer and dropped it on the sofa in the living room. He picked up his jeans and looked at them. They were stained but it wasn’t obvious that it was blood. They would do until he could pick up some new clothes. He slid them on over his clean but also bloodstained underwear, leaving them unbuttoned so they didn’t pull at the gash in his side. He didn’t bother with his shirt yet. Kelsie was going to have to change his dressing anyway.
He walked back into the bedroom and sat down on the bed beside Kelsie, assessing her. She looked tired, dark circles under her eyes, her face pale and strained. Fuck, he truly was a bastard, he thought. He did this to her and i
t wasn’t over. He debated for a moment of untying her and leaving – but he let that thought go. He hated to admit it, but he needed her – he couldn’t do this alone. Not in the state he was in. No weapon, no money, no identification, not even the fake kind. And he was still tired and groggy and in a lot of pain. He wouldn’t get far if he walked away, because the minute he walked out her door, she would call the cops.
He reached up to untie her hands. She flinched involuntarily – he deserved that. He’d never been a gentle soul, couldn’t handle games and bullshit; had little patience for social niceties and small talk. Was definitely not the life of the party. And as far as relationships went, he was a love ‘em and leave ‘em kind of guy. Women were for fucking, having a little fun, but the minute it went beyond that, they start wanting things. Things he couldn’t or wouldn’t give.
He worked at the knots – damn, they were tight. This woman, Kelsie, was different though. Being trained as he was meant he noticed things others might not – like the complete absence of framed photos in her house. Not a single one – no siblings, no parents, no adorable nieces or nephews, no significant other, not even a fucking cat. For a woman, Kelsie’s home was oddly sterile. Not many trinkets, no plants except for the fake silk ivy in her office. A few pieces of furniture, a couch, a television, a kitchen table. Utilitarian, not decorative. A few prints and paintings on the walls, but no theme – nothing that made sense. Even her bedroom lacked personality – the furniture dark and somewhat masculine, the brass bed frame not matching the rest of the suite. This was her house, he thought, but definitely not her home.
Chapter Nine
The knot gave way and the sash fell loose. Kelsie groaned in relief as she brought her arms down and let her hands drop onto her stomach. She wiggled her stiff fingers and felt a painful prickling in her hands as the blood started flowing again. Her shoulders were stiff and sore as she struggled to sit up, modestly holding the covers over her chest, and leaning her back against the headboard. It was foolish for him to do this to her, she thought as she rubbed at her wrists. Here he was, beaten and gunshot and in no shape to defend them should the need arise. And he was throwing her around, tying her up heedless of the damage it was dong to her. One of them had to be not completely helpless to deal with whatever was coming next.
“You okay?” he asked as though he thought that maybe this was the appropriate thing a man said to a woman after he tied her to her bed frame and left her there all night.
Kelsie nodded. “Yes.” She appreciated that he had put on his jeans and wasn’t wandering the house naked anymore. But she didn’t want to prolong this conversation. “Can I have a little privacy? I need to go to the bathroom and I would really like to get dressed.”
He considered her thoughtfully. She could tell he was deciding how to deal with her request. Then he seemed to make up his mind as he nodded. “Go use the bathroom. Get dressed. Jeans and a shirt with long sleeves.” Her eyes followed his as he looked down at her wrists and touched one gently. “They’re bruised.” Kelsie tried not to flinch. He smiled regretfully. “We match now.”
“Are we leaving?” she asked, not responding to his attempt at conciliation. She knew that she was going with him, that this would be nonnegotiable. She came to that realization in the night when she understood he wasn’t going to kill her. He couldn’t leave and let her stay here, wouldn’t trust her not to call the police. And if she were honest with herself, even if she promised she wouldn’t call anyone, she doubted she would keep the promise. So, she knew now that he was on the run, and she was running with him.
Dean nodded. “Kelsie, I have to take you with me. I can’t leave you here to call the cops or anyone else. I’ve dragged you into this mess and I’ve put your life in danger. I don’t know who to trust and I’m the fucking cop. If the Russians find out that you’ve been hanging out with me, they’ll come calling to find out exactly what you know. And they won’t ask nicely.”
Kelsie inhaled deeply. “I think you are a lunatic, but I also think you’re telling me the truth. I am willing to help you sort this… situation out so we can both get our lives back. So,” she shrugged, her fingers nervously plucking at the blanket, “I promise, I’m with you, no fuss, no resistance. But you have to start treating me better. No more throwing me around, pulling my hair, forcing me into the shower with you or tying me up.”
Kelsie watched Dean’s face as she spoke. She didn’t fully trust him, but that was fair, she could see he clearly didn’t trust her either. She could tell he was mulling this over in his head, questioning if her little “good girl” speech was just a line. Wondering if she wasn’t just biding her time until she found the opportunity to run from him. Finally, he nodded. “Don’t test me, Kelsie. If you behave yourself, we’ll get along fine; if you don’t…” He let the sentence dangle, making no promises about anything.
He got up and entered her walk-in closet, disappearing for a minute, then he threw a housecoat out at her. “Put this on and let me know when you’ve had your pee.”
Kelsey caught the housecoat and watched him stride out of the bedroom, leaving the door open. She sat under the blankets for a minute trying to think everything through. She could help Dean, she reasoned. She was reasonably intelligent, not bad at strategy, had a handle on the big picture. She wondered if he’d let her in though – he seemed guarded and mistrustful by nature. And he was too controlling for her liking, telling her what to do, using his strength to speak for him. She wondered if that was a by-product of the work he did, the life he led – where weakness might get you killed. She sighed as she slipped out of the bed, pulling the housecoat around her. They were nothing alike.
As Kelsie stepped into the bathroom, she was thankful for the little alone time. She knew Dean would be impatient, so she didn’t waste any time. She didn’t want him breaking the door down while she was in the middle of doing her business. She used the toilet, washed her hands, and then her face before brushing her teeth and her hair. Her hair was knotted from sleeping on it wet and she had to wrestle the tangles out with her hair brush. Once done, she unlocked the bathroom door and cautiously peeked it out to see if Dean was waiting for her. He was nowhere to be seen, so she slipped out of the bathroom and entered her walk-in closet.
As Kelsie stood in her closet, fingering the soft cashmere on a favourite sweater, Dean walked in, startling her. “Aren’t you dressed yet?” he grunted jostling her hair with his arm as he reached up over her head and pulled a couple of small suitcases from a shelf. Kelsie followed him as he carried them out of the closet and tossed the larger of the two bags on the bed. “Pack it with your things, like you’re going on a vacation to Long Beach for a few days.” He motioned for her to follow him into the bathroom where he got her to change the dressing on his wound. Then he gathered up the first aid supplies and dropped them into the second smaller suitcase along with the bourbon, the Tylenol, the nightgown she had been wearing last night and one of the towels that was bloodstained.
Dean had her fold up the rest of the newly washed towels and put them back in the linen closet. “Clean up in here exactly as you would on any other day. Make the bed, wipe the bathroom down. Whatever you need to do. Then get your bag packed.” He walked out of the bedroom with his bag and the empty water glass leaving her alone, expecting her to do his bidding. Her eyes followed his retreat. He was terse when he spoke to her and clearly uncomfortable with leaving her alone, even in her bedroom where there was only one exit and he would easily be able to stop her if she tried to escape. He was not a man that trusted easily, so she understood that she would have to prove her loyalty. And it would be interesting if the opportunity to get away from him presented itself, because she wasn’t sure herself where her loyalty lay.
After she finished dressing and packing, she handed her suitcase off to Dean and did a walk-through of the house at his request. Everything looked exactly as it always did – even the kitchen was tidied up, the lamp plugged back in, no traces of blood anywhere.
“It looks like this never happened.” She glanced over at Dean who was watching her with mild curiosity. “Except for the wine,” she said as she stepped into the living room and noticed her empty wine rack. “Where’s my wine?”
“In the suitcase with my bourbon,” Dean grinned. “I thought we might need a drink later.”
Chapter Ten
Kelsie backed her SUV out of the garage and down her driveway. She closed the garage door with the remote control as she pulled into the street. Dean was in the backseat crouched down to make it appear that Kelsie was alone in the vehicle. He didn’t think the Russians would still be in the neighbourhood, but he didn’t want to chance it. He stayed down for several blocks, until he felt they were fully in the clear, then sat up.
“Where to first?” Kelsie asked, taking random turns, concentrating on her driving.
“I could use a coffee and some food,” Dean replied trying to remember the last time he ate. “There’s a Tim Horton’s around the corner there.” He knew his way around this area. Kelsie nodded. Her usual haunt. “Use the drive-thru,” Dean instructed. “I’m still pretty banged up so the fewer people that see us together in this neighbourhood the better. For some reason, black eyes and bruises seem to stick in one’s memory.”
Kelsie deftly pulled into the Tim’s parking lot and joined the drive-thru queue. “What do you want?” she asked reaching for her purse.
Dean shoved a $20 at her from the back seat. “I took all your cash.”
“What?” Kelsie stuttered looking over her shoulder at Dean in confusion.
