by KT Bryan
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
Dillon let her believe what she wanted. If she wanted to think he was a coward, fine. Great. Hell, maybe he was. But he was going to keep her safe even if it killed him. Her words had hit their mark, though, and he was madder than hell.
By the looks she was shooting him, so was she. Good. Fine. Jim fucking dandy. He’d make sure she was mad enough that she’d keep him as far away from her as possible. And he knew there was one sure way to kill her feelings for him--to get her to back off so that if they got out of this mess alive, she’d never speak to him again. He hated himself for it, but he had to do it before he could destroy her life, too.
He pulled her to him and kissed her. Soft, sweet kisses that eased her out of an anger she had every right to, kisses that made her want him so much that she temporarily forgave him. When she melted against him as though her anger never existed, he kissed her harder.
Her body arched, responsive, giving.
Heat raced through every cell in his body, exploding into something fierce, almost violent, burning. His body craved her, his soul worshipped her, yet his conscience raged at her to run, to get away before he destroyed everything good and decent about her.
Her breath came faster.
Crushing her against him, he kissed her harder still, plundering, demanding, as all his emotions spiraled into a frenzied, tormented vortex of need.
His heart told him to go slow, be gentle, but his mind knew better.
Hate me, Sara. By God, you need to hate me.
His stomach twisted as he backed her against the rough wall of the cave. His mind bellowed at the injustice. He bit her neck, softly, hotly, and kissed her again, kissed her until a ragged breath broke from his throat, his heart thundered and his body took control. He slid his hands down her sides, up, over her breasts, down again. Moved to the button fly of her fatigues, popped the buttons open one by one, quickly, before he could change his mind.
No mercy.
Her hands bunched in his shirt as he roughly shoved her pants down. His followed. When he lifted her up to straddle him, he wanted to scream at her to make him stop. He pressed her back against the cold stone wall, held her hips, her butt, and shoved into her. He wasn’t kind, or gentle or loving.
Hate me.
Forgive me.
As he pushed into her, she gasped at the shock and dug her fingers into his shoulder muscles. She rounded into him, tightened her legs around his waist, and when she moved, he clenched his teeth against the cruelty of what he was doing.
He shoved into her again, harder, deeper, angrier at himself than he’d been in a long damn time.
He steadied her against the wall just long enough to reach up, grab her collar and rip her shirt open. She jerked her head up and they locked gazes. What he saw nearly buckled his knees.
Her eyes shone with trust. Hope. A willingness to please, and God help him, none of those things were what he wanted.
He wanted to hurt her, but when she pressed the soft fullness of her breasts against him, he ignored the pain in his heart and moaned with heat and need, rocking into her harder, faster, deeper, taking them both to a place they didn’t belong.
Forcing control, he blocked his emotions. Locked them down. Let himself use her.
Hate me.
He drove into her coldly, with no emotion, no remorse, no feeling whatsoever.
She pressed her face into his neck, giving into the scathing rhythm and consuming, caustic friction of his thrusts. His blood pounded his fury, swelled his veins, burned his eyes and throat until finally he was so deep inside her, so consumed with need and anger, he came hard, hot, spilling into his wife with enough guilt to damn his soul.
Hate me.
I’m sorry.
He pulled away from her long before she’d had time to climax. Confusion played across her features, but he couldn’t, wouldn’t give her time to think, to feel or analyze. Instead he set her roughly away, buttoned his pants, and said, “Not bad. Maybe you’ll have another baby now, another one you can let Sanchez take.”
By God, Sara, hate me.
Sara rocked back on her heels. Stared at him a moment. Then she took a deep breath and instead of slapping him, instead of hating him, instead of roaring, or bellowing, or anything she should have done, she quietly said, “I forgive you.”
He grabbed her wrist and hauled her toward him, whispering close to her ear, “I don’t want your forgiveness.” He sure as hell didn’t deserve it.
He stepped away.
Self-contempt and shame weighed on his heart like a steel anchor, but dammit, she didn’t belong with him. Even if he managed to get them through this alive, he was going to wind up in prison.
He was angry at Sara because she was here and unsafe, angry at Sanchez, angry at his past. Most of all, he was angry because that contemptible fuck he’d just given her was going to be the last physical act between them. After a lifetime of tenderness and passion and love, that was the memory she was going to carry for the rest of her life.
So much for castles in the sand. Camelot and King Arthur just blew the fair maiden and her heart straight to hell.
He stomped over to the sleeping bags. His conscience was kicking him in the ass and he felt like a world-class prick. “We’ve got to get an early start in the morning.” He tossed a sleeping bag in her direction.
A vicious blast of thunder sounded in the shroud of silence and lightning flashed. His gaze flew to Sara. Still and silent, she was staring back at him with a bleak expression.
It was the most desolate look he had ever seen.
“Go to sleep,” he said flatly.
Anguish for them both ripped through his heart, and God help him, tears burned his eyes.
He fingered the ring he still kept in his pocket.
<><><>
Still in that dreamy half-sleep, Sara Jackson smiled, not quite ready to leave the best dream of her entire young life. Her hand moved under her pillow to grasp the candy cane she’d gotten earlier that day with her best friend Dani. Oh, what a wonderful day. A great day. The very best day ever. She loved Dani and she loved Dani’s parents. Dani’s house was so happy all the time. Her parents laughed and hugged and got all silly and they made Sara smile too and feel safe. So safe.
Moving her hand further along her bed sheets, she woke fully with a frown. Her candy cane wasn’t there.
Downstairs, she thought. Probably in the kitchen. Yeah, on the counter. She’d left it on the counter when she got a drink just before bedtime.
A pink, down comforter warmed her and reluctantly she slipped from beneath the covers and grabbed up her robe. She had to be extra quiet. No noise. No noise. Her daddy would wake up and then--
She hesitated. Pushed long, blonde curls away from her face. The clock on her dresser said it was almost midnight. Daddy would be asleep by now. She’d be okay. Daddy was busy, always busy, going to meetings, flying around the country, maybe even the world. Mrs. Johnson, the housekeeper, said he worked too hard, but Sara liked it best when he was gone. He didn’t hurt her when he was gone.
She pushed those thoughts away and instead remembered her day. It had been the best day of her whole life, ever. She’d gotten to go shopping at the big mall, Dani’s parents bought her a peppermint latte and that made her feel all grown up. They saw all the decorations, heard carols, and on the way home, Dani’s dad drove them through neighborhoods decorated in bright Christmas lights. For the wonder and magic of it all he’d said.
Sara stepped out onto the landing, then tip-toed across the thick carpet to the stairway. She glanced across the hall. Matt’s light was off, all was silent. No lights were on except the Christmas tree. She couldn’t see her daddy’s office from here, so she didn’t know if he was still up, but probably not. She’d make sure she was extra quiet just in case.
She smelled the big pine tree all covered in white and silver with blue flashing lights. Rich people, Mrs. Johnson said, never unplugged the lights, they kept them o
n all season so everyone could see just whose tree was best. Sara wasn’t allowed to touch, no grubby little fingers to muss it, Mrs. Johnson said.
The presents under the tree reminded her of her mom. Her mom had loved presents and shiny bows and bright paper. And she wished so hard that her mom was back from Heaven, but she couldn’t say it out loud because it made her dad really mad.
In the kitchen, she looked everywhere. Her candy cane wasn’t on the counter, although she thought she’d left it next to the fridge. Wasn’t on the center island or the—
“What are you doing up?” And there he was, her dad, looming in the dark, backlit by the giant Christmas tree.
She started and her tongue got tied up with her teeth. “I..I was just…” No, no, no. Daddy was supposed to be asleep. Her bladder almost failed and her knees went loose.
“Looking for this?” he asked, as the red and white candy dangled from his finger.
She nodded, sure she was going to wet on the floor. She squeezed her legs together.
“Well, come on then, come and get it.” He towered closer, in his green robe flowing over satin pajamas. Always shiny, always polished, always frightening.
She swallowed back dread, shrugged for bravery. “That’s okay. I…I can, I can get it tomorrow and put it on the tree or something.”
“Don’t you want it now?”
Dread filled her. His voice was too friendly, too easy, where it would normally have been filled with temper. “I wasn’t going to eat it,” she added in case he was trying to trick her.
“It’s okay. Here,” he said, holding it closer, “it’s the holidays. A treat.”
She thought of her day and the temptation was almost too great. But she didn’t want her daddy to get close. During the day it was all right, but not at nighttime. She hated him at nighttime.
“Come on, angel. If you don’t want to eat it, we’ll put it on the tree together.”
Maybe. Maybe he really was just being nice. Maybe he wasn’t going to hurt her. It was the holidays, after all. She started forward.
He took her hand in his and she felt a sense of warmth. The kind she used to feel when she was really little, in the olden days, before her mom died. She’d almost forgotten how soft her daddy’s hand could be.
Her dad handed her the candy cane and then swooped her high, so high she soared and thought she might somehow touch the ceiling and she reached for the tallest branch and with an elated smile, looped the candy over a limb.
“That’s my girl,” he said, with a smile to match her own, as he set her gently back on her feet. “Let’s sit together and watch the tree, then I’ll tuck you back into bed.”
Fear started its climb up her back, but her dad was being nice, not handsy or pushy or mean. He was being a real dad and she settled next to him on the plush white carpet by the couch.
“Sure is a pretty angel on our tree. Just like you’re my pretty angel.” He settled an arm around her and snuggled her close to his side. For the first time in a long time, she wasn’t afraid.
And then she was.
His hand streaked snake fast to cover her mouth. He lifted her onto his lap and snuck his other hand between her legs. “You’re not going to cry are you?” She shook her head. “That’s my good girl.”
“Please, don’t, daddy, please, I’ll be good, I’ll--”
Knuckles rapped hard against the front of her mouth, splitting her lip. “Shut up. If you cry and wake Matt up, I’ll hurt him. I’ll hurt him bad.” He shoved her down on the carpet, lifted her nightgown, knelt between her legs. “You just be quiet. Be good and be quiet.” He lowered his pajama bottoms. “What do I always say? Tell me.”
She shook her head no, and he slapped her.
“Tell me.”
“Be…be good or be dead.”
“That’s my girl. That’s my angel,” he murmured and with a hard shove of violence he ripped into her. Her eyes rolled back and she became small. He was erasing her, making her smaller and smaller until pretty soon she knew she wouldn’t even exist.
Be good or be dead. Be good or be dead.
The lights on the Christmas tree blinked white and blue, off and on, white and blue, cold and ice. Hands hard, mean, hurting, bruising. Breath, hot and evil in her face as he shoved into her harder and faster.
He stared at her, smiled, and after the real kindness of Dani’s parents, the shame of what he was doing to her made her crazed. With a fierce yell, she hit him. She hit him in the face with her small fist, and the shock of it made him stop, it made him stop for just a second, but that was enough. She hit him again and then she scratched and clawed, hoping he’d bleed, hoping he’d hurt as much as she did. When she bucked against him, he punched her face, and blood ran from her nose and she went wild then, bucking and biting and hitting.
“You stupid little bitch!” he roared as his hands circled her throat. “I ought to kill you!” His hands squeezed, tightened, until the blue and white flashing lights dimmed into tiny gray sparkles. Cold, cold sparkles.
Icy.
“Hey, Dad,” Matt said from a few feet away.
Her father went still. Raised himself up.
“Be good or be dead.” And Matt, holding a large black gun, lifted his hand and shot their father right in the head.
<><><>
SUNDAY
Dillon woke drenched in sweat and bolted upright searching for Sara. Looking through the darkness, when his eyes finally focused, he saw that she was across the cave sound asleep and perfectly safe. With a deep sigh of relief, he lay back down, taking a couple of minutes to bring his heart rate to normal.
Seconds later, the alarm on his watch beeped. Six a.m. They had twelve hours left to find Sanchez.
With the ever-present frustration and worry eating a hole in his gut, he got up, dressed, and made some fresh coffee.
They’d be covering rougher terrain today, more jungle than forest, and the way he saw it, he had two options. One would be to leave Sara here in the cave with a gun and some supplies. The other was to keep her with him and make damn sure she stayed out of harm’s way.
The first choice won hands down.
Except for two small things. The first time a mountain lion or jaguar came sniffing around, she’d probably panic and shoot herself in the foot. The second was that she’d never find her way out of here if he got himself killed. Never mind the fact that if he was dead, Sanchez’s men would come looking for her. And they wouldn’t stop until they found her.
That put him crash landing back to square one.
She had to go with him.
<><><>
Sara woke to the alluring smell of coffee and an ache between her thighs.
Dillon handed her a cup without meeting her gaze. She accepted it with shaking hands, then damn near slapped it back in his face.
Last night he’d hurt her on purpose. She’d let down her barriers and he’d trampled them into dust. Not in a million years would she have thought he could be so deliberately cruel.
Since he apparently wanted distance, she would show him just how cold she could be. Though she didn’t completely understand his motives, she wasn’t stupid. She’d gotten his point last night loud and clear.
Sanchez had Ellie and Dillon blamed her.
She sipped her coffee in silence, blithely ignoring him when he looked at her as though he expected her to say something.
He uttered a single word that was short and to the point.
She silently echoed the sentiment.
“Breakfast is ready,” he bit out. Then, “Check your boots before you put them on.”
The command was given without a second glance her way. As Dillon finished dishing up breakfast, she eyed her boots wondering what he’d do if she threw one at him.
She grabbed her boots, shook each one upside down, hoping nothing creepy had crawled in during the night, then put them on, laced them up, and stomped over to the fire.
Breakfast consisted of oatmeal and dried fruit. It
wasn’t half-bad, the coffee was better than decent and she felt her temper rise. Dillon always did make really good coffee, even apparently, in the middle of nowhere.
How nice for him.
And how nice it would have been for her if the man she was having breakfast with hadn’t become such a complete prick.
He handed her his empty plate.
Fuming, she snatched it from him and started toward the small pond in the back of the cave to wash up.
“Let’s make it snappy, we need to get moving.”
Snappy? Sara whirled, opened her mouth, then clapped it shut. Her eyes narrowed and her fingers clenched around the metal dish.
“The guppy look is cute, Sara, but if you bean me with that plate, you’re going to stay here with the bats.”
“Considering the company, it might just be worth it.”
He made a point of looking at his watch. “You’ve got five minutes.”
Minutes later she returned and they silently packed up the last of the supplies, Dillon strapped on his gun, checked his ammo, and zipped up his duffel bag.
“Business as usual, right, Dillon? Sure you don’t wanna fuck first?” When he froze, she added, “You’re no better than my father.”
He stood, straightening slowly, and for a heart stopping moment she saw all of her emotions reflected in his eyes. Without a word, he turned away, once again sending his emotions underground, into hiding where they were safe.
But she’d seen them. The regret, fear, worry, and tenderness were all there.
So, she thought, last night had cost him.
And then her next thought--Dillon actually wanted her to hate him.
But why? Why really?
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
Journal Entry
The details are hazy, but the sound of the bomb still echoes in my ears, the smell of dirt and dust and burning debris still linger.
Just minutes before, I’d gotten a smile and a wave, unwitting and innocent. I remember people, just regular people going about their day, working, shopping, hurrying from here to there, living life as they knew it.
I did not feel a tremble, or even a slight rumble. No, what I did feel was a monstrous blast that blew from inside the car like the hand of God, shaking the earth, shredding the car into a million tiny pieces. Blowing Adoña and Dreena to mist.
