Page 10

Chapter Nine

Lu

By the time we pull up to the house, the same one Python took me to the first night, I’ve managed to turn off my emotions. I didn’t see Jeff’s truck again and hope is far worse than acceptance, so I admit I probably didn’t see it the first time. Whatever happens to me is fine. Death will be a reprieve from all this shit anyway, right? Better still, if I’m dead they can’t use Jeff as leverage, they may still hurt him but they won’t torture and kill him to make me talk, and hopefully they’ll never find Gage, either.

So then, that’s my plan. Simply push them until they decide I’m more trouble than I’m worth. I just hope they do it quickly.

I glance up and down Grover Avenue as Slash yanks me from the car. Every house has its blinds shut, the bluish flickering glow of televisions peeking through the cracks.

“Why are we here?” I stumble with the force of his shove toward the house bathed in yellow from the light at the side door. The dude from the back seat climbs into the front and the car pulls away from the curb, leaving me alone with Slash. “What’s wrong with our usual exchange place? Couldn’t we meet there?”

Slash only shoots me an impatient look as if I have no right to question him or anyone else from Satan’s Ransom.

“Let’s go.” His voice is barely above a growl and he grabs my arm, giving me another shove toward the side entrance.

Python opens the door, looks around, and nods us in. “Preach is in the back.”

I try to find Python’s eyes, but he avoids my searching look and doesn’t follow us back into the living room. I don’t know why, maybe because he’s always been the most decent of the three, but him not following increases my fear.

I plop down in the same spot as I did the first time I was here and open my purse to pull out the bills I’d stashed there. It’s a wad of twenties, several fifties, and hundreds. As I count out the bills, I wonder, as I often do, how much money the drugs I dumped actually cost. I’ve asked before but I never get an answer. Python only says Preacher will tell me when my due is up.

But even with that response, I’ve kept track. I pull out a little black notebook and write the number in. I’ll add it up later, but for now the number is written in black ink.

“It’s shy two hundred because I reached my withdrawal limit today and our meeting wasn’t supposed to be until tomorrow.”

Slash ignores me, throws himself into a chair, hunching down, and pulls out his cell phone.

“So, uh, can we get this done or what?” I wave the bills in my hand and sigh impatiently. “I’m missing work and that’s going to short my pay.”

Slash’s eyes move up to mine and his lip curls. “Go fucking get me a beer. Make yourself useful.”

I grit my teeth, shove the bills back in my bag and storm to the kitchen. Slash comes up behind me, spins me and to my shock, backhands me. My head snaps to the side, and a burst of pain shoots across my cheekbone. Yelping, I grab my face.

It’s not the first time I’ve been backhanded. I did grow up in some very shitty foster homes. But it’s the first time by them. I’d forgotten how much it hurts. How the knuckles hitting the cheekbone bring tears to your eyes and makes your nose run instantly, not to mention the way the pain ricochets in both directions, up your head and through your jaw practically rattling your teeth. And the stars. I see fucking stars.

“Respect, bitch.”

Maybe they haven’t done much more than threaten me before now but it’s clear they’ll do more than that when provoked and suddenly my plan isn’t so appealing. I don’t want to die, and definitely not slowly at the hands of this bastard.

He grabs my hair and yanks me in an awkward bent-back position. I scream and whimper at both the pain and helplessness. The only thing supporting my weight is his fist in my hair and my hair in my head. I grab for his arm, my feet scrambling for purchase. My cries die on my lips as he gets in my face.

Slash is so close I can see each individual hair on his face, finer than they should be on a man his age. But the last thing I want to show is fear, so again, I harden my expression. Maybe it’s stupid and I should beg for mercy, but if I learned anything from living in the system, it’s that begging never works and showing no fear has a fifty-fifty chance.

“Don’t fucking think I won’t slice your pretty face to ribbons. Show me some fucking respect.”

I grit my teeth and tears slip from my eyes as he shakes me, yanking my hair so hard I’m sure he’s ripped more than a chunk out. My eyes go wide and I suck in a breath when his knife comes to my face. The handles sheath the blade but it’s no less terrifying because his cruel smile says it won’t stay that way. And I know he’s well practiced in using the thing.

His narrowed blue eyes search my face and my lips tremble despite my attempt to press them. I squeeze my eyes shut as he traces my face with the handle, the heaviness of it hurting my battered face. I whimper when I hear the telltale flips of the butterfly handles clicking open to expose the blade. My heart pounds and bile rises and I do something I swore I’d never do again… I beg.

“Put her the fuck down.” It’s Python’s voice, and one I never thought could bring such relief. He wraps a supportive arm around my back and lifts me up. The fist burning against my skull releases, although not gently. “You fucking lay a hand on her again without orders and I’ll fucking rip your head off.”

The big man’s arm is the only thing holding my trembling body upright, and Slash’s eyes flash hate. His nostrils flare like a bull’s but he finally backs down, shooting me a warning look that says we’ll finish this another time.

“There’s water in the fridge. Get yourself a bottle.” Python pushes me gently from under his arm toward the kitchen.

“Don’t forget my beer, bitch,” Slash adds as I move on shaky legs to the kitchen. “And bring the big guy one of his bitch-ass candies or maybe some of those fucking cheese puffs he’s addicted to, he needs to chill the fuck out.”

My heart is still pounding loudly in my ears as I get to the counter and lean on it to catch my breath. The heel of my palm takes my weight against the counter but nothing can stop my hands from trembling. I can’t quite make out their whispers from the next room. Or maybe it’s not that I can’t hear, but that my brain is too overwhelmed to listen, screaming ‘ will I survive ?’.

The kitchen is brown and yellow with faded, peeling linoleum and a speckled yellow and brown Formica table with chrome legs. The chairs match, although once they may have been more yellow than brown.

I glance at the yellow appliances, crocheted tea towels and potholders, and decide this must have been someone’s grandmother’s house. Opening the fridge, I look for the water. Beer cans fill the whole top shelf. It’s some off brand I’ve never heard of. Not that I really know beer. I don’t drink, not after growing up in places where it was more of a staple than bread.

I grab a can though, placing it gently against my cheek, which is throbbing like it’s got an elephant-sized heart in it.

A memory assaults me as I stand there. The breakfast table is scattered with mostly empty beer cans and ashtrays overflowing with butts. The stale smell of both lingers with the sick smell of sweaty bodies sleeping it off on the couches in the next room. Gage and I eat the crusts of last night’s party pizza left in the box, our bellies happy to have anything in them at all, even a stranger’s tossed-off crusts. The memory reminds me of Gage’s kitchen when I found him that night almost a year ago.

I shake off the imagery, reminding myself how far I’ve come from that moment and grab a bottle of water. The counter has food on it, but not like in the image my mind conjured. This place is neat and clean, and the food is still in grocery bags as if our arrival interrupted Python putting his haul away.

I peek in one of the bags, curiosity getting the better of me. There are a few bags of cheese puffs, a huge bag of those caramel candies old people like, and pudding—bloody butterscotch. I almost laugh but stop myself as Preacher’s voice rings out.

“Where is she?”

They must point because there’s only silence until Preacher speaks again.

“Get your skinny ass out here.”

I gather a breath, reminding myself again, I’m a vet tech, a taxpayer, and law-abiding citizen, better than these assholes, and I will make it through this. I’m a survivor. Then I walk out, back straight, head held high, handing Slash his beer.

“Gage is missing,” Preacher says with a deep frown and flashing eyes. “He took off from the rehab center.”

My jaw drops open at his words. They’d found out which rehab center he’d gone to?

He catches my disbelieving look and snorts at me. “You think you’re the only one we threatened for the information? Nope, you just held out longer. Pretty little nurse we grabbed in the parking lot of the hospital squealed like a pig.”

There’s a split second where I’m relieved they got their intel elsewhere, that maybe Jeff’s safe now, but then I picture some young nurse, her face twisted in fear and probably anguish over what they were doing to her or threatening her with, and my stomach knots with shame.

“Well, I don’t know where he is.” My words come out more confident than I feel. “We went over a decade without contact before the night Python picked me up. I barely know him. And he’s not going to call me up.”

His brows raise before his look turns bored. “I think you’ve got a few heroes willing to die for your safety. Including one with plenty of information on Gage.” His mouth curves up slowly as my brow wrinkles in confusion. “And on you.”

“What the hell are you talking about?” I demand. But he only smiles wider.

“We put word out we have you—that we're going to enjoy hurting you if we don’t get Gage.” He cocks his head, his cold dark eyes boring into mine, bringing a cold shiver to my skin.

“Word out to who?” I swallow. “If you know anything at all about me, you’ll know no one gives a shit about me.”

“Pfft, you’ll see,” Preach says, cryptically.

“Gage may not give a fuck, but that security dude does,” Slash adds with an icy chuckle, his knife flicking, thwick, thwick, thwick, again.

Preacher shoots him a look, his hand flying out to smack him in the head. “Don’t ruin the surprise.”

I keep still as if moving will provoke them to attack me instead of each other.

“What? Who?” I ask, playing dumb.

“He agreed to hand over all his information in exchange for you. Guess you’re not as unloved as you think,” Preacher says, mockingly, in a childish voice.

Then he walks to me, looking me up and down as if I’m a car he’s interested in buying. He smiles cruelly, reaching out to run the back of his fingers over the spot of my cheek that Slash hit. His touch burns but I hold back my hiss of pain, my insides quivering

“Look at you. You’re practically a skeleton, Lu.”

Anger roils up inside me. “I can’t afford to fucking eat because I give you every penny to pay my debt. But mark my words, as soon as I can, I’m going back to my old life. And I can’t wait to be rid of you.” I jab a finger at the air in front of him with each word. The words are so angry, they surprise even me.

Preacher and Slash laugh. I look around for Python, but he isn’t there. And then the slap hits and I see stars again. It lands on the same spot and I can’t help but fall to my knees in agony. Christ, it feels as if it shattered. I peek up to see Preacher adjust the skull ring on his finger and gag knowing my cheekbone is quite possibly broken.

“Thing is, Lu, we lied. We’re not giving you up. And we’re going to have to kill your boyfriend.”

More laughing. It reminds me of the jocks in high school making fun of my Walmart clothing.

“You belong to me. Your life is what I say it is. And from now on, that’s living here,” Preacher says. The pain of his slap, compounding Slash’s, hasn’t even worn off when Preacher grabs my jaw between his hand and squeezes, forcing me to look at him. Tears spill over my lids and burn as they roll down my face.

“Python will feed you, fatten you up, and then you’re going to start working for us. And when a buyer comes along…” He smiles and my gut roils.

I don’t have to ask what that means, especially as Slash leaps up, walks out of the room and returns with a box of condoms. He uses his knife to slice open the box and tears one of the condoms off the strip, dumping the rest in my purse.

“You’re going to need those. We pride ourselves on having clean merchandise.” Holding up the single condom, he says, “Quality control inspection first.”

I can’t swallow the fear-filled saliva in my mouth with Preacher’s hand clamped over my jaw, but I try anyway.

“Test her out, mark her as ours, but don’t fucking scar her face. I’m going to meet up with the security fucker.”

Preacher throws me back and I stumble to the ancient carpet. Slash smiles, pocketing his knife.

I paste my eyes shut and think of Jeff. Big Daddy Grizz. How safe he makes me feel. How he flirts and how gruff he is when he’s trying to take care of me. It makes my chest ache because I want more than anything to see him one last time. And I want him safe.

When I open my eyes, Preacher is gone. I actually hear a car drive off. Slash, back in his chair, lovingly caresses his knife as he eyes me.

“It’s gonna be a long night. I have plans for that body.” His smile adds to the trembling his words have started. “How I’m going to mark it and how I’m going to use it.” When I don’t make a sound his brow furrows and he snarls, “Get me another beer, bitch!”

I rise from the floor on shaking legs and turn to the kitchen, my body, mind, and heart suddenly numb again. I feel nothing and that’s how I’ll survive this.

And then I hear the door and boot clomps. “I got the order, asshole!” Slash yells. “Preach says I get to fuck her and mark her ours. All but her face. So screw you.” He laughs like a teenager who’s just schooled his best friend at some video game.

I move on wooden legs to get his beer. My eyes flick to the window, a blip of hope doused before it even starts. The window has bars. A large thump has my eyes darting back to the living room. Beer in hand, I move to the doorway to see a slumped Slash on the floor. My eyes flick up from his form and widen.

Jeff. He stands there, eyes wild, staring for five beats before he speaks. “Well, babydoll, I’d say it’s time to go.”

I clamp my lip between my teeth and for once don’t hold back the stinging behind my eyes. I rush him, launch myself into his arms and wrap my legs around his waist, ignoring his shocked oomph .

“Daddy Grizz,” I whisper and press my mouth against his. He kisses me back and I swallow a small groan at the pain in my cheek before he pulls back. His eyes, those gorgeous brown wells of care, fill with empathy.

“Let’s get you out of here before Slash wakes up.”

I nod and he sets me on my own two feet, grabbing my hand and pulling me behind him. I stop, yank my hand free and then turn back to Slash, kicking him as hard as I can in the ribs where I know he’ll feel it later. Grabbing my purse, I rush back to Jeff and grab his hand. “Now we can go.”

He huffs a laugh but doesn’t waste another second.

“How?” I blurt as we move through the house to the door.

“No time, babydoll. Let’s get you safe.”

Jeff’s steps falter and I look up to see Python, standing like a brick wall in the driveway. His thick arms are crossed, but then he looks at Jeff and his head cocks ever so slightly to the side as if he’s just recognising him, which is weird… They know who he is. They were going to use him to get me to talk, and there was that whole scuffle in the parking lot at the factory.

Python looks to me, snapping me out of whatever thought spiral I was heading down. His eyes land on my cheek and his brow wrinkles slightly before smoothing to an impassive state. Jeff tugs on me, but Python stops us with his big anaconda arm.

“You’re going to have to hit me,” he says. “And you better make it count.” He tosses Jeff… some brass knuckles? Both Jeff and I look at each other, but only for a second, then he slips his fingers into the metal finger holes and knocks Python out.

I blink at the big man splayed across the concrete drive, but Jeff tugs on me again.

“Come on.” This time he succeeds in getting me moving and we head for his truck parked under the streetlamp—the Grizzly Security emblem emblazoned on the side. I look back at Python. Still on the ground, but starting to rise, he nods. Wiping the blood from his mouth he gets to his feet and heads inside.

“What the hell was that?”

Jeff yanks open the door of his pickup, puts his hand on my ass and shoves me inside. I practically fly up and onto the seat and before I can even right myself, he’s plopped onto his side of the bench.

“Dunno. Don’t care. Seatbelt. Now.” He turns the ignition and peels out of there before I can click the belt in. I grab the door and hold on as he drives like a stuntman on the set of Fast and Furious. Several minutes pass before I can summon the ability to speak.

“Where are we going?” I say breathlessly, my eyes wide and my knuckles white against the door.

“Someplace safe,” he answers distractedly, doing a shoulder check and weaving across three lanes to get to the freeway cutoff. He takes a second to glance at my face and I must look terrified because he suddenly reaches out to take my hand in his. “You’re okay. Just breathe.” He squeezes, his large warm fingers enveloping my icy ones.

I nod and he looks back at the road for a few seconds before finding my face again. He scrutinizes, assesses, I don’t know, but it’s intense. I’m not sure if he’s looking at my battered cheek or reading my mind.

“Watch for anyone following.”

I nod and obey as he exits the highway. I see nothing suspicious, but I’m pretty sure he’s just giving me this job to keep me busy, and I appreciate it because I’m freaking the hell out.

I think ten minutes or so pass before he releases my hand to reef hard on the wheel, turning us down a dirt road with large evergreens and towering oaks. From there we take several abrupt turns, each taking us into thicker forest with more remote dirt roads and darkness. Without a car in sight, my anxiety lessens, but only slightly as I’ve never been a fan of the dark.

“I think we made it,” I say, but I’m not even sure what that means. I don’t know where we go from here. Python saw Jeff’s truck—the emblem. But then, he protected me and let us go, so does that even matter?

“My family cabin’s out here.” Jeff slows the truck a little and places his warm palm on my leg to rub. “You okay? Your face? Your… They didn’t touch you, did they?”

The words are barely out of his mouth before I blurt, “They didn’t… no.” I get a flash of the condoms in my mind’s eye and panic wells in me. My chest fills with pressure, anxiety crowding my lungs until I’m chasing after each breath.

Pull your shit together! I give my head a shake and just start yapping.

“I’m good. Just a few little slaps.” Nervous chuckle. “Not the kind I prefer, but I’ll live. Wink, wink.” I add the last part to lighten him up or maybe it’s to direct the conversation away from what happened. Make it seem less serious. Less terrifying. I try to swallow a dry patch in my throat, but it just constricts. And once more, I’m chasing oxygen. Nope, nope, nope. I can’t. Can. Not.

I start rambling again, my words coming out too fast.

“You know, hanky-spanky? Spankings don’t get enough recognition these days. Sure, they’re occasionally shown on mainstream television, but it’s mostly BDSM style. But a pure, for your own good spanking… one born of passion, frustration, need…” I let my words trail off. “Like the old Elvis and John Wayne kind? Those are delicious. And the sexy kind…”

What the hell am I doing? Talking about kink now? After a trauma?—I look at Jeff—With a guy I hardly know.

His brow cocks, but only slightly. Maybe so slight it should have been imperceptible to me.

Hardly know? That’s not totally true. I know enough. Enough to… like him. A lot.

“I actually love the Daddy thing,” I blurt.

Both his brows shoot up this time. And now I want to kill myself.

“I know the kind.” He nods. “Definitely something on my mind when I’m dealing with you and your gargantuan attitude.” He smiles, but the humor doesn’t push away the softness in his brown eyes. They’re still filled with the care and concern I’ve grown used to seeing from him. He glances back at the road or what he can see of it in the headlights. “I was worried.”

Swallow, swallow, swallow. Why can’t I swallow the lump in my throat away?

“Any Daddy Dom would be,” he adds. There’s another glance between me and the road and he flicks on the high beams.

Crap. Heat flushes through me, from my chest to my lower extremities like a tsunami washing away everything bad. Everything but us.

“Babydoll?” He takes my hand, his thumb rubbing in soothing strokes across the top. “I’d be honored to be yours.”

And with those six words, I finally get a breath full of air that satisfies, but then we hit a big hole in the road and the truck bounces. It shakes my thoughts loose. I tighten my grip on the door. I’m either spiraling down one rabbit hole or the other.

My jaw clenches.

“How did you know where I was?” My eyes narrow as his face flashes something—guilt maybe? “How did you find me?”

“I saw them take you.”

“How?” I cross my arms.

“I knew where you were because…” He pauses, looking at me with a furrowed brow. “Don’t get upset, okay?”

My brow cocks. Anger, ah, my good friend. Screw the flirty banter, anger is so where it’s at.

“Fucking tell me.”

“I always know where you are.”

I’m waiting for more, but nothing else comes so I spin in the seat to face him. We hit another dip and I’m jostled again, but as anger grows inside me, I barely notice.

“How? Are you a goddamn stalker? Are you working with them?” My voice rises in pitch with my last sentence. Oh god. Is he a Ransom member? That would make so much sense. Is this their way of fucking with me? Make me think I’m safe so I’ll let my guard down?

“Sit properly,” he demands, the gentleness of his voice replaced with his firm Daddy tone. “I’ll explain everything once we’re safely inside and I’ve taken care of you.”

Another thought hits, one that also makes sense. “Are you a cop? Have you had me under surveillance?” I curse at the guilty expression that flickers across his features. I think of everything that’s happened between us over the last month, everything I’ve done for almost a year. Has he known all along?

“Later. We’ll talk later.” He looks back at the road, his hands anxiously clenching and unclenching the steering wheel.

“No way. Fucking tell me now or…” I look around, thinking quickly. “Or I’ll jump.” I’m livid as I click my seatbelt open and grab the door latch. “Are you a cop?” My voice rises again. I sound frantic. “Tell me!” I click open the latch and the cab is flooded with light.

He looks at me, swallows hard, then opens his mouth, but nothing comes out. Not. One. Word.

“You fucking used me.” I shove the door, and it catches, flying open. As I lean out, my hoodie tugs and I’m stuck half in, half out.

“Christ!” We fishtail off the road to the side where the gravel is thick. He releases my hoodie but grabs my arm instead. He’s the only thing keeping me from flying out. It’s touch and go for a second before the truck slides to a stop in a cloud of dust I can’t see but taste. Yanking me against him, he leans over me and grabs the door, shutting it forcefully.

The world is spinning around me, but I slide away and grab the handle again.

“Remove your hand from that door, babydoll. Right now.”

I don’t. I just eye him, my chest heaving. “Answer me, Copper! Are you going to arrest me? Are you using me to get shit on them? Is that what this is?” I palm my forehead. “Is that what all this has been?” I holler and try to pop the door, my heart raw.

“You pretended to care!” I scream in disbelief. “You deserve an Emmy or Grammy or Golden Globe, or whatever the hell they give to movie stars.”

I click the door, but he grabs my hand, so I use my foot to shove it open. Ripping my hand from him, I stumble onto the gravel, ready to run, too angry to care that I have no clue where I am and that it’s darker than pitch, but my foot catches on a twisted branch on the side of the road and before I can untangle myself he’s around the front of the truck. I bolt, heading for the dark, but he’s too close and grabs me. We wrestle, I kick, curse, bite, yes, I bite, but he wins and I’m yanked against him where we pant, chests heaving on the side of a deserted dirt road.

I see stars again suddenly as he shoves me back, leans down and presses his lips hard against mine. I’m yanked up onto my toes, as he forces my mouth open to take his punishing kiss. I fight it, using my hands to push against his chest, but soon, the kiss becomes too much, too good, too deep and my body melts, turning to some sort of semi-liquid state against his.

When he stops, I have to blink a few times to get my brain back online. An owl hoots from somewhere in the dark and grip his jacket.

“Would I kiss you like that if I was just using you?” His words are hard, demanding a reply but in the light pouring through the open cab door, his eyes are filled with understanding or maybe pleading, as if he needs forgiveness.

“How would I know? Maybe you do this all the time. Using your dick to close cases.”

“I’m not a cop, but I am an investigator. Only, none of this was for a client.” He points a finger back and forth between us. “And none of this was fake.”

I shake my head slowly, still not fully out of the haze his kiss and the adrenalin left me in. “And that’s just what a liar would say.”

He spins me to face the truck and his hand claps off my rear sharply, making my eyes fly wide.

“Damn well listen! I’ve fallen for you, Lu. That’s what’s going on right now.”

“What the—” Another smack lands with a stinging bite, but I can’t move away with his left hand still clasping my arm. “Fuck?” A few more sharp swats brand the seat of my jeans before I cover my ass and he stops.

“That’s for almost putting us in the ditch and almost killing yourself in the process.”

I swallow hard and yank my arm from his grip, placing both my palms over my ass. It’s warm, kind of buzzy, and it does this swirly thing to my insides. As do his words. He’s fallen for me? I should be mad as hell and giving him a black eye, but his firm dirty Daddy routine has me throbbing instead.

“Are you done abusing me, Elvis?” I question angrily, to hide my own desire. He narrows his eyes and before I can register what’s happening, he’s propped his booted foot on the truck’s runner and is yanking me up and over his bent leg.

I’m dangling and scrambling for purchase, when his hand wallops off my backside again and this time it friggin’ hurts! It isn’t leaving a little sexy tingle, and yet, I’m still... er... enjoying it? Nah, that isn’t quite the right description, but let’s just say it causes more throbbing—the needy kind in my lady bits. He must smack my bottom twenty times while I kick and squeal, before he gently lowers me back onto my feet.

“That’s what naughty ladies who throw tantrums and put themselves in danger get, got me?”

I’m gasping for breath and rubbing the fire out of my cheeks when he shakes his head and leans down to kiss me. It’s not a quick kiss, but it’s not a lingering one either. And damn, I want it to be. My middle’s swirling, hot and pulsing, and despite my anger over his spanking and my body’s treasonous reaction to it, I wrap my arms around his neck and pull him back to make it a lingering one.

When it ends, we both stare at each other silently for a moment. And then he points a long finger at me. His mouth, freshly swollen from the kiss, flattens.

“Do that again and one of two things are going to happen. One.” He holds up his pointing finger. “You’re going to be naked and pressed under me in the fucking ditch, or two…” Another finger pops up. “I’m going to take down those jeans and spank the lesson home.”

I swallow hard. Good god. “Can I have both?” I croak, shocking us both. And then he laughs—a real belly laugh and I can’t help but join him.

“Get back in the truck, Lu. I’ll explain everything at the cabin. And you can tell me how the hell you got yourself into this mess in the first place.” He turns, and without looking back, heads to the cab of the truck, trusting I’ll get in. “Now, Tallulah Jane, or Daddy’s actually going to do both of those things for real.”

My brain is muddled, my panties damp, and my nipples are so hard they ache. I do as I’m told, but part of me wants to push for more of his stern correction, so when I get into the truck, I cross my arms over my chest, clench my jaw and stare out the window into the dark.

“You didn’t have to spank me so hard.”

“Sorry, babydoll, just trying to make Elvis and John proud.” He leans over and yanks me to the middle of the bench seat. I hiss a little at the friction, but tuck into him, suddenly exhausted.

Grabbing the lap belt, he clips me in and mumbles, “So help me, you needed that spanking on your bare ass.”

But despite the grumpy tone and my rigid and unhelpful behavior, he leans down and kisses the top of my head. And dammit, I melt inside.

“I’m just a guy who’s had his family messed with by Satan’s Ransom and wants them locked up. But I’m also a guy that’s recently decided he cares about you way more than revenge.”

My shoulders soften and my eyes well. He could have dumped me right there and left. He had what he needed, didn’t he? His cover was blown. And we are both in trouble now.

He puts his arm over my shoulder and gives it a gentle squeeze. “I care. Okay? And maybe I started watching you to get information on Satan’s Ransom, but not since that night I caught you with my pudding. Since then, I’ve been watching to keep you safe.” He pulls the truck back out onto the road and the gentle hum of the motor along with the ruts, dips, and vibrations of the road relax me enough to let go.

Unfortunately, the anger and sexual tension was the glue that was holding me together and the shivers hit again. Uncontrollable, teeth-chattering shivers.

“It’s okay now, honey. I’ll keep you safe and when you’re ready we’ll both tell our stories.”