The sound of the lock echoes in my ears. “Let me out.”
“No.”
That’s it? Just no?
“Gracin,” I begin, and he stills. I remember what happened the last time I said his name. What he did to me because he liked it so much. But that won’t happen again. “You can’t keep me here forever.”
“I can,” he says. “And I will.”
“Why?” I ask, throwing my hands up. “You got what you wanted. You’re out of prison. You’ll take care of Salvatore, and you don’t need my help for that. You gain nothing from keeping me here.”
The arm around my waist tightens, and the next thing I know, he’s over me on the bed, his body pinning me down. I freeze, overcome with a tumult of emotions and memories, neither of which are welcome.
“If you don’t want a knee in your balls, you need to let me up right now,” I say with forced calm.
His arms braced on either side of my head, his mouth dipping low to my throat, I can feel his heartbeat against mine and the soft rasp of his breathing against my throat. As he moves against me, getting comfortable, I realize this is the first human contact I’ve had since . . . everything. And even though I hate him, even though he’s the cause of it all, I wilt, my hands going around him.
And I hate myself for it.
Maybe even more than I hate him.
What is broken inside me that I look for love in the worst places? Was it programmed inside me from birth or is it a product of my parent’s neglect? Am I just so fucked up that I’ll take affection wherever I can get it, even if it’s from the worst possible source?
He drops down to his side, and his arms go around me urging me to roll with him until I’m plastered against his side.
“This doesn’t mean I don’t want to kill you,” I say against his throat.
“I know,” he says solemnly. “I’ll let you kill me later, just let me hold you.”
I bristle at his words, but my anger lacks bite. My body needs the comfort more than I thought. My raw heart lifts as he strokes my hair and down my back, his hand coming to rest against my hip. Tears threaten, but I ignore them and press closer to the sanctuary of his body.
“Make me forget,” I whisper, my tongue flicking out to sample the familiar taste of the skin at his throat. “If you’re going to keep me here and want to hold me, then you can help erase everything else.”
He doesn’t speak, but he does as I ask, his mouth finding mine as his hand knocks my legs apart and finds my clit with unerring precision. I arch up to meet his touch, and within minutes, I’m clinging to his arms as I battle my ferocious response.
“Don’t fight it,” he says against my lips. “Let me give it to you.”
I grip his forearm to pull him away, unable to take the pleasure/pain any longer, but he simply takes my wrists, holds them against the bed, and slips his hand underneath my waistband to touch me skin against skin. The closeness is what I crave, and one stroke later, I come without warning, all my muscles contracting in concert.
His muscles quake with restraint as he gathers me close. “That’s it, sweetheart,” he says against my hair.
As I lie in his arms a while later, I allow myself to think of the life I lost. What life could have been like if Gracin were normal and I weren’t so weak. The two of us with a little boy or girl. Fantastic sex and dinners with conversations that don’t revolve around murder or revenge.
“What are you thinking about?” he asks, sounding drowsy.
“Why good things happen to some people and not to others.”
I feel his lips on my cheek, and I sigh. This moment with him is just a reprieve. Tomorrow, things will go back to normal, and I’ll be able to despise him again.
I wake back in my room, and I don’t know how to feel about it. So, I ignore it completely. I have to get out of here before Gracin Stockholm Syndrome’s me or something. Under the guise of my everyday routine, I put more effort into figuring out how to escape.
Not causing Gracin serious physical harm when I was so close to him was the last straw. He’s magnetic, and if I don’t want to be sucked back into his vortex, I have to do everything I can to run in the opposite direction.
I dress in a simple yoga outfit from my closet and brush my teeth as I plan. My best bet is going to be one of the less patrolled wings, which eliminates the kitchen and the garages, which are on the south side. I can break a window or pry open a door and then find a way around the wall.
Marie greets me in the dining room with a breakfast tray and, thankfully, no lip.
To fly under the radar, I follow my routine. Breakfast, swim, then I go to the library. By the time I get done with everything, it’s already one in the afternoon. The libraries are the only places in the house I haven’t explored as thoroughly as I want to because too much quiet time only leaves me despondent.
I pick the biggest of the three, and if I’d been any other person, in any other situation, I would have declared the room to be beautiful. Both the left and right shelves are full of books of all shapes and sizes. In the middle, a large rug, club chairs, and a deep-set sofa invite guests to sit and relax with a nice read. Along the back wall are floor-to-ceiling windows that look out the side of the garden.
I ignore the books and head straight for the windows. They’re older than the rest of the ones in the house. Maybe they haven’t been updated with a security system, yet, though the possibility is unlikely. I study the hinges and note some of them are rusting. Maybe I’ll be able to force one open.
“Trying to leave so fast?”
I spin around and find Gracin standing behind me. “What the hell are you doing here?” I stammer.
He lifts a brow. “I live here.”
“I thought you weren’t going to be back until dinner.”
“I had a feeling after yesterday you were going to try to leave.”
I raise my chin, my eyes flashing. “I should be able to go when I want.”
“Not when Sal is still looking for you. Looking for me.”
“Does he not know where you live? What’s stopping him from rolling up right now and gutting us both like fish?”
“No one knows about this place.”
“No one?”
“My home isn’t something I advertise, Tessa.”
Feeling vulnerable and sensitive after letting him get so close to me, both emotionally and physically, I say, “Why did you even bring me here? Why not just let him get it over with and kill me? It would have been less of a hassle for you and would have saved him the trouble.”
He studies me before he says, “What makes you think I want you dead?”
My laugh is joyless, hollow. “Oh, I don’t know. Maybe because I saw you kill a man, you forced me to help you escape from prison, and then had sex with me while my husband’s dead fucking body was in the other room. Not only that,” I continue, working myself into a fine rage, “but now I’m locked in your house, and you won’t let me go.”
I pause, chest heaving and wonder if I should continue, but the words just don’t stop. They spill out of me, inevitable and weighty. “When I found out I was pregnant, I thought it was the best thing to ever happen to me. I figured it was the silver lining in the shitstorm that is my life. I didn’t care that it was yours, that I’d be a single mom raising a kid on the run. For once, I had something perfect and pure, and then it was taken away from me! And I blame you. I wish you’d let me die. I don’t know if I can forgive you for everything that’s happened.”
He shrugs and looks away. “I don’t expect you to.”
“What do you want from me?”
“I want to make sure Sal’s dead, and there won’t be any blowback on you. Once I’m sure you’ll be safe, I’ll let you go.”
The thought should have filled me with indescribable joy, but instead, I’m more conflicted than ever.
“Is that what you’re doing every day? Looking for him.”
He crosses to the window and leans a forearm aga
inst it. “Yes, I am looking for him. He’s gone to ground because he knows I’m looking for him, probably planning his next move.”
He’s silent after that, and it affords me the chance to just look at him while I consider his words. He’s wearing jeans today with a button-up white shirt that’s rolled up enough to reveal the shadows of ink unfurling on his right forearm.
I follow the dark pattern under the almost see-through material of his shirt, and my mouth goes dry as a wave of intense desire courses through me when I spot the outlines of twin metal rings in his nipples. When had he had time to do that?
I turn away, not wanting him to see just how badly I want to order him to take his shirt off so I can see them. My body still recognizes him on a primal level despite what it’s been through. It’s primordial, instinctual, and I can no more resist how much I want him than I can resist breathing. When had he become as essential to me as life itself? Reconciling needing him with what he’s done . . . I don’t know if it’s possible.
His feet come into view, and I look up to find him standing in front of me. “Come with me,” he says, and I frown as he leaves the room. I hurry to keep up with him, not wanting to be left behind.
“Where are we going?”
“I’ll explain when we get there,” he tells me as he leads me to a door that has been locked every time I’d jiggled the handle. He holds it open for me, and I realize why I hadn’t dared to force it open before. Rows of monitors line both walls with wide countertops in front of them. Two of his men sit in rollaway chairs and look up when we enter.
“You want out of here? Then you’d better pay attention,” he says. “Pay close attention. Do you want something from me? I want something from you.”
“What the hell do you want from me?” I hiss. “You have me locked up here like a good little pet. What more do you want?”
“Kiss me, Tessa,” he says. “One kiss, and you can go with me to track down those men who hurt you.”
“You’re ridiculous! I don’t fucking think so. Didn't you already get enough?”
He nods to someone behind me, and the bodyguards I’d forgotten were there come up behind me. One of the big, beefy bastards grabs me by the arms, and I know I won’t be going anywhere. I want to scream in frustration.
“Fine! Fine! One. I mean it, Gracin. One kiss and nothing else or I swear to God I will kill you and they’ll never find the body.”
“Don’t tease me,” he says as he jerks his chin to the bodyguards, who leave. He crosses the room as they shut the door behind them, leaving us alone in the small space.
“Well, let’s get this over with,” I say.
“So eager.”
“Less talking, more focusing.”
He chuckles and tucks his hands under the fall of my hair. His thumbs nudge my jaw, and I lift, glaring at him as he draws closer.
“Is it really so bad?”
The truth is, no. It’s not. And that’s what makes me so fucking angry. I don’t get the chance to answer because his lips cover mine and scatter all rational thought like dandelion fluff in a tornado.
My fingers clutch at the countertop behind me because if they weren’t occupied, they’d already be reaching for a part of him to touch. They’d be skimming along his shoulders and combing into his hair. He, however, has no such qualms about touching me. His hands drop to my shoulders before dancing over the neckline of my shirt and then down my arms, sliding along until goose bumps rise in their wake. On the upward movement, his hands round to my stomach where they trace along my ribs and skim to just underneath my bra.
As his hands are mapping my body, his mouth lays waste to the walls I’d carefully built since I walked away from him and my dead husband. When I can’t take it anymore, I release my grip on the counter and push him away.
“Okay,” I say, a bit more breathlessly than I would have liked. “That’s it. I held up my end of the deal. Now you hold up yours.”
He steps back, his lips flushed pink and glossy, and I have to look away to keep from drawing them back to mine.
“So you have,” he says a bit dazedly before taking a key ring down from a line of hooks hanging by a door. “This way.”
“Where exactly are we going?”
“According to intelligence I’ve gathered, Danny and his friends like to meet up at a bar a few towns over. If we’re lucky, they’ll be there, and we can tail them to Sal’s place.”
“Can I—”
“No.”
“You didn’t even let me finish my sentence.”
“That’s because chaos follows you around like a shadow. You’ll keep quiet, stay behind me, and do exactly what I say, remember?”
I grumble, but I don’t argue. The possibility of finding Danny shuts me right up.
“You know, if I didn’t know any better, I’d think you were almost excited,” he says.
I ignore the teasing tone in his voice and say, “I assumed you killed them. I mean before we left.”
“Unfortunately, no.” He spares me a short look. “I was more worried about getting you out.”
Color me shocked. Gracin just admitted to being worried about me. I tuck that knowledge away and walk next to him in silence. The short hallway from the security room to the outside spills out into a six-car garage, which is not the same garage I found last week. I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t jaw-droppingly surprised. Even though I’ve been living in his house with his servants, cooks, assistants, and bodyguards, the reminder of his wealth is staggering. Each of the garage bays has a vehicle parked in it. The first has a truck, black, utilitarian and very capable looking. Next to it is an SUV of some kind, same color and very sleek—almost like it’s one of the government-issue kind I’d imagine the Secret Service uses. I don’t dare ask him how he got his hands on it. The next three spots are high-end sports cars in varying colors and makes.
“Jesus,” I whisper under my breath.
The keys jingle behind me, and I turn to find Gracin watching me. He indicates the SUV. “We’re taking this one.”
I have to swallow to wet my dry throat. “Okay.”
He chuckles. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you so speechless. Cat got your tongue?”
Forcing my legs to move, I climb into the passenger seat as Gracin swings up beside me.
“I’m not speechless . . . I’m just curious. How is it that you can afford all of this? Or is that an off-limits topic?”
The car rumbles to life, and he maneuvers it out of the garage. I wait as he backs out and then shifts the SUV into drive. “There isn’t a lot that’s off-limits to you, Tessa. You just have to ask.”
“Then tell me, how is it that you have a mansion and a shit ton of cars? You worked for . . . someone to kill Salvatore, but in what capacity? Why?” I’ve been wondering about him since I first met him, and now that he’s in a talkative mood and we have time, I want to know more.
As he gathers his thoughts, I drink in the view and roll down my window to lift my face to the fresh afternoon breeze. I’d been allowed to go to the gardens, but there’s something about being cooped up that takes away its beauty.
“I take contracts for several ghost organizations,” he says, and I jerk my attention back to him, swallowing thickly.
“Contracts?” The word is barely a whisper.
He nods, a quick jerk of his head. He’d put on sunglasses so I can’t read his expression behind the tinted lenses. “Yeah, Tessa, as I said before.”
His admission steals my breath straight from my lungs, but I gesture for him to continue, not wanting to make him clam up.
He pulls out onto a highway, and I realize I don’t even know what state we’re in anymore. I’d been so out of it after the warehouse that I hadn’t thought to ask. The terrain reminds me of California desert, but we’re out in the middle of nowhere. We could be in Nevada or Arizona for all I know.
“I got hooked up with a crowd of bad people when I was younger, and I got a bit of a reputation for being
a problem solver.”
“Should you be telling me this?”
“I can tell you whatever the fuck I want. The people I work for pay me because I’m the best at what I do.”
I lick my lips before I respond. “That doesn’t sound good.”
He shrugs as he merges into the far left lane of traffic. “It isn’t so bad. I had a shit home life and nothing else better to do. I had the skills they needed, and they trained me for a long time to make those skills even more deadly.”
I try to imagine Gracin as a honed killing machine and am staggered when the image isn’t as much of a stretch as I think. After all, he managed to fit into prison as a thug so convincingly that he had everyone fooled. I had no idea this man was lurking just underneath the surface. Sure, I had an idea he was hiding something, but never in a million years would I have guessed this.
“Too much?” he asks when he notes my expression.
I clear my throat. “No, it isn’t that at all. It’s just I’m realizing I don’t know you as well as I thought I did.”
He tips my chin up with a finger. “You know me better than just about anyone, little mouse.”
That statement says way more than he probably intended, and I hate that I feel bad for him. I hardly know him at all, and if I know him better than anyone else, it means he has almost no one in his life. He doesn’t need, want, or deserve my pity, so I just say, “I didn’t know any of that.”
He shrugs. “It’s just history.”
“Yeah, but I feel like you know everything about me.”
He shoots me a smile, which I don’t return. “Fine. But only if you answer one of mine in return. Remember?”
I scowl, which causes him to laugh. “Fine. What do you want to know? I can promise you it won’t be as exciting as a secret past.”
He levels me with a look. “Everything about you interests me, Tessa, but we’ll start with something easy. Why did you decide to become a nurse?”
I blow out a deep breath and smile a tiny smile. “I guess I didn’t want to become my parents. They were both minimum wage deadbeats with no options. Nursing always seemed like a steady job with a good income. Something respectable.”
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