Make Me Say It

by BETH KERY

  One of Jake’s duties every day was to make Emmitt’s morning coffee. His uncle was always a caveman, in Jake’s opinion, but before his morning coffee, he was totally subhuman. He usually couldn’t even form words until he’d swallowed his first cup. The coffeepot was always his second destination after awakening from his whisky stupor, the bathroom being his first.

  But had his uncle actually drank any alcohol last night, or had he skipped it in order to carry out his ugly mission of kidnapping Harper? What if he didn’t reach for his coffee cup at all after he stumbled out of the bathroom this morning? What if he went and checked on his prisoner straightaway, and found his guard dogs heavily sedated?

  Jake had known the dogs would be hungry for their morning feeding. Even though he was familiar with every dog on the property and on friendly terms with most, a check of the pens had told him that Emmitt had chosen three of his meanest, most successful dogs from the ring to guard Harper. The unusual situation of being put in the barn to guard a helpless human would make them more unpredictable and aggressive than usual, even toward Jake, with whom they were familiar.

  Jake suspected that Emmitt had let the dogs catch the scent from Harper’s clothes. They’d been stirred up by the smell of Harper’s blood and her fear. It had activated their killer instincts. As a consequence, Jake had been careful earlier about picking the padlock and silently removing the chain link by link from the hasp.

  He’d thawed out several of Emmitt’s prized steaks from the freezer and added them to a large pan filled with the dogs’ normal food. He’d been liberal with the sedative.

  The dogs had indeed run at him aggressively when he opened the barn door, teeth bared and growling dangerously. Jake had dropped the pan, meat slopping over the side, and hastily shut the door. He could hear the animals snarling and snapping at each other and the sounds of them greedily gobbling up the food.

  For the hundredth time in the past forty-five minutes, Jake silently sent up a prayer that each dog had gotten a sufficient amount of food to sedate it. If even one of the killers remained alert, Harper and he were screwed.

  He heard a noise from the hallway and dropped the coffee can, causing it to clatter on the kitchen counter before he caught it.

  “What are you doing?” Emmitt shouted a second later.

  “Making your coffee,” Jake said as evenly as possible. “It’ll be ready in a second.” He risked looking at his uncle from beneath his lowered brow. Emmitt’s face looked mottled and his eyes were bloodshot. He looked good and hungover. If he hadn’t drunk until he returned home last night, it appeared that he’d made up for it and then some before falling asleep. Now he was still half-drunk, sleep deprived and—Jake suspected—meaner than a sack full of rattlesnakes.

  “I thought I told you to stay in your room until I let you out.”

  Jake braced himself to dodge an oncoming fist when Emmitt stepped closer.

  “I thought you meant last night. I never came out. But I thought you’d want your morning coffee.”

  Emmitt’s glares could melt a person’s insides to mush. “Did you leave this house this morning?”

  “No, sir. I just got up a few minutes before you did. Do you want some toast with your coffee?”

  He dodged the cuff to the side of his head, but Emmitt made contact anyway. Jake staggered back, his ear ringing and throbbing with pain. It was yet another skill Jake had learned—how to move sufficiently to lessen a blow, but still grant Emmitt the satisfaction of serving it. It’d only piss off his uncle more if Jake escaped him altogether. He clutched at his ear, grimacing.

  “You worthless little mongrel. Get back to your room, like I told you!” Emmitt bellowed, spraying spit. Jake turned, wiping the spittle off his cheek, his heartbeat pounding in his throbbing ear. What was he going to do, holed up in his room, blinded as to what his uncle was doing? That little room would be his coffin.

  For a few seconds, his fear strangled him. Emmitt was going to find out what he’d done. He’d kill him. How could he have thought he could trick him? As he headed toward his room, everything turned hazy and weird in his vision, like he was underwater. What would it be like, dying?

  “Wait!” Emmitt yelled. Jake turned slowly, unable to hide any of it anymore: His secret plan. His hatred. His fear. He was sure his uncle would see it written large on his face.

  “Get me my coffee first,” Emmitt said dismissively, wiping his nose on his sleeve and walking over to the sink.

  “Yes, sir.”

  He went over to the cabinet and found the largest mug on the shelf.

  * * *

  An hour later, he placed one of the two backpacks he carried on the dirt near the barn door. He cautiously removed the chain and opened the door. A bar of sunlight penetrated the gloom. He looked up. Her pale face appeared over the edge of the loft, the light turning her hair into a red-gold halo around her head.

  “Jake?” she whispered.

  He picked up the backpack and quickly and silently moved past the drugged dogs. One of them—Wilhelm—stirred slightly, and Jake’s heart flew into his throat. Harper gave a little groan from above him. She’d seen the dog move, too.

  “It’s okay,” he assured himself as much as her as he flew up the ladder. “Wilhelm twitches in his sleep all the time.”

  “Stop,” she said in a quivering voice.

  He halted and glanced up in surprise. He was only three feet from the edge of the loft. She peered down anxiously, her long hair draping her face.

  “I don’t have any clothes on,” she reminded him desperately. She was on her knees, looking down at him. He could see the tops of her bare shoulders, and was reminded that her hands were bound behind her back.

  “I have clothes for you in my backpack,” he explained. He remained still, rapidly working through some potential scenarios as to how to minimize her embarrassment and just as quickly dismissing each one as soon as he had it. “I’m sorry, but I have to come up there in order to untie your hands . . .” He faded off when he saw her distress. He couldn’t even tell her to cover herself, because she couldn’t with her hands bound behind her. Harper realized that, too, of course.

  She nodded once stiffly.

  He scurried up the ladder, hearing her scoot back into the shadows as he did so. She didn’t say anything, but he sensed how wild she was to remain invisible. He kept his eyes averted as he removed some old jeans, a large T-shirt, and some socks from his backpack. He had to look up to locate her in the loft, though. Her pale skin shone, even in the shadows. He gritted his teeth in resolve and walked toward her. Moving as quickly as he could to minimize her humiliation and his own discomfort, he knelt behind her and went directly to work with his pocketknife multi-tool on the twisted rope that bound her wrists. After a moment, she whimpered softly.

  His mouth twisted in fury. Damn Emmitt. He’d used the roughest hemp rope he possibly could have to tightly bind her. Her wrists were abraded, both her skin and the hemp smeared with blood. “I know, I’m sorry,” he mumbled, because in his efforts to free her, he couldn’t help twisting the rope into her surface cuts.

  “It’s okay. Just get it off me,” she said in a choked voice.

  A torturous moment later, the length of rope fell to the loft floor. She cried out in pain when her arms fell forward. They’d been bound behind her for so long, lowering them hurt.

  “It’s okay. I’ve got you,” he said, springing up and coming around to the front of her. He reached down, grasping her upper arms.

  “No,” she whispered, wincing in pain. “Put the shirt on me first.”

  “But—”

  She looked up, a beam of sunlight illuminating her upper face, allowing him to see not just her despair, but her determination.

  He immediately bent to the floor of the loft and lifted his old Mountaineers T-shirt. He shoved it over her head gracelessly. She tried to lift h
er hands to get them in the armholes. Her moan of pain pierced him.

  “Help me,” she whispered, grimacing. Her arms weren’t functional yet, after being bound behind her for so long.

  He grabbed one of her fisted hands. “I’m sorry,” he apologized, cringing at the pained expression on her face as he lifted her hand and poked it through the armhole. She sighed in relief when she could lower her arm.

  “They’re prickling,” she muttered, referring to her arms. “It hurts so bad.”

  “The nerves are waking up. It’ll get better soon,” Jake said in a hushed tone, scrambling to free her trapped hair from the shirt. He glanced down and froze. Having one arm in the T-shirt had pulled the cloth in a diagonal direction across her chest. One small, perfectly shaped breast was left exposed while the other was covered.

  “Jake?” she whispered, and he saw she was trying to lift her other hand, but her nerves still weren’t cooperating. He realized he’d been gawking at her stupidly and rushed to help her. Once the T-shirt was pulled down over her hips, she seemed fortified. Her misery had been replaced with determination by the time he helped her to stand.

  “What do we now?” she whispered. “Where are we going?”

  “I’m going to get you out of here.”

  “Where’s that man? Your uncle?” she frowned when she said uncle. Jake had never been more ashamed of his kinship to Emmitt Tharp.

  “I hope he’s dead,” Jake said, holding up the jeans for her to put on. “But I think he’s just asleep, like the dogs.”

  “He’ll come after us, won’t he?” she asked as she scuttled into the jeans. He noticed that she had to pull hard to close the fly. Her hips were rounder than his . . . fuller. His little boy jeans almost didn’t fit her.

  “He’ll come,” Jake replied grimly, jerking his gaze off the vision of her uncooperative fingers clumsily moving over the fly. That was one task he didn’t dare help her with.

  “Where will we go?” she whispered, grabbing a sock when he offered it to her.

  “There’s no time to explain.” She reached out for him instinctively when she tried to lift her foot to put on the sock. Jake braced her by grabbing her upper arm.

  “But—”

  “We have to get out of here and into the woods, or you may never see your parents again. Do you understand?”

  She stared up at him, her jaw going slack, her eyes wide. He’d been sharp.

  “You said you’d do what I say. We have to go. Now. I don’t know how the dog tranquilizers work on a man. Emmitt might wake up at any minute. And there might be other men arriving at any second to take you. Emmitt wouldn’t wait long for payment.”

  Her face went blank with shock.

  “I can keep you safe, Harper. But you have to hurry.”

  She shoved her other foot hastily into a sock. Maybe his entire meaning hadn’t sunk in. But the hint of the foulness of Emmitt Tharp’s plans for her had penetrated.

  “No shoes, I guess?” she whispered.

  “I’ve got shoes for you. They’re in your pack. You can put them on, but later. Emmitt’s a good tracker. One of the best in these mountains.” He knew she didn’t understand him from her blank expression, but there wasn’t time to explain.

  “Time to go.” He put out a hand, and she took it, stepping toward him. For a second, they looked at each other somberly. They were almost exactly the same height.

  “Why are you doing this?” she whispered.

  “I don’t know,” he replied honestly. “But I can get you back to your parents.”

  There was a chance he could, anyway. Jake was good at math, and he instinctively understood odds. Their chances of coming out of this unscathed were maybe fifty-fifty. They had the element of surprise on their side. And Emmitt didn’t know about Jake’s secret cave. Plus, he’d learned a lot about living, tracking, and evading in the woods in the past few years. Emmitt was a better hunter though, and what’s more, he could move in the forest faster than Harper and him due to nearly inhuman strength and stamina.

  But Jake had worked with animals his whole life. He understood that mastering his fear and showing Harper confidence would go a long way in gaining her cooperation. If they had any chance of getting through this, he couldn’t have her panicking at every turn.

  “Trust me,” he said, holding her stare.

  “I do.”

  He was a little stunned by her lack of hesitation, but took pains to hide it. For some reason, her unquestioned trust allowed him to make a decision he’d been dreading.

  “Here. This pack is yours,” he said, handing her a worn army surplus backpack. She slung it over one shoulder, wincing.

  “Okay?” he asked.

  She nodded.

  “There’s one more important thing I have to do before we get off Emmitt’s property.”

  He headed toward the ladder, determined that Harper not be a witness to his grief over that final task.

  * * *

  Present Day

  Harper lounged on her terrace. The hot August day was quickly morphing into a pleasant, cool evening. She’d thought that the brisk, invigorating air would help her to focus on some edits. It wasn’t working, though.

  Summer had always been a magical time for her growing up. Her father loved cooking out and her mother doted on her garden. How many comfortable, delicious meals had she shared with her mom and dad over the years on their terrace? They hadn’t seemed like anything special at the time. Memory gave those family dinners a golden quality, though, a sweet, elusive flavor. She ached, knowing she’d never share that feeling of easy companionship or unquestioned love again.

  Her terrace looked so barren and empty by contrast.

  Don’t move. Stay like that. You have no idea how exciting this is for me. You’re so beautiful. I want to play with you a little more. Okay?

  The memory of Jacob giving her those steamy directions lanced through her momentary sadness, dissolving it.

  Her mind kept wandering to those moments on that yacht last night. She frowned, recalling how cool and aloof he’d been just seconds after making her burn. She stared into space, her cheeks heating as she remembered how she shook in pleasure beneath his knowing hand . . . and later, how he took possession of her so completely.

  It was hard to push him out now. It was like he’d taken up residence in her brain.

  Damn him.

  But isn’t it better than sitting here, feeling sorry for yourself because you’re alone?

  All day, her sex had felt tingly and slightly tender. That, in combination with her uncontrollable thoughts about what he’d done to her on that double chaise lounge, made her feel constantly on the sharp edge of arousal and annoyance. Unfortunately, not even her recollection of his coldness could dampen her body’s reaction.

  Admitting defeat, she tossed the story and her edits onto a patio table. Without telling herself to do it, she pressed her pelvis down against the wrought iron seat, getting pressure on her sensitive sex. When she realized she was trying to figure out just how private her deck was from her neighbors, she stood abruptly.

  Great. The guy acts like a complete jerk, and yet you were considering masturbating outside while you fantasize about him. You are such a loser.

  She gathered up the story and headed inside, now highly aware of the tension at her sex and the fact that her cheeks were hot. Once she was inside, she drew the blinds. Her heartbeat began to throb in her ears in anticipation. Okay, so she wasn’t going to do it in potential view of a nosy neighbor. But she was going to do it.

  To make matters worse, it wasn’t the first time she’d masturbated today, either.

  She lay down on the couch and lifted her skirt to her waist. When her fingers slipped beneath the waistband of her panties, she thought of his fingers doing the same last night, how he’d caressed the sensitive skin above her
mons and then slid those long, masterful fingers between her labia. It’d felt so good. How did he do it, touch her more knowingly than she even touched herself?

  And later, how he’d ask her permission to hold her wrists while he fucked her . . . how she’d granted it. It’d excited her, knowing that he held her at his mercy, that she had to take him.

  And he’d been a hell of a lot to take.

  God, yes. No matter what a jerk he’d been, this was better than dwelling on the loneliness.

  She recalled watching him put the condom on his rigid erection, the shape and the color of the flaring, smooth cockhead. He was so beautiful. She craved him, even now. Before he’d behaved so coldly in the aftermath, she had a vague fantasy about him binding her with cuffs or some kind of ties. Even so, it wasn’t really the idea of restraints themselves that excited her. It was his intense focus on her, how he became aroused when she was helpless to resist him. Not that he’d needed to be concerned about her resisting him. She’d been a goner in that department, hands restrained or not.

  He’d warned her that he was going to screw her hard. And he had, locking his feet on the frame of the lounge and taking her without mercy. It’d been so good. So hot. She’d come without expecting to, without the usual rise of tension and the slow burn. She’d combusted because that was the only thing you could do around Jacob’s pounding cock.

  She moaned, her hand moving faster between her thighs. She’d be coming again soon. Her excitement at the vivid memories and the buildup of tension over the past several hours was too much.

  A gasp popped out of her throat. She yanked her hand from her underwear, sitting partially up, shocked by a brisk knock on her patio door. Shit. Who the hell was it? She considered just not answering, but realized it might be a neighbor. Maybe one of them really had seen her on the patio just now and had come over to greet her. She was still the new girl on the block, and had met only a few of her neighbors so far.