The Vigilante's Lover #2

by Annie Winters

I hurry toward the barn. There’s a giant set of doors out front, but a normal-sized door on the side near the house. Instead of kicking it, I test to see if it will open without damaging it. I grimace when Mia’s bare knee brushes the rough surface as I turn the knob.

  The inside is dim, splinters of light coming in through the cracks. The building is cavernous, open, and strewn with hay bales. A rickety ladder leads up to a loft.

  Much easier to defend.

  I kick at a crumbling hay bale until it falls apart. It’s not quite enough, so I knock a couple others around until I have a suitable pile.

  The shawl slides off Mia easily, and I kneel to hold her in my lap as I spread it out on the loose hay. When I set her on it, she immediately curls into a tight ball, shivering. My shirt is pretty dry now, so I strip it off and cover her with it. It won’t be enough, but it will have to do for a moment.

  I pull the shawl around her and wait. Her pulse seems normal, and her respiration also seems to have settled. I’m not sure why she’s not awake. I shake her lightly. “Mia, are you all right?”

  Her face scrunches in pain.

  I’ve only been poisoned once by a Vigilante dart, the torture one, on accident when Sam was testing one of his hidden injectors. He administered the antidote within seconds, but coming out of it was still an unsavory experience. I imagine Mia is not feeling too well at the moment.

  I brush her hair off her face. Finally, her eyes open. “Jax?” she says.

  “You were taken down by a medicated dart,” I say, deciding to soften the seriousness of the hit. “You’ll be fine in a moment, but you might feel a little sick.”

  She looks around. “Where are we?”

  “A barn.”

  She coughs out half a laugh. “Back to my roots.”

  “You can take the girl out of the country,” I say.

  “But you can’t take the country out of the girl,” she finishes. Then she frowns. “Did you lose your shirt?”

  “It looks better on you.”

  Mia glances down. “Oh,” she says.

  “I think you were changing when the dart took effect,” I tell her.

  She tugs the shirt more tightly around her. “I don’t remember.”

  Her closeness now that she is awake starts to become a distraction. I’m still surprised by her unexpected kiss, tying me down. Yes, I definitely need to put some distance between us.

  “I’m going to get your clothes from the car,” I say and stand up.

  “Are we safe here?” she asks.

  “For a while. Until you recover a bit.”

  She sits up. “Where are we going?”

  I was expecting this question. I’m not sure if I should continue to placate her, or tell her the truth.

  But my hesitation gives me away. She struggles to her feet. “You can’t take me back to Tennessee. I won’t go!”

  “Mia, you are acting like a petulant child.”

  “You weren’t treating me like a child a few minutes ago!”

  God, she’s so difficult. Why won’t she just let me get her to safety?

  “If you stay with me, we’re both dead,” I say.

  “You got us out of the silo. We jumped into a river! I kept up with you!” Her eyes flash like fire in the dim barn. The poison’s definitely out of her system. Or the antidote is making her slightly manic.

  “We work well together!” she insists.

  She stands before me, clutching the shawl and my shirt. Her hair falls over her bare shoulders, the red straps of her bra bright against her skin.

  I have to get some distance.

  “I need to get some supplies from my car,” I say.

  She reaches out her hand. “I want to go out there with you.”

  Does she think I’m going to just leave her here in the barn? “I’m not going to desert you here,” I tell her. “We’re miles from anywhere.”

  “Can you just sit down for a minute?” she asks, tilting her head. Her green eyes are visible even in this light.

  “In the last few hours, I’ve been interrogated, locked up, forced to climb a ladder in the pitch black, chased by strangers, and shot with a dart,” she says. “You owe me a moment.”

  She plops back down on the hay, letting the shawl and my shirt fall into a puddle in her lap. Her bare shoulders lead to the red bra. It’s not substantial at all, just sheer wisps that accentuate her puckered nipples in the chill.

  “Sit down,” she insists. Her voice has an edge to it, like a schoolteacher who expects instant obedience.

  I hesitate. I want to secure the doors, pull some weapons, set up a defendable position. But my legs aren’t involved in that decision, and I settle in the hay next to those enticing buds poking through fabric as thin as air.

  I’ll listen to what she has to say, if only to keep looking at her.

  3: Mia

  Huh. It worked. Jax sits next to me in the hay.

  I’m not stupid. I dropped the shawl in my lap on purpose. I don’t think I’m up for another lap wiggle, not with all the rejection handed to me on a platter in the last hour. But he’s here.

  His shirt is off. I haven’t seen this much of him before. I’ve been at a disadvantage since I met him. He’s been in those expensive suits, like he’s headed to an office party, every minute of our time together.

  Meanwhile I’ve been in shredded nightgowns, ropes, or high heels I can’t walk in.

  Except now, in the barely there lingerie given to me by the women he hired.

  My heart hammers, just looking at him. His chest is smooth and muscled. His arm muscles bulge, but not in a bodybuilder way. Just strong.

  His belly is rippled, flat, and looks like planking is something he does in his sleep.

  I want to keep him. I want him close. I know how he looked at me at the hotel. I know he wanted me then. I just have to figure out how to get back to that.

  So I’m sitting in a cold barn on a pile of hay in a sheer bra and a thong. Time to go for broke.

  “Do you have to take me home?” I ask.

  “Mia. You know I have to.”

  At least he’s admitting it. But I can’t go back there. I have nothing. No one. And this life? Narrow escapes. Car chases. Danger. It fits me. I know it.

  I tear my eyes from his bare chest to glance around the barn. I won’t have much time to convince him that I am up for the task of being his sidekick. I rack my brain for something that will impress him.

  Rope. There has to be some rope around here. The red silk one is probably in the car still, but I can’t let him go fetch it. He might change his mind about listening to me.

  This is a barn. Rope is standard issue.

  I spot a coil of it hanging on a hook near the main door. “I need you to teach me something,” I tell him.

  His eyes meet mine. There’s not a lot of light in here, just the parts coming through the cracks, but I can see him well enough. He’s wary. Maybe a little tired. “What do you need to know?”

  I stand up and let the shawl and his shirt hit the ground. His gaze locks on my body. I realize he may have misunderstood, and a jolt of fear mixed with excitement zips through me. Before he can say or do anything, I walk over to the coil of rope.

  I can feel him watching. The underwear leaves nothing to the imagination.

  I have to work hard not to feel ridiculous. Imagine me, small-town Mia, prancing around in tiny red lingerie around someone like Jax.

  He waits, silent, observant. I take the rope off the wall and sense his interest pick up, even though I can’t see his expression from here.

  I’m glad I’m not in the heels now. Tripping over my own feet would not add to this moment. But I have the feeling that the Phase One training shoes might be just as sexy to someone like Jax. Doesn’t matter. It’s what I’ve got.

  I walk back over to him. Sitting in the hay, his face hits the level of my thighs. I have a terrible urge to move in very close, but I don’t know anything about that, how to keep him interested with
out looking silly.

  I hold out the rope. “I want to know how you escaped my constrictor knot in the car.”

  He doesn’t bother to pretend to look at anything but me. His eyes travel up my knees, thighs, and pause on the slender strings of the thong. The straps come together with a bit of sheer fabric that matches the bra and hides nothing, not the wisps of hair or the dark line he now seems fixated on.

  I feel a rush of heat and a sudden wetness. But I’m used to it. I felt it from reading his letters. I’m not afraid anymore, although I guess I should be. I got on the shot in college, hoping for a love affair that never happened. So I’m not afraid that I’ll end up pregnant. But I might fear that I’ll like everything, love everything, need everything, and he’ll leave anyway.

  “So you want me to teach you how to escape a knot?” he asks.

  “Yes.”

  “As if you’re being trained?” he adds.

  “Just like a Vigilante would,” I say.

  “Then get naked,” he says.

  “Wh-what?” I stumble over the question. What does that have to do with escape training?

  His voice is calm and impassive. “A Vigilante doesn’t question her training.”

  I hesitate. “If I do well, will you let me stay?”

  “Get naked,” he repeats.

  It’s a test. I won’t fail it. I’m shy and a little embarrassed, but this is moving me in the direction I want to go. So I’ll do it.

  I kick off the shoes. The barn floor is rough and littered with loose hay. I lean down and set the coil of rope on the floor.

  I reach behind me for the hook of the bra. I fumble for a moment and realize my hands are shaking. I don’t know how far this is going to go, but I’m going to agree to anything Jax asks. This is my one shot at convincing him to keep me, and I’m not going to be afraid.

  The straps slide down my arm, and I let the bra fall to the floor. I resist the urge to cover myself.

  “Stand up straight,” he orders.

  I realize I’m hunching over, as if my shoulders could come forward and hide me. I lift my chin and let my arms dangle loosely at my sides. My chest comes out, the taut nipples out in front.

  Jax leans back on his elbow in the hay. “Panties.”

  I stick my thumbs in the straps.

  “Slowly,” he adds.

  I swallow past the lump in my throat. I ease the thong down my thighs. My hair is almost dry now and tickles my skin as I bend a little to push the panties past my knees. When they fall free, I stand tall again.

  “Come closer,” Jax says.

  My heart hammers in my throat. I take a step toward him, close enough that he can reach up and touch me anywhere.

  His hand wraps around my ankle and slides up my calf. I can’t breathe, the sensuous feel of his palm against my skin is so intense.

  He reaches my knee and keeps going, up my thigh. I can feel my pulse between my legs, and the hot wetness there, waiting for him. I’ve never been touched there by anyone, and the need for it is so great that I want to bend down and meet him halfway.

  But without warning, he smacks the bend at the back of my knee. It drops me into the hay, right on the shawl I left a minute ago. In a flash, both my wrists are encircled and over my head, pinned by his iron grip. His naked chest brushes against my breasts and I’m so shocked by how quickly he got me down that I cry out.

  “You want to learn to escape from this?” he asks.

  “Yes,” I say. “That’s what I want.”

  His face is inches from mine. His eyes linger on my lips, and I wonder if he is thinking of kissing me again. I want him to, need him to. It’s a fiery desperate longing I don’t think I can contain. My chest heaves from my labored breaths, creating a friction where our skin touches.

  “You made one constrictor and four slipknots in the car,” he says. “That was your mistake.” He glances up. “Let’s lash you to something.”

  He reaches beneath me in the hay and scoots my body, shawl and all, closer to a post.

  The rope hisses as he slips it around the rough wood. I can’t see the knot he ties. I can’t concentrate on that. His chest is so near, hot and bare. I want to touch it but I’m bound. I arch a little to reestablish our contact.

  Jax sits back to study his knots. I look up. My hands are pressed tightly together, bound to the post. I can barely move them at all. I don’t see any way to get out of this.

  “The hardest part of escaping is staying focused,” he says and picks up the frayed end of the rope. “I have a feeling this might be one of your weaknesses.” He grabs my knees and jerks them apart.

  I suck in my breath. I don’t know what he’s going to do next. The rope is in his hands and he lets it dangle until it brushes between my legs.

  The contact is electrifying and I can’t help it, but I cry out. I tug against the bonds. I want my hands.

  “Think about the knots, Mia. You know how they are tied. You know how they go.” He trails the end of the rope against my tender parts again.

  I’m on fire. The withdrawal of the rope is painful and leaves me aching with desire. I want it harder. I want more. I want to ease this fiery need.

  “Harder,” I find myself whispering, a little shocked.

  Jax pauses for a second, surprised, but he complies. The rope slaps against me with just a touch of sting. The contact is titillating, a burst of pure pleasure.

  “More,” I plead.

  “Untie the knot,” Jax says.

  I try to move my hands, but they are bound tight against the post. My body heaves as I thrust my hips toward Jax. “I can’t do it,” I say. “Please.”

  “Distraction,” he says as he examines the end of the rope. “You’re failing.”

  I stare up at my hands. I can follow the turns, but I can’t move at all to do anything about it.

  The rope brushes my belly and I focus on Jax again.

  “I should loosen these ends a bit more,” he says. “It’s a basic sisal three-strand. The beginnings of a nice flogger. Just what you’re aching for.”

  I swallow hard as he unravels more of the strands. The hot pleasure is already retreating, and I want it back. He uses one loose piece to wrap the end so the rope won’t come undone.

  “Think about that overhand turn,” he says. “And how you can reach it.”

  I can’t concentrate on anything but my need of that powerful strike, and his eyes on me, full of lust and interest and surprise. He’s pleased with me, and that is as powerful as the pleasure of the contact.

  But he sits back. He won’t do anything, give me any more, unless I impress him.

  I jerk against the ropes. They are rough and chafe me quickly, unlike the smooth silk we used before. I keep pulling them apart, but then realize I have room to work if I instead clasp them together.

  “Now you’re getting it,” Jax says. He’s finished this handmade flogger. I’m rewarded for my progress with a sharp smack between my legs with the frayed ends of the rope.

  This one has more force, but he knows it, and lays his hand against my skin to calm it.

  I lose concentration again, my body lifting up against his palm.

  “You like this?” he asks, and applies more pressure.

  “Yes,” I breathe. I’m on fire again, my body hot and throbbing.

  “Untie it and you’ll get a lot more,” he says.

  I clasp my hands together and stretch my finger. Yes, I can get it to the first knot. I poke into the knot like I’m holding a marlinspike tool to separate the strands. Any knot that can be tied can be undone. It’s just a reverse puzzle.

  My finger works inside.

  “Very nice,” Jax says.

  I pause, waiting for the rewarding strike. This one has bite, aimed more precisely. I cry out, then drift into a long moan when his hand cools the burn. This time his thumb slides down, gently brushing against the swollen bud.

  I lurch up again, pressing into his hand. I want so much more. I want everything.r />
  But Jax retreats, slapping the end of the rope casually against his palm.

  I work harder on the knot, releasing the first one. My arms drop about an inch, and I can reach the second far more easily.

  “Mmmm,” Jax says. “Nicely done.” He drops the rope. This time he spreads my knees and slides both hands up my thighs. His thumbs press into me, splaying me so wide I feel a cool rush of air against the newly exposed folds.

  I want more, to work this so fast that he doesn’t stop, that there is no pause. I slip my finger into the second knot and work it free. Just two more.

  He doesn’t release me, but keeps working, one thumb circling the sensitive bud, and the other slipping along the wet spaces that welcome him greedily.

  Now that I have room to work, the last two knots are easy. I pull them apart, and my arms fall away from the pole.

  “Escaping bonds is a mind game,” Jax says. “Work with the knots, not against them.”

  I can’t listen to anything. His fingers are making magic down below. I clutch his shoulders now that I’m free, and feel along his biceps. I haven’t touched anyone like this. I want to. I want to explore all of him.

  Jax leans over me, bracing on one arm. His finger slips a little more deeply inside. I arch up and into him.

  Sparks are bursting through me. My sensations are heightened, the smell of hay, the soft fuzz of the shawl, Jax’s breathing near my ear. He moves closer and his lips lock onto my breast, sucking lightly.

  A buzz starts to build down low. I’ve never felt anything so intense. My need to be filled, to release the pressure, is maddening, unrelenting.

  Jax’s movements increase in speed, delving more deeply. But something makes him stop suddenly and lift his head, looking at me. I don’t know what has happened, why he quit. My chest heaves.

  He watches me quietly, concern on his brow, then he seems to shake it off. His fingers move back to the nub, and I close my eyes and the friction starts to reach something, to create some sort of synergy.

  I relax into the hay and let it come over me, ripples like muscle contractions taking over my body in places I didn’t know existed.

  Then suddenly the pleasure blasts out like a shock wave. I can’t stop myself from crying out, from saying Jax’s name. It’s too intense, too crazy, overwhelming and beautiful and wild.