“Don’t put them too close to the fire,” I mutter. “If you can’t feel them, you’ll hurt yourself.”
I leave her by the hearth and go find the pair of my own clean, dry socks that she was wearing yesterday. Handing them to her, I watch in silence as she puts them on. Isabel stares into the fire, her face subdued. Finally, after a few minutes, she looks up at me.
“Thank you,” she says quietly.
Then, as I stand there, she stands, goes into the bedroom and softly closes the door behind her.
About an hour later, Oz calls me to give me an update. I don’t tell him about Isabel’s escape attempt. I don’t need the grief, for one thing. And for another, I don’t want to bring down his wrath on Isabel. The more I think about it, it’s not really her fault she feels like she’s being imprisoned instead of protected. He ought to have told her why he’s doing this. In her place, I’d likely feel the same way.
“Has anything unusual happened on your end?” Oz is asking me. His voice seems more tense than usual. “Anything at all?”
“No. No sign of anything, or anyone. There’s been no activity at all.” I frown. “What’s wrong? Is something up?”
He responds with a low growl of anger. “Last night, one of my men’s old ladies was hurt, badly. She is in the hospital, and will not survive. This was meant for me. To turn my men against me by targeting their wives. Our families are at the clubhouse in lockdown.”
“Fuck,” I swear. This is exactly what Oz was worried about. “Do you want me to bring Isabel there?”
“No. I want her far away from this. But this proves there is every reason to believe Fowler and his men are looking for her.”
“Oz,” I say, frowning. “Why haven’t you told Isabel about this? She thinks she’s being held here for no reason. Shouldn’t she know what the threat is?”
“Isabel is fragile,” he says dismissively. “Knowing this would only frighten her.”
“With all due respect, Oz, Isabel is stronger than you think.” And she is. In spite of myself, I can’t help but side with her on this one. She’s not the weak little flower Oz seems to think she is. She’s got a backbone of steel — even when she’s being a damn idiot. She’s sure as hell not afraid to stand up to me. I almost chuckle at the thought. No woman has ever gone toe to toe with me the way Isabel has. And truth be told, it’s sexy as fuck the way her eyes snap and flash when she’s telling me to go to hell.
“Isabel doesn’t need to know the details, and that’s final,” Oz commands. “But if you find you’re having trouble keeping her under control, perhaps you aren’t the right man for the job.”
“I’m not having trouble,” I bark back. I hate being stuck here, but the thought of someone else being alone with Isabel like this makes my blood run hot. “She’s safe, and she’s under control. There’s no problem here, Oz.”
“Make sure it stays that way.” Oz pauses. “And please. Be careful. If you have any reason to believe you might be in the slightest danger, it’s your responsibility to procure sufficient backup to ensure my daughter’s safety.”
“Understood,” I say curtly.
“Good. I’ll be in touch tomorrow with an update. Call me at this number if anything changes.”
15
Isabel
I sit in the center of the bed, arms clasped tightly around my knees. My feet are finally warm again, but I’m still trembling.
I feel exactly like the idiot Thorn tells me I am. I can’t believe how stupid and childish I was to try escaping like that, with no planning and no foresight at all. As much as I hate to admit it, Thorn probably saved me out there. I wasn’t going to get much further without shoes. And even if I had eventually managed to find help, I might have suffered frostbite at the very least. I could have lost toes, or worse.
The thought of going back out there and facing him is mortifying. I can’t stand to think of how angry he probably still is at me. And it’s even harder because his anger is justified. He’ll treat me even worse now than he has been, and I’ll deserve it. As pissed off as I am at my father for shutting me away like this, it’s not Thorn’s fault. He’s only doing his job. And in this case, I should be thankful that he did it as well as he did, or I’d probably be out there in the woods alone crying, with icicles for feet.
I look down at Thorn’s socks covering my now-warm toes, and bite my lip, remembering how gentle his hands were as they took off my soaking ones by the fire. A little shiver runs through me as I think about how he carried me in his arms all the way back here. He was so strong, and in spite of the pain I found myself feeling… safe. Protected. Like nothing could hurt me as long as he was holding me. It was such a strange sensation. Except for my mother, I’ve never felt like anyone was really looking out for me before. Gazing up into his dark, brooding eyes, I almost wanted the trip home to be even longer, so I could stay safe and warm in his arms.
Squeezing my eyes shut, I hang my head and rest my forehead on my knees. I can’t believe this. Am I actually starting to have feelings for the man who’s holding me captive? I snort softly at my foolishness. I must be lonelier and more hard up for human contact than I thought. And hell, maybe all the romance novels I’ve been reading on that Kindle are getting to me. My mind is probably going into overdrive from lack of any other stimulation. I need to get myself together. Lifting my head, I shake it dramatically back and forth a few times to clear it. But it doesn’t do much, other than making me feel a little dizzy.
“Ugh,” I groan. I fall back against the pillows, my arms flailing out to my sides. I stare at the ceiling and sigh. “Iz, you’re pathetic. Get a hold of yourself. This is the way it’s gonna be until Oz decides he’s had enough of treating you like Rapunzel. So you may as well make the best of it, and stop torturing yourself with stupid ideas.”
An hour or so later, a slow, methodical thumping begins outside. I emerge from the bedroom and look out the window to see Thorn chopping wood again. He’s taken off his shirt, and his strong, muscular back is glistening in the late afternoon sun. I tell myself to turn away and stop looking, but I don’t listen to me. Instead, I can’t help but admire how really distractingly sexy this man is. He’s pretty much perfect, physically. The tattoos that line his back, arms, and chest only accentuate the perfection. I watch his hands as they grip the ax, strong and sure, and can’t help fantasizing what they would feel like caressing my skin, or gripping my hips…
My skin goes goosebumpy at the thought, my nipples growing taut as my eyes flutter half-closed. There’s no denying it. I want Thorn. I can’t ever remember wanting a man like this. Of course, the few boys I ever dated in high school and after were just that — boys. Thorn is all man. All sex and virility. It’s impossible to deny it. Even when he looks at me with his habitual pissed off glower, it just makes him all the more delicious to look at.
God, how fucked up is that?
“Good thing he hates me,” I mutter to myself. I snicker sadly at how ridiculous I’m being, and finally tear myself away from the front row seat to his sexiness.
Thorn stays outside chopping for a while. I wander restlessly around the cabin, wishing for something to do. Given my current aroused state, I don’t feel like opening up my Kindle when I know I’ll just be picturing him as the leading man in the romance I’m reading. I don’t have my phone, so I can’t even waste time looking at social media. Where is my phone, anyway, I wonder? I vaguely remember dropping it when Dad’s men grabbed me. It’s probably still sitting in the parking lot of the road house, maybe crushed by now. Remembering that night makes my thoughts turn to my friend Deb. God, she must be worried sick. I’ve barely thought about her since this whole thing started. I feel terrible that I can’t even tell her I’m okay.
Well, there’s nothing to be done about that now. Pushing the thought from my head, I continue wandering around the cabin and start to snoop around a bit. I open up the kitchen cabinets one by one, searching through them more thoroughly than I did yesterday. I don’
t discover much that’s new, except for a couple of cans of off-brand Spam in something called “pizza flavor.” Grimacing, I put the cans back and close that particular cupboard. “Who are these freaking savages?” I murmur to myself in disgust.
Moving on to the living room, I open the top drawer of a side table next to the couch. There’s a couple packs of playing cards, what looks like a marijuana roach, and a plastic bag of poker chips. I shrug and open the door at the bottom to see a stack of board games, some of which look like they’re for kids. Huh. It’s hard to imagine any of Thorn’s MC brothers having children, but what do I know? Besides, some of my dad’s men have families.
I find myself wondering if Thorn has an old lady. Or kids. He hasn’t mentioned anything. But why would he say anything to me, if he does? The thought isn’t a pleasant one, and I chastise myself for even caring.
I close the door and wander a few more steps, when my eye lights on Thorn’s open duffel bag, sitting in the corner. Hesitating for a moment, I kneel down and carefully lift up one of the flaps to peer in: shirts, a pair of jeans, some socks that match the ones I have on. Nothing special, or interesting, and I’m too chicken to dig down and look any further. I’m disappointed there’s nothing here that would give me any insight into his life.
Footsteps on the porch interrupt my thoughts. I let out a little squeak and hurriedly stand. Moving to the fireplace, I pretend to be warming myself by the fire when Thorn comes in with a load of wood in his arms.
“You not warmed up yet?” he grunts as he comes over to dump the load next to the fireplace.
“No, I’m okay,” I murmur, feeling my face redden. “It just feels nice here, is all.”
He glances at me for a second before turning away. “This should get us through tonight,” he says, gesturing toward the wood. His shirt is back on, but sweat is already beginning to soak it through. “I need to take a shower,” he grunts. “So…” He nods toward the chair where I was tied up yesterday.
“Thorn,” I begin, hesitating. “I’ll understand if you have to tie me up. I know I deserve it. But I just wanted to say I’m sorry about earlier. It was stupid, I know. And I know I’m lucky you came after me. I’d be out there freezing to death by now if it wasn’t for you. So, well… I’m sorry. I mean, I know I already said that. But…” My eyes fill with tears. I swallow hard, feeling like a dope that I’m close to crying for some reason. “I guess I’m trying to say, I promise I won’t do that again. So, you can tie me up, and I won’t argue. But I wouldn’t go anywhere, even if you didn’t.”
Thorn fixes me with a hard stare and narrows his eyes. “You know I’d be a fool to believe you?”
“I know.” I swallow again and shrug. “I just wanted to say it anyway.” I turn and go to sit down in the chair. “It’s okay,” I say, holding out my arms. “You can tie me up.”
Thorn continues to look at me for a few moments without moving. Then, without a word, he reaches over to the side table for the rope and kneels down to bind my feet. I let him, placing my legs to help him, then move my hands behind the chair back so he can tie them as well. He works slowly, frowning and silent. I don’t know he believes me or not, but at least I hope he accepts my apology.
When he’s finished, he puts his hands on his knees and stands. His eyes meet mine, unreadable.
“I’ll untie you as soon as I’m done,” he murmurs softly.
Then he’s gone.
16
Thorn
For the second time, I explode with relief in the shower, swallowing the groan as I come hard and fast. That girl is going to be the death of me.
Afterwards, I stand under the water and try to clear my head. I don’t know how much longer I can last being in the same room with her and not being able to do anything about it. I thought chopping wood could relieve some of the tension. But just being close enough to her to tie her to the chair brought all the lust roaring back.
I almost didn’t tie her up this time. I actually believed her when she said she wouldn’t run. Clearly, I’m going soft in the head.
But fuck, it’d be a hell of a lot easier to keep my mind off that girl if I didn’t have to touch her.
I’m in a foul mood when I get out of the shower, because I know jerking off will only be a temporary fix. As I towel off, I stare at the stupid mug in the mirror and ask him why he’s such a bleedin’ idiot. Christ, I can’t stand the sight of myself. I’m being completely undone by this girl.
I know I’m glowering like a sour fuck when I come out of the bathroom to untie her. Isabel is sitting quiet and docile in her chair. She doesn’t say a word when I bend down and let her loose. She actually fuckin’ thanks me when she’s free. I look at her a little sharply, and she blushes and bows her head.
“I need a fuckin’ whisky,” I mutter as I turn toward the kitchen.
I’m pouring myself a shot when Isabel comes into the kitchen behind me. “I could start dinner pretty soon,” she offers. “If you want.”
“Sure,” I reply, and leave the room with the glass and the bottle. I can’t get drunk, because my job is to keep her safe, but I need something to take the edge off. I sit down on the couch and set the bottle on the coffee table. I tip the shot back into my mouth, and savor the heat of it as it goes down my throat. Exhaling deeply, I sink back and close my eyes.
“Do you want to play a game of cards or something after dinner?” Isabel calls. “I found a deck in that little table over there.”
“Nah. Not in the mood.” I reach up and massage my forehead tiredly. I don’t want to sit across from this girl and look at her all night. But she does have a good idea about trying to pass the time. “We could watch a movie, though, if you want.”
“There’s movies here?” she asks, surprised.
“Sure. You see the DVD player there, don’t ya?” I say, nodding toward it. “There’s a bunch of them in that cabinet under the TV.”
“Oh my gosh!” Isabel practically dances into the living room. “This is so exciting!”
Her face is lit up like a kid on Christmas. I can’t help but laugh. She’s as bored as I am here. Of course she is. This hasn’t exactly been a party for her either.
Isabel plops down cross-legged in front of the cabinet and opens it up, then starts pulling out DVDSs and examining them one by one. “There’s a lot of testosterone movies in here,” she says, wrinkling her nose.
I snort and grin in spite of myself. “Testosterone movies?”
“Yeah,” she says, giving me a wide, open smile that almost rips a hole right through me. “You know. Guys destroying things, loudly and expensively.”
“Huh. Yeah. Good description of it.” I raise an eyebrow, conceding the point. She nods and smiles even wider.
For a moment, we’re just looking at each other. Two people sharing a laugh. It feels good.
It feels fucking awful.
I lean forward and grab the bottle. “Well, this is an MC safehouse,” I say with a sour look, filling the shot glass a second time. “You’re not likely to find any Jennifer Aniston movies here. So fucking deal with it.”
Isabel’s grin fades. I feel terrible about it, but too fucking bad. She turns back to the movies and keeps looking through them in silence. The second shot goes down my throat. I start to feel a little better. I close my eyes again and lean my head back. A few seconds later, she lets out an excited squeal.
“How about this one?”
I open my eyes and look at the case. Die Hard.
“Yeah, all right,” I approve grudgingly.
“It’s perfect! I always watch this every year at Christmas.”
“At Christmas? Why?”
“Because it’s a Christmas movie.”
I cock my head and frown at her. “No it fucking isn’t!”
“Yes it is!” she insists.
“Just because it takes place during the Christmas season doesn’t make it a Christmas movie, Isabel,” I say impatiently.
“It’s not just that!”
she crosses her arms. “It’s about family, and love. John McClane and his wife are estranged at the beginning of the movie. At the end, they realize they’re still in love and that’s what really matters. Plus, there’s Christmas stuff all over the place. It just feels like Christmas.”
“Yeah. Guns and violence being so festive.” I roll my eyes.
“John’s wife is named Holly,” she says, raising her eyebrows. “Duh.”
“Duh?” I smirk.
“Yes. Duh.” Isabel gets up. “This is the movie we’re watching. By the end of it, you won’t be able to deny that I’m right.” She sets the movie on the coffee table. “I’m going to make dinner. You just keep living in your world of delusions.”
I steal a look at her ass as she goes. My dick stirs. It’s a warning signal that I need to police myself, but I’m actually feeling okay right now, thanks to the whisky. I just need to keep my distance, eat dinner and watch the fuckin’ movie. It’ll be fine.
“All right, so it is sort of a Christmas movie,” I admit.
We’re sitting on opposite ends of the couch. A half-eaten bowl of popcorn is between us, because Isabel found some in one of the cupboards and insisted on popping it. We’ve had dinner, I’ve had a third shot of whisky, and I’m now nursing a beer and congratulating myself on being mostly able to control myself in Isabel’s presence for two and a half hours.
I get up and throw another log on the fire. Isabel pumps her fist in victory and says I told you so about a million times until I mock-growl at her to back off. She has the grace to look chastened.
As the flames start to lick around the log, Isabel stretches her arms wide and sighs. “That feels so good. I love fires.”
THORN: Lords of Carnage MC Page 9