The Darkest Hour (Running with the Devil Book 1)

by Jasmin Quinn

  Kelsie didn’t immediately respond. What could she say? What kind of a cop terrorizes a woman in the middle of the night and holds her hostage in her home? Hmmm… nope, seems like poor timing. Maybe something subtler. “Then let me go,” she softly implored him.

  “I can’t do that,” he responded quietly. “I can’t trust you not to call the cops.”

  “If you’re a cop, then why wouldn’t we call the cops?”

  “I know,” His voice was suddenly weak and tired. “But someone fingered me as a cop and there are only a handful of people who know – it has to someone inside my organization.”

  “Who would do that?” Kelsie didn’t quite believe him.

  Dean shrugged in the darkness. “Someone close to the operation. I don’t know who – yet.”

  “Prove you’re a cop.” Kelsie challenged him, but carefully, guardedly.

  “I can’t do that. I haven’t got anything that proves I’m anything but a thug working for the Russian mafia. Besides, the fucking Russians took everything I had on me.”

  Kelsie didn’t know what to say next. Maybe he was a cop, maybe he wasn’t. It didn’t matter at this point. He was still holding her hard against him, unwilling to let her go. There was no reason for her to trust or believe him. Did she feel safe with him? No! Would she run the first chance she got? In a heartbeat!

  “Let’s go,” Dean said gruffly, growing tired of waiting for her to process her situation. He hauled himself off the floor dragging Kelsie up by the waist as if she was a sack of feathers. “Walk slowly,” he instructed. “Don’t move suddenly or try anything stupid. Show me where this bathroom is.”

  He held her close to him and as they shuffled toward her bedroom, she got a better sense of his height and strength. Of average height herself, she could feel him tower over her, could sense the broadness of his chest on her back. She felt a shiver trail up her spine as they moved into her bedroom and then to the doorway of the bathroom. “It’s here,” she said, expecting him to release her. But he didn’t. He looked around the bedroom making sure the curtain was drawn, memorizing the layout, then he pulled her into the bathroom and closed and locked the door behind them. Blackness consumed them. “Turn on the light,” he commanded.

  Kelsie groped for the switch and flipped it on. Soft, warm light infused the bathroom. He let her go then, pushing her deeper into the room. Kelsie’s house was not extravagant. Two bedrooms, a study, a two-car garage. But her bathroom was her favourite room in the house with double sinks on the right side near the doorway and opposite, some hooks for clothing or wet towels and built-in floor-to-ceiling shelves that held toiletries and neatly folded towels. The toilet sat next to the shelves and was framed on the other side by a huge walk-in shower. Opposite the shower was a large jetted tub that she absolutely adored.

  As Kelsie stumbled forward, she caught both her appearance and his in the mirror. Her long blond hair was wild, her complexion pale, and the pupils of her blue eyes dark and dilated. But his was worse. He was tall and muscular, maybe 35 years old. Full head of thick brown hair, in disarray. Cleaned up, he might be good-looking, but right now, his face was a mess of bruises, a shallow cut over his left eye, a split lip, blood on his chin and down the front of his shirt. The knuckles on his right hand were skinned and bloodied. But that wasn’t the worst part. The right side of his shirt and jeans were covered in blood – that couldn’t be good, he was seriously injured. She looked down at herself then and saw the blood on her hands, her arms, her legs, her night dress. She whirled around and stared at him. “Oh my god,” she exhaled.

  Dean staggered forward then, grabbing the vanity to hold himself steady. “I was shot by those fuckers.” He reached past her and lowered the lid on the toilet seat, then sat down heavily.

  “You need a hospital!” Kelsie exclaimed as she started to move toward the bathroom door. “I’m going to call an ambulance.” Suddenly she felt his viselike fingers around her wrist yanking her back to him. He twisted her arm painfully forcing her onto her knees in front of him.

  “Listen to me carefully,” he growled gripping her wrist tightly in his hand and looking down at her, his face twisted in anger and pain. “I may be hurt, but I am still in control of this situation and… of you. Understand?”

  “You’ve lost a lot of blood,” Kelsie argued softly. “You might need a transfusion.”

  Dean lost his temper. “I don’t need a fucking transfusion. We’re not calling an ambulance, we’re not calling the cops, we’re not calling your mom and dad or your boyfriend or any fucking one else. What we’re going to do is fix me up and let me get some rest so I can figure out what to do next. Got it?” He shook her arm for emphasis and then let her wrist drop.

  “Yes,” Kelsie said faintly to his chest. She was afraid to look into his eyes. “I got it.” She rubbed the wrist he just crushed, trying to ease both the pain and her growing panic.

  “Good. Now help me get out of this shirt so we can see how bad it is.”

  Kelsie reached up with shaking fingers and started to unbutton his shirt. He touched her fingers with his left hand. “Gently,” he warned. She slowed her movements down, carefully undoing each button until his shirt was open. She gingerly parted it, her hands brushing his broad muscular chest and rock-hard stomach. He was bruised all over.

  “They beat you.” She touched his bruises softly with her fingers, feeling tenderness wash over her.

  Chapter Four

  Dean felt her fingers on his stomach, tracing the edges of his abs. Softly, gently… nurturing. He snatched her hand away from him. It must be the shock. She was intoxicating. “Let’s get this over with,” he said as he shifted toward her. “Help me out of the shirt. Left side first.”

  “I need to stand up,” she said, and as he nodded, she got to her feet leaning into him to pull the shirt over his shoulder and down his arm. Her breasts brushed against his arm and he felt her leg brush his left thigh.

  Fuck. Dean felt a sudden tightening in his groin. I’m fucking gunshot, beaten up and half-dead and I am still getting hard.

  “Okay.” Kelsie fortunately interrupted his thoughts. “I’m going to take your shirt down the right side now. I think it’s sticking to the wound, so it might hurt a bit.”

  “Just do it,” Dean growled.

  She pulled his arm out of the right sleeve and then pulled the fabric away from the bloody area. It hurt like fucking hell and Dean had to bite his tongue to keep from swearing at her. Blood was still seeping from the deep gash. The bullet had clearly grazed him, which in all the possibilities, was the best-case scenario. Anything deeper would have likely and eventually killed him. He flinched as she dropped the shirt to the floor, knelt and touched the wound lightly with her fingertips.

  “Sorry,” she apologized as she pulled her hand back. “I just wanted to see how deep it was. You need this stitched up.”

  “That’s clearly not going to happen,” Dean responded through clenched teeth. “What I need is for you to get out your first aid kit and fix it up.”

  Kelsie looked up into his pain-filled eyes. “Okay.” Her voice was shaky. “Okay. We need to unbutton your jeans.”

  “They were coming off anyway. I need to shower.”

  “I don’t think you’re supposed to get a wound this bad wet. It might get infected.”

  Dean gazed at her, his patience ebbing as his pain intensified. “A fucking infection is the least of my worries,” he snapped. “Besides, Florence Nightingale, you’re going to fix it up so good, that I’ll be able to fly on a fucking trapeze tomorrow.”

  She met his eyes with an annoyed gaze that seemed to say fuck you too, you ungrateful asshole. He could she see was clearly debating whether to let him have it, but then, smart girl, she dropped her eyes. “Fine. What do you want to do first?”

  “Shower,” he said bluntly as he thrust a foot at her. “Help me off with my shoes.”

  Kelsie, still on her knees, untied the laces and pulled off his shoes, one at a time. T
hen she rolled down his socks and pulled these off his feet too. Dean watched her on her knees, her head bent submissively, blond curls framing her face. She was fucking beautiful, he thought. Or beautifully fuckable. And cool as a cucumber too, she’d barely flinched at the sight of the gash in his side.

  She looked up suddenly as if she were reading his mind, meeting his intense gaze. She felt herself flush under his scrutiny, a feeling of vulnerability overshadowing her courage. “Pants next?” she asked, breaking the tension.

  “Yes.” He reached out for her as she stood up. “Help me stand.”

  She moved in against him as he slid his left arm around her shoulders. Kelsie was strong and lean, but Dean’s body was all muscle and she staggered under the weight of it. As he steadied himself and let her go, Dean reached down and undid the button and zipper on his pants. He slid them over his ass along with his briefs, exposing himself completely and then sat back down on the toilet. “Pull them off me,” he demanded unabashedly. Kelsie stepped back and looked at him shaking her head in disbelief.

  “What the hell?” she said, letting a little of her anger slip.

  He threw his head back and laughed, then stopped as his side exploded in pain. He gasped out. “Do I look like I am in any shape to jump your bones? I need a shower, I’m covered in blood, my clothes are bloody, my underwear is bloody. I want very much not to be bloody. We’re fucking adults. If I promise not to grope you with my dick, will you help me take my pants off, so I can shower?”

  “Fine,” Kelsie snapped as she stepped forward and dropped to her knees in front of him. “You’re a real asshole, you know that?”

  Dean exploded. He reached down, grabbed her hair and yanked her head back so that she had no choice but to look up into his rage-filled eyes as she scrabbled at his wrists with her hands, trying to get him to loosen his grip. But he didn’t yell. Instead his words came out softly and coldly, a warning. “This asshole could snap you in two if he wanted to. When I want you to talk dirty to me, I’ll be the first to let you know. In the meantime, you’re going to do as I say, when I say it and exactly as I say it. I need your help, not your fucking attitude.” He jerked her head in emphasis. “Am I clear?”

  He could see her face visibly pale and tears spring to her eyes. She sat there for a moment trying to contain them, blink them back, as if knowing tears would have no effect on a bastard like Dean. In fact, it might even escalate the situation. She swallowed her fear and nodded the best she could with her hair still entangled in his fists. “Good.” He released her suddenly, making her rock back on her knees.

  “Finish it,” he commanded. She took a few shaky breaths and then reached up and pulled his jeans down his legs and over his feet, trying not to get her face too close to his penis.

  “Good. Get some towels and turn the shower on. Where’s the soap and shampoo?”

  “Already in the shower,” Kelsie said tersely as she pulled a couple of towels off the linen shelf and dropped them down on the countertop. As she turned on the shower faucet, she refused to look at him – as if she’d never seen a naked man let alone had one in her bathroom with her, Dean thought sardonically. “It’s ready,” she said keeping her eyes lowered as she made a small adjustment to the temperature.

  “Good. Help me up.” Dean motioned to her. He leaned his weight on her again. He could tell she was starting to feel the strain and the stress of this night as she staggered trying to support him. She drew on hidden reserves, regaining her footing and helping him over to the shower. As they got to the door, she let go of him and tried to step out of his way. “Where do you think you’re going?”

  Kelsie looked at Dean in horror. “You don’t expect me to shower with you?”

  “Yes, I do,” Dean snapped at her. “If I step into this shower without you, you’re going to try to leave. I could tie you up, but that’s a waste of time and energy. Besides, you’re a mess. You have almost as much of my blood on you as I do. And I’ll need some help washing myself and cleaning this fucking hole in my side.”

  Kelsie looked at him not sure what to do or say next. He helped her out. “If you’re that fucking modest, keep the nightgown on.”

  That settled it. Kelsie stepped into the shower helping Dean in and under the spray of hot water. Dean closed his eyes - he needed a little time to think, to get sorted. Even in as much pain as he was, he couldn’t help but be impressed by the woman standing next to him. She was pretty cool given the circumstances; no real tears, no hysterics. It was remarkable, and also a little unsettling. Did he just manage to elude the fucking Russians only to walk into some black widow’s hideaway? He shook the last thought off. The pain in his side was getting to him. It felt good though, standing next to her, arm wrapped around her, hot water washing over them. He breathed in the scent of her hair, the soft smell of lavender. She felt safe to him and he needed that right now. He needed to hang onto this moment a little longer.

  Then she said, “What do you want me to do first?”

  Dean opened his eyes and looked down at her speculatively. Now there was a loaded question. Any other time, any other place, he would have very explicitly and precisely told her what he wanted her to do first and it very likely involved her on her knees with his cock down her throat. But wrong place, wrong time, probably the wrong women, though this last thought pained him a little. It was too late to turn the clock back and change things. He would always be the guy who terrorized her, forced her into a shower with him. And that wasn’t the worst of it, he knew. The night was still young.

  After they showered, Dean felt better. Kelsie had washed his hair and his body, very carefully avoiding his dick. She spent time and care on the wound. It hurt like fucking hell as she washed it, but it needed the cleaning. Then he told her to finish her shower as he stepped out and closed the door behind him.

  The shower rejuvenated him slightly, and he leaned against the counter feeling a little more strength and a little less pain. As he dried himself off, he watched her openly while she washed and rinsed her hair and then soaped her body as much as her modesty would allow with him standing in her bathroom. Her nightgown was drenched, and her body was clearly visible through the wet clinging fabric. Everything about her was highly sensual, from her long blond hair to her pale smooth skin, her long neck and strong slim arms, firm round breasts with highly suckable nipples, a narrow waist and a neat dark patch between her lean thighs. Her ass was round and inviting, her legs were long and shapely. Hell, even her fucking feet were sexy. And what made her even more cock-teasing was her seeming lack of awareness of the effect she had on him and probably every other man she encountered.

  Chapter Five

  Kelsie closed her eyes as she rinsed the shampoo out of her hair. She had to admit to herself that showering with Dean felt good. It made her wistful. This had never happened in her life. A shower with a man, all the erotic possibilities. And this Dean guy, he had it going on in the junk department. From the glimpses she stole, he seemed quite proportionate to his size, maybe even bigger. Of course, this was not the ideal fantasy. She had just showered with a lunatic who was holding her captive and threatening to break her neck. Kelsie’s eyes popped open at this thought.

  She turned the faucet off and stepped gingerly out of the shower. She was wet, cold, and dripping everywhere. The only redeeming thing about her current situation was that Dean, leaning against the bathroom counter as he watched her, had wrapped a towel around his waist so that he was a little less naked. He threw a couple of towels at her and said gruffly, “Get dried off and use one of those towels to wrap around you. There’s no point in walking around in that wet nightgown if you don’t want me to see all your lady parts.”

  Kelsie flushed as she caught the towels. Of course, he was right. The thin cotton would be clinging and transparent by now. And bloody hell, she wasn’t wearing panties. She draped one towel around her wet hair and then turned her back to him as she pulled the wet nightgown off her shoulders and let it drop to the floo
r. She wrapped the towel around her body and tucked it in over her chest then turned to face him, catching the small wry grin playing at his lips. Even with the cut lip, it was an extremely kissable mouth, Kelsie thought. Her eyes travelled down his muscular, medium furred chest, to his rock-hard abs to the trail of hair disappearing under the towel. Then she shivered at her train of thoughts and dropped her eyes to the floor.

  What the fuck is wrong with me? Am I trying to convince myself that he’s a cop, that this is safe? Stupid, stupid girl. Keep your guard up or you’ll get hurt.

  Dean sensed her swift change in mood, from gently interested to fearful. Well, better that way anyway, he thought. He knew he wouldn’t need much encouragement from her to jump her bones. And while a good fuck might be part of the cure right now, he didn’t want to take advantage of her vulnerability. It might keep her more compliant and submissive if you got her to want to fuck you, the horny bastard in him argued, but the noble prick in him crammed the thoughts down. Lock it down, asshole. She’ll do what you say anyway, because she’s afraid of you.

  Dean pointed at the gash in his side. “It’s clean and dry, still hurts like hell though. What do you have for first aid?”

  Kelsie carefully stepped by him and crouched down to slide a vanity drawer open. He looked down. Tylenol, some antibiotic ointment, hydrogen peroxide, adhesive tape, gauze, some smaller and larger gauze pads, a box of adhesive band aids, cotton balls and scissors. “It’s like you were expecting me,” he grinned. She glanced up at him with a shuttered face and pulled out the various items, setting them on the countertop.

  “How do you want to do this?” Kelsie asked.

  “You do it – fix me up.”

  And she did, adding some hydrogen peroxide to a cotton ball and then swabbing the cut over his eye. It was ugly but not deep. Just a little ointment. Nothing she could do about the lip or bruises. She swabbed his raw knuckles with some hydrogen peroxide. Then she moved to the gash in his side. “Fuck,” Dean grunted as she swabbed the gash with several peroxide-soaked cotton balls, but he didn’t flinch or make her stop. Then she applied ointment and a wad of gauze over the wound. She held it in place with a larger piece of gauze which she taped on with strips of adhesive that Dean cut and handed to her.