Never Have an Outlaw's Baby (Deadly Pistols MC #3)(95)
“Hey, what happened there?” I asked, pointing. “Don't tell me that's from him last time?”
The graying warden smiled and shook his head. “Nah. Don't worry. Another guy named Rasch went ballistic a couple days ago. His brother told him his wife was screwing around on the outside. He snuck in a hammer, started beating on the glass. Bastard took a few swings at my guys' heads before we managed to get it away.”
I swallowed hard. “It's still safe? Even with this damage?”
“Safe as can be,” Charlie said with a wink. “This glass is designed to hold back a raging bull, Sabrina. Hey, I can post a couple extra guys outside the door if you're worried he's going to try something.”
“No. That won't be necessary.” I hoped to God it wouldn't.
Charlie shrugged and disappeared, locking the door behind him, standard procedure. One more layer of security I should've felt good about – except if something blew through the glass and the guards couldn't get to me in time, I'd be stranded here with him.
I waited, waited, and then waited some more. What was the holdup?
Footsteps thundered outside the door, and I caught a glimpse of something long and black moving through the hall. My heartbeat spiked. I stood, walked over, and pressed my face to the glass.
The faint buzz I thought was just in my head was actually an alarm blasting in the hallway, muted by the thick door. Orange and black blurs mingled like tornadoes, prisoners grappling with guards in uniforms. Some wore thick armor, the heavy black stuff I'd seen blurring by the first time. Riot gear.
Holy shit. I remembered the way the prisoners looked like they were sitting on a dynamite charge and my blood ran cold.
I was about to freeze up and let panic set in when there was a loud bang behind the glass. The door on the other side opened, and Anton stepped in, a knowing smile on his face. He was still in chains, but his fists were bloodied.
Oh, God. Oh, no. This can't be –
Can't be what? Happening? It sure as hell was.
He'd dropped Charlie's limp frame behind him on the way in. I didn't know if the warden was alive or dead, but his face was really red, like he'd had all the blood shuttled to his head and then abruptly cut off there.
Anton's heavy footsteps were slow at first. He waited until I was fully in his sights before he lunged, slamming more than two hundred pounds of pure muscle against the glass. He went right for the weak spot.
His wrist cuffs smashed the dented glass again and again, a thud like lightning striking a sheet of ice. I stood there watching dumbly, my heart throbbing in my throat. Eight deafening whacks and the entire sheet splintered, caving in the same way as a shattered windshield.
The entire wall separating us came down. He punched out the last few pieces and climbed over the table, slightly clumsy because the chains bound his wrists together.
I fumbled with the tape recorder in my pocket – all I really had to throw at him. It fell, smashed into a couple of pieces on the hard floor. I hit the ground after it, throwing my arm over my head, shaking.
He took a good look and laughed. “I thought I said no f*cking tape recorders?”
“Please don't hurt me!”
“Babe, I wouldn't dream of it. But you're gonna help both our asses out right now by climbing over the glass and getting the warden's keys outta his pocket.” He waited, tapped his big foot near my face for about five seconds. “I mean now. Get the f*ck up!”
I didn't comply. I was too numb.
This wasn't happening. But it was, and all the grim denial in the world wouldn't change it.
My worst fears had exploded too abruptly to process. I was really, truly in the middle of a prison break. No, worse. The man who'd stirred so much emotional shit in my screwed up brain was asking me to aid and abet his escape.
“Shit. Looks like I'm gonna have to drag you kicking and screaming. Good thing I like it rough.”
I looked up just in time for him to stick his bloody fingers in my hair and pull. Hard. I stumbled up on my feet, fighting him, screaming like a lunatic.
Soon as I was standing, he slammed me into the wall. Anton's enormous bulk was so much heavier than anything in my depraved fantasies. I couldn't have escaped it if I tried. He pressed hard, flattening my breasts with his immense chest, somehow forcing my wrists up above my head.
“I told you I don't even wanna think about hurting you, babe. But I'm not promising shit if you don't do what I say. Right f*cking now.” His breath was hot on my face, his baby blue eyes burning like gas furnaces. “This isn't a goddamned game. I let you lead last time, but I'm the one calling the shots today. I'm in control. Every step you take begins and ends with me telling you where. I f*cking own you now, Sabrina. Judge, jury, and executioner of how you're gonna spend your next days on earth. Is that crystal f*cking clear?”
He rocked his whole body against mine. A harsh smile pulled at his lips. It must've been hard for him to force it down.
Damn it, the numbness in my nerves tingled sharper with him pressed close like this, sexy and dangerous as hell. My body betrayed me. He must've felt how hard my nipples were beneath the sweater and flimsy bra I'd chosen. All the modest clothing in the world couldn't hide how my flesh and brain and soul were mutinying against me, offering me up to this monster.
He swirled, still holding my wrists in one hand, his chain clacking near my ear. We both turned, and he marched me to the table, flattening me on the big desk previously separated by the busted safety glass.