Prisoner (Criminals & Captives #1)(19)

She doesn’t have experience at this, and she sometimes makes jerky movements, but I don’t yell at her for that. I don’t want to hurt her for things she can’t control.

I shift in my seat, shaking her out of my mind because I know how quickly things can go bad, and if she forces my hand, if it’s a choice between her or my crew…

She needs to not matter.

First thing Stone and I need to do when we get up to Franklin City is find some women to f*ck so I can get my head back on straight. Right before we all make Governor Dorman sorry he was ever born.

I smile inside, imagining him hearing the news that I’ve busted out. Not like Dorman can go into hiding, being he’s a governor and all. No, he’ll be easy to find. Not easy to get to, with all that security, but we’ll figure it out.

More cops. She’s going fifty-five exactly.

“What you are is a liability, Ms. Winslow. You made the car, probably even memorized the f*cking license plate. You were going to call the cops on me.”

“No,” she whispers.

Liar. She’s too smart to do otherwise. “So I took your car instead. But that means… It means you aren’t that useful anymore.”

She’s silent. I’m scaring her, but I need her to understand the thin ice she’s on so she doesn’t do something stupid.

“My point is, if you don’t drive perfect, then maybe I should be driving. Right? Am I right?”

She stares at the road, lips pressed together, which plumps them out a little bit, and suddenly it’s too much, and I reach up to her face. It’s like an out-of-body experience, seeing myself do it, taking this liberty just because I can. She jumps as I graze her cheek with two knuckles. I draw them slowly down her silky skin, toward her chin, drinking up the feel of her, rich with electricity, rich with peace. She’s mine, and I want her so bad, it’s like a fever.

I pull my hand away. She’s breathing fast, hands gripping the wheel.

Softly I say, “That was a question, baby. You need to answer my questions now just the way I’ve been answering yours these past weeks. And if you’re good, I won’t make you list off twenty motherf*cking items in your house, okay?”

She looks over, anger in her eyes. I shift the Glock so it catches the light, reminding her who’s in charge. To remind me she’s expendable. The gun helps. It keeps us both focused.

She fixes her attention back on the road. “Fine. You’re right,” she says quickly. “If I don’t drive perfectly, you should be driving.”

“Very good, Ms. Winslow. But if I’m driving, how can I hold this gun on you? How do I know you might not jump out or do something crazy? Flag down cars or something. You see my dilemma?”

“Yes,” she whispers. I can tell from her face she really has worked it out, but I spell it out anyway.

“Bottom line, you drive nice, that’s one less reason for me to kill you.” I watch the lump move inside her smooth throat. A gulp of fear. It’s almost comical. “Gulp,” I say.

Her eyes flash at me. “Fuck you,” she says.

“Are you offering?” I ask, the feel of her skin still blazing on my knuckles.

She sniffs angrily, like that’s an outrageous idea. I flex my hand. Her cheek felt warmer than I expected. Her belly would feel warm under that sweater. And she’d be jumpy with every touch. Oh, Ms. Winslow would be very, very jumpy, tensing with every slide of my finger, every kiss, every little invasion. That’s how she’d be at first, anyway. I’d make her keep the glasses on the whole time. Unless I went ahead and broke them, like I was thinking earlier, to put her off balance. “Do you need those glasses to drive?” I ask.

She furrows her brows, trying to decide whether to lie or not.

“Never mind,” I say.

“Where are we going?”

“We’re going to meet my friend in a secluded area.”

She gives me that look again. The flare of surprise—and a little bit of something else too.

“Why, Ms. Winslow, please. Mind out of the gutter.” I smile and sit back. The smile is there to put her at ease. Stone’ll want her dead. It’s going to be a problem.

Another pair of cop cars heads over the hill. “You just drive nice, okay?”

“Nicely,” she snaps.

“What?”

“Drive nicely, that’s how you say it. Not drive nice.”

Oh God. Nicely. Correcting my grammar even at gunpoint. I’m so f*cking hot for her, I think I might burst into flames.





Chapter Thirteen




Abigail


The car feels unwieldy in my hands, as if I’m suddenly driving around an elephant instead of my trusty old car. The steering wheel tugs and gives unexpectedly, and it’s hard to keep the speed at exactly fifty-five. Any second now he’s going to notice.

And then he’s going to kill me.

Out here with Grayson, anything goes. That’s what the crisp air and too-bright sun are telling me. Anything goes.

The patch on his guard uniform says Dixon. Guess Manuel gave it to him. Or Grayson took it.

“Is Dixon okay?”

Grayson chuckles. “He’s okay. He’s fifty grand okay.”

A bribe, then. Dixon took a bribe to look the other way, to give up his uniform to help Grayson escape. It shouldn’t surprise me, but it does. Dixon was supposed to be one of the good guys. “How did you know he would take it?”