Prisoner (Criminals & Captives #1)(20)

“I wanted to get in your class, but it was full. He took my iPod and got me in.”

My hands tighten on the wheel. “So?”

“If someone’ll take a small bribe, they’ll take a bigger one.”

“That’s disgusting.”

“That’s the world. I called in a few favors…made a few bribes…threatened a few people. Like you.”

“They’ll catch you. They’ll hunt you down like an animal.”

“I don’t think so,” he says, his voice more thoughtful than afraid. “I’ve been planning this since I got inside. No, I’d been planning it since before then, since I started doing shit that could get me arrested. And now that I’m out, I’m not going back anytime soon.”

“You could just not do illegal things.”

“That’s no fun, sweetheart. And you look like you could use a little fun.”

The woods get thicker as we drive, with fewer dirt-road turnoffs. The town where I live is a half-hour drive south of the prison, and we’ve been heading north forever. Nothing’s north. I haven’t seen a cop car for a long time. Did I miss my chance? Should I have crashed this car right in front of the cops so they’d have to stop? But for all I know, my little blue Honda would explode on impact. Or maybe the man beside me would shoot as soon as I turned the wheel. It takes a lot to invite death instead of postponing it.

Because that’s all I’m doing here, by obeying him. Postponing death.

Suddenly he rests his palm on my shoulder. The pressure is light and affectionate, like the touch of a friend. Or a boyfriend. Heat builds under his palm with the thin fabric of my summer sweater acting as a conduit. I’m acutely aware of the satin bra strap that he’s almost, almost touching…and I know he could do more.

He could move the strap aside. He could make me have sex with him, and there’s nothing I could do to stop him. That’s what the hand on my shoulder tells me.

“Turn right here,” he says. I see the building up ahead.

It’s a gas station! That’s my chance to escape. He has to know it, but he’s not acting concerned. Nothing ever concerns him. That’s going to be his downfall—that confidence. If I can find a way to use it.

We get closer, and my heart sinks. The building looked white from a distance, but up close you can see the way paint has peeled into yellowish grime. It’s an abandoned gas station.

“Right here.”

I slow and pull in. The part where you’d pay at the pump has been ripped out, leaving only two metal beams in the middle. It looks like something out of an apocalyptic movie.

He may be a cocky bastard, but he’s a prepared cocky bastard.

Off to the side is a car with a man standing next to it.

“Pull up next to him,” Grayson says.

The man’s stance is wide. Arms crossed. He doesn’t flinch as I aim a little too close to him.

Grayson squeezes my shoulder, and I straighten out and stop a few yards away. My foot is on the brake. He’s the one who reaches over to shift us into park. Then he turns off the car and puts the key in his pocket.

“Stay here,” he says before leaving the car.

Does he think I’ll obey? I sit very still, hands on the wheel, staring straight ahead. But inside I am clawing my way out of here. I am straining at the chains, just as surely as he did in prison. In this much, we are alike. Neither of us will remain in captivity if we can help it.

There’s not much in the car. Damn myself for keeping it relatively clean. What am I going to do with a stack of student memoirs? Fold them into an origami gun? I have nothing.

Then I remember. Pepper spray in the glove compartment.

It’s really so little. But what else do I have?

Get away. Use the pepper spray. Take his gun.

And then what? If I had a gun, could I pull the trigger? If I knew I’d end Grayson’s life to save my own, would I do it?





Chapter Fourteen




Grayson


Stone’s standing beside a car, feet crossed at the ankles, coolly taking everything in. He didn’t even flinch when she was heading for him. The hard-ass.

I’m not going to let him be a hard-ass about this. I slam the door behind me and close the distance between us, grabbing him in a bear hug. After a second, he hugs me back.

“Fuck,” he says gruffly.

I close my eyes, gripping onto him. Knowing he and the crew were all out there, pulling for me, ready to help, that got me through. He lets me go and studies my face. I wonder if I look different.

He nods toward the car. “What the f*ck?”

“Nothing. My chauffer.”

He pulls out a nine and hands it to me. “Do her and let’s go. Hurry up.”

My heart pounds. Something deep and visceral rejects the idea of a bullet in her brain. Of animals picking her apart. “She could still be useful.”

“To the cops, maybe,” he says. “She saw me, Grayson. There’s no choice.”

I glance back at Abby, sitting rigidly upright behind the wheel. Her glasses are on perfectly straight, but a strand of hair has escaped from her bun, and she’s staring ahead with utter composure, a look that is so her, just so very her, it does something to me. And suddenly all I can think is that she’s mine. It’s not even a thought, it’s a foghorn, blaring in my head: mine. “Here is messy. Bad place for a body.”