Prisoner (Criminals & Captives #1)(26)

“When you pushed my face into the ground, you mean?” I bite out. I actually don’t think he hurt my face at all. I think it was from when I crashed through the bramble, but he seems concerned for my welfare in that f*cked-up way of his, so I let him think it.

I’ll take any morsel of sympathy I can get.





Chapter Sixteen




Grayson


Ms. Winslow is nothing but trouble. If Stone were here, he’d drop her without a thought. He’s always been more comfortable with killing than I have. I mean that with respect. He didn’t hesitate to slash throats and gouge eyes when he had the chance, and it’s because of his physical brilliance and love for violence that we got out of that hellhole alive.

Here I am with a cop bound, blindfolded, and gagged. And little Ms. Winslow looking at me with her big doe eyes. She looks…wounded. Betrayed. Shocked that I might be a bad guy after all.

Well, nice to meet you too.

“Let’s go.”

“But what about…” She glances back at the cop.

Doesn’t she know the cop would give her up in a second if it meant catching me? She’s nothing to him. A pawn.

“What?” I go over and press the gun lightly to the cop’s temple. “Should I do it?” The cop jerks his head, pointing his face upward the way blindfolded guys always seem to do. Like if they look upward, they might suddenly see through the blindfold. I never understood that.

Her lower lip trembles. Is she going to cry? It’s going to sting her cheek. Why should I care? I shouldn’t, I shouldn’t, but my stomach clenches when the tear falls over the smooth skin and splashes into the bloody streak. Like an idiot I go to her and brush my thumb over the cut, knowing the salt and grime will hurt her too. She flinches but doesn’t move away.

Pain is a funny thing. We fight so hard to avoid it, almost more than death. But it’s the only thing that binds us. Going through pain together and coming out on the other side is the only form of friendship I’ve ever known.

And strangely, I want to have that with her. In a way I feel like we do. The class. The pepper-spray episode. A little hate, a little hell.

“Should I shoot him?” My voice has dropped to a whisper. “Should we get rid of him?”

She shakes her head, hard, dislodging more tears. “Don’t. Don’t.”

It makes me want to do it more. Maybe we’d be more connected if we went through a little more hell together. Sometimes when you’re made of ice, fire is all you feel. My finger tightens on the trigger. At least then I’d have done what they locked me up for.

Ms. Winslow wraps her arms around herself. “They’ll kill you!” The words sound torn from her. “They won’t just put you back in jail. They’ll put you on death row.”

Her words get me. It’s sympathy. Maybe even some kind of warped affection.

I know what to do with the fist and the knife. I know what to do with pain and hate. I know what to do with a woman, how to run the tender, caring act just long enough to get my rocks off.

I don’t know what to do with Ms. Winslow.

“Let’s go,” I repeat, gruff this time. Aren’t we a pair? Both of us determined to save the other, even though it might kill us in the end.

A grunt comes from the cop.

I spare him a glance. His mouth is stuffed full of fabric; his hands are cuffed. Stone would probably taunt him.

“Save your energy,” I say softly. “Don’t fight it. That makes it worse. Wait for your chance.”

Of course he doesn’t listen. He strains his muscles, fighting so hard the leaves shiver above him. A vein pulses in his forehead.

“Don’t struggle,” I snap, but he isn’t listening. They never listen.

“Let’s go!” I say again, and she obeys, turning in the direction I nod.

There’s enough light coming through the tall branches to tell me there’s an opening in this direction. I can’t risk going back to her car with the cop car there. I doubt there’s a partner sitting inside, waiting to hear back; state troopers work alone. But he would have called in his position before leaving the car. Backup is on the way. Probably not for at least thirty minutes, though.

Knowing police procedure has saved my ass more times than I can count.

We move through the forest at a swift pace despite the rocky landscape. Fallen trees and deadwood block our way. She stumbles sometimes, but I always catch her before she slips. She’s warm and soft in my grip. I force myself to let her go.

Why isn’t she running?

Obviously I’ll just catch her, but she has to know I won’t kill her now. I sure as hell know it. She’s mine to do what I want with, but that also means she’s mine to care for, to protect.

Lying on the ground with her, calming her, helping her breathe, that was one of the most powerful experiences of my life—powerful in a good way. The feeling is so huge inside me that it scares me. And then the way she broke apart underneath me, under my touch.

I catch a flash of red on her pale cheek at one point and I grab her wrist. Her brown eyes look up at me, dark pools in the dappled light.

“Did you get hurt?” I demand to know, even though she obviously did.

She shakes her head. “I’m fine.”

The blood dripping down her cheek calls her a liar and twists me in a knot. I want to say something comforting, but all I do is tighten my hold on her wrist. “You won’t get away if you run.”