Prisoner (Criminals & Captives #1)(43)

Abby is sitting where I left her, in the kitchen chair, blindfolded. The glass of orange juice in front of her is full. She hasn’t touched it.

I need sleep. Which means she needs sleep. I crush the pills I pulled from Nate’s stash. A sedative meant for dogs and cats. I stir it into the juice.

She’ll be able to taste it, but that won’t matter. I’m not trying to hide the fact that I’m drugging her.

“Here,” I murmur, taking her hands and showing her where the glass is, making sure she has a grip on it.

She takes a sip and makes a face. I catch the glass before she can knock it away.

“What is that?” she asks, sputtering.

“Something to help you sleep.”

“You drugged me?”

“Not yet,” I say evenly. “One sip isn’t going to do anything. You’re going to drink this whole glass.”

“Like hell.”

Her swearing gets me hot. And that’s a problem, because in an hour she’s going to be asleep. “You are going to drink it, because the alternative involves cages and metal handcuffs. And then I’d probably stick a needle of horse tranquilizer in you for good measure.”

Because judging from her bruised wrists, she might be willing to break her arm to get out. Most people think they’ll do anything to escape, but they won’t.

Something about her is different. She’s fierce and a little bit crazy. It means I can’t trust her. It also means I really, really want her. To have all that wildness beneath me.

“But why?” Her voice is thready, afraid. She’s afraid. It twists something in my chest.

“It’s just a light dose, Abby. But the truth is, I can’t trust you after what happened at the motel.”

She flinches as if I hurt her. Maybe I did. But I can’t risk her getting loose from me while I sleep here. I can’t make Nate watch her.

And, above all, I don’t want to have to tie up her wrists when they’re already f*cked up. I won’t hurt her any more than I have to.

“Drink it,” I say, more gently. “It’s just enough for a dog. Twenty pounds. It’s going to make you groggy. Not unconscious.”

And just like that, she obeys me. Her hands are shaking as she lifts the glass to her lips. I help her hold it in place while she drinks it down, almost greedy now that she’s decided to give in.

I think she wants oblivion as much as I want to give it to her.

I watch her drink, watch the way each sip leaves shiny little specks of pulp scattered across her top lip like stars. And then she licks them off.

“That’s good,” I tell her. “You won’t cause me any trouble tonight.”

“Yeah,” she says softly.

I look up and find Nate staring at us with an expression I can’t quite read. I don’t care. Let him think whatever f*cked-up thing he wants. I peek into his fridge. “You like blueberries?”

She nods.

I pull out the bowl and pick the biggest blueberry, fat and almost purple. “Here,” I say, pressing it against her lips.

She opens for me, and I imagine the sweet-tart juice bursting against her tongue. I wish I could see her eyes, watch them flicker and spark.

But there’s only my heartbeat and the faintest sound as she swallows. I imagine her tongue turning a deep purple, stained by blueberry juice. My body reacts almost violently. Exhaustion has drained every part of me except my cock. That part of me is ready to go, ready to press into her, ready to rub against that dark tongue, hungry for the soft, wet friction. Years of being locked up are finally taking their toll. I’ve been so long without a woman that even a woman eating fruit is a pornographic production.

The phone rings. Nate answers tersely.

Someone on the other end of the line is worked up. Nate has mastered the balance of soothing and authoritative. When he hangs up the phone, his expression is grim. “I’ve got a surgery out in Blainsville. I need to be on the road five minutes ago. Not sure when I’ll get back.”

“Got it.”

Unable to help myself, I smooth the back of Abby’s hair. She doesn’t even react. She’s exhausted and drugged, no fight left in her. She’ll be mine for the night. Helpless. The only question that remains is what I’m going to do with her. I’m still not sure about the answer.

I walk Nate to the front door. We stop on the porch, where I can keep Abby in sight through the window.

Nate lets out a long breath. “You got a plan? Because I don’t know what that is in there.”

“Get to the Bradford. Do the governor. That’s the plan.” But he knows all that.

“The girl,” he clarifies.

“I know.”

“She’s innocent.”

That’s why I like Nate. Stone doesn’t give a shit about innocence, but it matters. It has to; otherwise justice doesn’t mean anything. Vengeance doesn’t mean anything.

“I’m just tired,” I say finally. It’s the best I can do. Bone-deep tired. Razor’s edge tired.

He studies me with world-weary brown eyes. I’d trust Nate with my life, and he trusts me the same. We figured out a long time ago that no one else was going to protect us.

“I’ve never seen you like this,” he says.

I laugh, low and rough. “You don’t remember? Fucking sleep deprivation. Fucking starvation. The whole nightmare.”