Prisoner (Criminals & Captives #1)(44)

He looks surprised that I’d mention it. “Her. We’re not them. We don’t have to be like them.”

“This is different. I’m not going to hurt her.” I lower my voice. “I’m taking care of her—I’d do anything for her,” I add, surprising even myself. Not so surprising considering I raided a police station to get her back a few hours ago. Probably broke twenty laws.

He gives me a strange look.

“She’s mine,” I say like that explains it. “You don’t have to understand.”

“Oh no, I understand perfectly,” he bites out. “It’s not what we do, Grayson.”

“Not what you do,” I say.

He gives me a dark look. He’s always been the upstanding one. Blending back into society has always mattered to him.

Fuck society. “She’s mine,” I say again.

There’s a look of warning in his eyes.

“She’s mine, and that’s just how it is now.”

“Vehicle’s in the shed,” he says.

Then he’s gone, and it’s just me and Abby. I go back in and fix us some toast. She doesn’t ask for her blindfold to be removed even though she knows the good doctor is gone. Maybe she gets that I can’t let her see where she is—a kitchen full of clues. Or maybe the drugs are already making her a little docile.

That was the genius of whatever they gave us back in that hellhole of a basement, just enough drugs to knock the fight out of you.

Nate doesn’t want to remember, but I’ll never forget the lesson—that you’re either strong or weak. You dish it out, or you take it. Doesn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out what side of that equation I’m planning to stay on.

I smooth her soft hair again. “You’re okay,” I say. “We’re both tired. Let’s get some sleep.”

She nods.

Is she being too pliant? It might be a trick. She could be plotting to escape as soon as I’m out. I hope to hell one pill was enough, but I didn’t want to risk more. Nate might have been able to give me a more specific number, but I didn’t want to involve him any more than I already had. A small amount. Enough for a few cats. She seems almost catlike now. Slender and restrained.

And clever too.

I go to Nate’s utility drawer and cut a length of string and shove it in my pocket. Just in case.

“Come on.” I pull her up. She’s steady enough on her feet, but I can tell she’s a little off-kilter. Good.

I guide her up the staircase, the blindfold a handy excuse to help her. I just want her to feel good and drift off like she doesn’t have to care about anything. At least one of us should get that.

I take her to the guest room where I slept after Stone got shot. I fling the covers aside and lay her down on the smooth sheet.

“Ahh,” she says. It’s practically a moan, and the sound ripples over my skin, hot and carnal.

“Yeah,” I whisper, lowering the blinds. “It’ll feel good to sleep.” I turn on the bedside lamp and switch off the glaring overhead light.

I pull off my shirt and pants, stripping right down to my boxers, and I sit on the foot of the bed and start untying her prim little lace-up boots, caked in mud. I’ll leave the rest of her clothes on. She wouldn’t like me undressing her.

She still doesn’t have panties, a fact I’ve been intensely aware of ever since I made her take them off at the river. It was an * move, but that’s what I am now. An * who drugs sweet young women. Who drags them across the state and binds them with metal and chemicals. Hey, it could be worse.

She turns on her side, tucking both her hands beneath her cheek. “Feels so good,” she mumbles.

My hand is cupping her delicate foot. I roll off her sock, knuckles grazing the little indent between her heel and her ankle bone. I’ve never been a foot guy, never seen the appeal, but if I started down that route, her feet would definitely be my gateway, because they’re smooth as silk and perfectly formed. I have a newfound fetish for her feet, her hands…even her eyes, with their gorgeous, wise, soft sort of allure.

Too bad Nate didn’t get to see her without the blindfold, but maybe that’s for the best. I like her being all mine.

No one can take her away from me.

Gently I pull off the other sock and rub my hand over her skin, telling myself I just have to check to make sure she’s warm enough, but really I need to f*cking touch her a little bit, and what the hell, it’s only her feet. How wrong can that be? I’ve been violated in every place, hurt in the softest place, and all I’m doing is giving her a foot rub.

“Grayson,” she whispers.

She likes this. She wants this. It’s an illusion, but that might be enough for me. My cock swells at her lazy, husky tone.

I press my hands on either side of her cool little toes, pancaking them between my palms. I want to devour her. “You warm enough, baby?” Like the Good f*cking Samaritan I am, just needing to make sure the girl is warm.

I watch myself warm her with a detached fascination. I need to stop touching her, but I don’t. I need to leave her alone, but I won’t. I have my hands on her feet, her ankles, and it’s just the beginning. My body wants more. She wants more.

An illusion.

Instead of pulling her foot away, she pushes it toward me, pressing it into my hands like she really wants my touch. I know it’s the sedative, making her seek out warmth and softness. I know that’s what it is from firsthand experience.