Spider Game (GhostWalkers, #12)(74)

“Let me have this,” he coaxed softly, nuzzling the top of her head with his chin. “I had to watch him strangling you. I saw him throw you out of the tree and then go after you with a knife. I need this, baby. Give this to me.”


She closed her eyes and laid her head against his chest. He wasn’t talking about carrying her back to the SUV. He was talking about something altogether different. She couldn’t help herself. He felt strong. Warm. He felt like – hers. Hers. She’d never had anything or anyone in her life. Trap Dawkins could be as cold as ice, or he could be this man. Perfect. Gentle. Amazing.


He was both, and accepting one meant accepting the other. She wanted him to be hers always. Whatever that took, she was willing to try. To have moments like this one, when she was so empty she needed him to fill her.


Her arms went around his neck, the fingers of one hand curling in his unruly hair. The other curved around his neck. Her body melted into his. Boneless. Pliant.


Are you giving this to me?


Her lashes felt too heavy to keep up. Was she? There was no other answer but “yes.” None. Because he was hers, and she wanted to keep him. She even needed that.


I feel empty, Trap, used up and cold. I hurt everywhere. I just want to lie down and be warm. My throat is very painful. She gave him the truth. She shared the truth of her condition, made herself completely vulnerable to him. She felt completely vulnerable in that moment, giving him the raw, stark truth of what killing did to her.


She didn’t feel elated, but she didn’t feel remorse. Just empty. Either he could understand or he couldn’t. In that moment, she couldn’t even muster up enough strength to be alarmed that she’d confessed her darkness to him.


I’ll get you home and take care of you, baby. You’re safe with me.


CHAPTER 12


Trap took Cayenne straight through the house to the master suite. His bedroom. He’d wanted her in his bed since the first moment when he saw her in that cell. So beautiful. So alone. He was a cynical man. He knew that and accepted it about himself. He was pure logic and operated without nerves or fears – until he saw Cayenne. The ice in his veins had melted, and something so hot he was afraid it would consume them both had taken the place of the ice.


Draden came in behind him and placed the bags of clothing and shoes on the dresser. “She all right? Didn’t want to ask in front of the others. Her throat looks bad, bruises and swelling.”


“I’m a doctor,” Trap reminded, his arms tightening around Cayenne, holding her against his body as if that could somehow undo all the damage done to her. “Same as you.” His voice was clipped, and he knew it shouldn’t have been. Draden really was concerned for Cayenne.


The others had looked at her, then Trap’s face, and no one had said a word. His face said it all. He was furious that she had been nearly killed – furious at himself. Terrified of losing her. Stark, raw terror had been there in his eyes and he didn’t want his teammates adding to that fear. He wasn’t used to the kind of emotions that tore him apart anymore. He’d been done with all feeling when the last of his family had been ripped away from him.


He wasn’t the kind of man to commit to a relationship, to practically force a woman to accept him as a partner – not unless he was in so deep it would kill him to lose it all. He didn’t build a home inside a factory or have someone come in to decorate shit to please a woman. He didn’t think in terms of pleasing anyone, let alone a woman. He kept his life void of entanglements because he never – ever – wanted to be vulnerable. Yet there he was, his woman in his arms, her throat black and blue and swollen, and he’d watched as the soldier had tried to kill her.


He’d been too far away. He’d killed the other sniper, but even with his speed, he couldn’t get to Cayenne, and that left him angry. His gut in tight knots. Bile in his throat. His heart nearly stopping. Physical. Visceral. Raw and primal. He wasn’t a man to feel any of those things.


He’d shut down his emotions. He lived the way he wanted, without any entanglements, free of all emotional vulnerabilities. Until the moment he had walked through the cell wall and laid his eyes on her. Her voice, hypnotic and sexy, had washed into his brain and left him wanting. Feeling. Too much. Far too much.


“You need anything, Trap, give a shout-out,” Draden said, and backed from the room.


Fuck. Trap didn’t want to leave it like that. Draden was a brother. Someone he’d allowed in his life, almost as close as Wyatt. He was friends on his terms, and the others let him get away with it. He didn’t even know when it happened. He stayed aloof and he was rude, and went for days without talking, but still they were his friends and they had his back.


“Draden,” he said softly, his voice low. Almost wishing the man wouldn’t hear. Of course he did, Draden was a GhostWalker with all the enhancements available to him, including hearing. Draden half turned, looked at him over his shoulder, face impassive. Trap lifted his chin at him in a small salute. “Thanks, man.” It was small, but it was enough. Trap saw it in Draden’s eyes. Draden merely sent him an identical chin lift and then turned and walked out, leaving Trap alone with Cayenne.


He put a knee to the bed and carefully laid her down on the sheets. He hadn’t made the bed that morning. He rarely made his bed. It seemed silly when he was getting into it at night. “Baby, I need to check for broken bones.”