Hell Breaks Loose (Devil's Rock #2)(13)

She gave herself a quick mental kick. Exhaling, she told herself that had nothing to do with it. Nodding, she moved to flip off the light. In the dark, she undressed with shaking hands, leaving her underwear on. Her clothes dropped, whispery sounds in the dark. The chilly air rolled over her skin, leaving a wash of goose bumps in its wake.

She walked barefoot across the room, rubbing at her tender wrists. She sank down on the mattress beside him, wincing at the squeak of the springs—beside Reid—and pulled the cool sheet up to her chest, tucking the fabric under her arms. Scooting to the far edge of the bed, she hoped that she wasn’t wrong. She prayed he meant what he had said.





Five




It took all of five seconds to realize he might have been lying when he said she wasn’t his type. He had gone a long time without sex and right now female was pretty much his type. Young female, even better—or in this case, worse. A female that smelled soapy clean and faintly floral and he was screwed.

He kept to his side of the bed, rigid as a slat of board, inhaling deep even breaths as he battled for self-control. He’d mastered the art of self-control in prison . . . for keeping his composure when everyone else went bat-shit crazy around him. This shouldn’t be so hard. He shouldn’t be so hard.

He wouldn’t hurt her. He wasn’t that guy. He wouldn’t become that thing she was so afraid of. He wouldn’t become one of them outside this room. He’d spent years fighting to stay human inside a cage and wouldn’t turn into an animal now that he was on the outside. For however long he had until he was caught—and he fully expected that to happen eventually—he would cling to his code.

The smell of sizzling meat drifted to his nose, mingling with her floral scent. Apparently they were cooking. Just like it was an ordinary day with the president’s daughter captive in the next room. His eyes adjusted to the darkness, fixing on Grace’s features as she lay beside him.

He had to admit there was something about First Daughter Grace Reeves. Her big brown eyes appeared soft and intelligent. Even with fear lurking in the honeyed depths, those eyes were sharp, quick. Fear didn’t slow down the wheels turning in her head. She saw too much. She saw he was different from the rest of them. Granted, maybe he wanted her to see that. Maybe he needed her to. And not for her sake, but for his. He had to believe he was not like them. If prison hadn’t made him into one of them, it wouldn’t happen now. One female wasn’t going to snap his self-control and break loose a part of him that he had spent his whole life battling.

He wasn’t like his addict mother. He wasn’t like his deadbeat dad, who had floated in and out of his life, showing up to sleep with his mom, steal her drug money, and then take off again—only to repeat the cycle six months later. He wasn’t weak like Zane either.

Grace shifted. Her soft sigh filled up the small space between them.

Thankfully, it was dark. Thankfully, he hadn’t seen her naked. Not that it stopped him from imagining the small curvy body he had earlier assessed at a glance.

He jammed his eyes shut against the darkness as if that would rid of him of the thoughts. It was a struggle. She had a body that reminded him of a pinup girl from the forties. His grandfather had one of those vintage posters in his shed. Reid spent hours gazing at it as his grandfather worked on his old truck. His adolescent self had been mesmerized by the girl in the tiny sailor suit, her juicy, gartered thighs on display, all that creamy skin as tempting as a ripe peach in the summer, begging for the bite of his teeth. She shifted again, the mattress squeaking slightly. “You should try to sleep,” he said, his voice coming out much too thick.

“What’s going to happen to me?”

“I’ll try to get you out of this.”

“You said you would keep me safe,” she accused.

He sighed and dropped his arm over his forehead, cutting off his vision, reducing his world to darkness. Yeah, he’d made that promise. Stupid. It was a promise he had no right to make. Sullivan was behind this, and he knew firsthand the power that SOB wielded. Not to mention he wanted his pound of flesh and intended to take it out of Grace Reeves. Sullivan was a sociopath. He wouldn’t back down. “You’re in a fine mess here, Grace Reeves.”

“So you lied to me?” She scooted another half inch away, as if repelled by the possibility.

“I’ll do my best, but I don’t have any pull here. I’m not really one of them. Not anymore . . .”

“What does that even mean? You’re here with them.”

She would look at it that way. After all, the others had trusted him enough to let him “have” her. He’d told her that himself. Distrust crept back into the set of her shoulders. She thought he was lying. Or just blowing smoke. Either way, it was probably good for her overall chances of survival. As long as she was afraid of him, she wouldn’t drop her guard.

He lifted his arm from his forehead as she rolled onto her back and turned her face toward him. “Can you help me?” she asked, her voice stronger, imploring him. “Can you get me out of here? Maybe when they all fall asleep we can sneak out?”

Of course she would ask him that. She wasn’t stupid. He’d promised to keep her safe. But if he did that for her, his credibility would be shot to shit with these guys. He’d never get close enough to Sullivan then, and doing that—getting to the bastard, making him pay—was the only thing driving him. It was the only thing that mattered.