Hell Breaks Loose (Devil's Rock #2)(24)

When Grandpa lived he would keep them for days, sometimes weeks at a time. After the old man died, there was no break, no saving them from their home life. Their mother only cared about her next fix, and their father, when he decided to make an appearance, liked to use them for punching bags. It made him feel better. Like a big man.

The old, weathered wood swing on the front porch moved in the breeze, the chains clinking softly. For a moment he could imagine Grandpa sitting there, whittling a piece of wood into something Reid and his brother would later marvel over. Happy times happened here, and it felt wrong bringing her here, as though doing so would taint all those memories.

No one knew about the place. It wasn’t on any map. With Zane and the others running drugs and guns so close to the border, a place this far west was convenient. When things got too hot, they could duck in here and wait things out.

Sighing, he stepped out into the humming night and rounded the car to the blaring song of cicadas. He opened the sliding door, quieter than he had before, not eager to wake her. He stared down at her for a long moment and dragged a hand through his hair. Christ. Nothing was going the way he planned.

Surveying the encroaching darkness, he moved to the house and unlocked the front door, pushing it open. He hovered there for a moment, staring into the shadowy interior.

Shooting a quick glance back at the van to assure himself that she hadn’t emerged, he strode to an outside shed and turned on the generator. Its loud purr soon filled the air. Reid moved back into the cabin and flipped on a lamp sitting on a side table beside the couch. Gold light suffused the cabin.

He returned to the van for her. Leaning forward, he slipped his hands under her body and lifted her up, tucking her close to his chest. She still didn’t wake, turning her face into his chest as though he were her pillow.

She was heavier than she looked, but he still carried her with ease. One thing you had in prison was time. A lot of which he had spent working out, either playing basketball or using the rudimentary gym equipment in the yard, building his body into a weapon. The only weapon you had in prison.

She stirred a little as his shoes thudded over the wood porch. He entered the living area, kicking the door shut behind him and muting the sound of the generator. He’d go back for the supplies in a little while.

Even musty-smelling, the cabin was better than the place they had just left. For one thing, it wasn’t filthy, which told him his brother couldn’t have used it that often. It was sparsely furnished. Just a couch and recliner, kitchen table and four mismatched chairs.

Reid carried her to one of the two bedrooms. He knew it was probably a good idea if they slept in separate rooms. Last time they’d shared a bed had not gone well. He still harbored all kinds of dirty thoughts . . . the things he could have done to her . . .

Except leaving her in a room to herself probably wasn’t a good idea either. The memory of chasing her through a field was still fresh. He wasn’t keen on keeping her tied up, though.

Reid lowered her down on the colorful quilt in his grandfather’s old bedroom. The brass bed was big and cozy. He and Zane had bounced on it so much that it was a miracle the mattress didn’t sag.

Faint gold light crept into the room from the living area, allowing him visibility. Grace rolled to her side and snuggled into the well-worn quilt, her dark hair a wild tangle around her. He untied the cord from her wrists and ankles. Risky or not, he wasn’t going to keep her tied up all night. He was a light sleeper. He’d hear her if she roused from the room.

She sighed in her sleep, bringing her hands up and tucking them under her cheek. She looked peaceful, as innocent as a child. Not fit for his world, but she was here, dragged into it kicking and screaming. He rubbed a hand over his jaw, backing up several steps, as though needing distance, needing space from her.

Leaving her room, he went outside and carried in the ice chest and duffel bag. It only took a few minutes to unpack the ice chest and toss his duffel on the bottom bunk bed in the second bedroom.

Checking on her one more time, he satisfied himself that she hadn’t budged from where he’d left her on the bed. She was as still as death, and he had to resist the urge to check her for a pulse. Touching her was to be avoided.

Hiding the keys inside a bowl in a cabinet just in case she woke, he stepped into the small bathroom and stripped off his clothes. He turned on the shower and adjusted the dial to the desired temperature, remembering from years ago to set it just at two o’clock.

Waiting for the water to warm up, he propped his hands on the edge of the sink and stared at his reflection, studying the man he had become. There were mirrors in prison, but he never bothered to take much time to look at himself. He was too busy watching everyone else . . . watching his back and the backs of his crew. Except North.

Reid hadn’t looked out for North. Not well enough. Not as he had promised Knox. He had staged a fight in order to get sent to the local hospital. It was supposed to be simple. It wasn’t supposed to involve others. Just him and some skinhead from another crew who got sent to prison for rape and murder. Reid hadn’t meant to start a riot. He hadn’t meant for North to get hurt. His shoulders bore the brunt of that, the weight threatening to cripple him.

He had failed, and now here he stood, free. At least until he was back in there—which was an eventuality. Hopefully North and the rest of the boys would be fine without him until he returned.

The mirror started to fog up, obscuring the reflection of the hard-eyed stranger looking back at him. He didn’t bother wiping it clear. He didn’t particularly care to look at himself. He’d gotten his friend hurt. And there was Grace Reeves to consider. He winced. Hopefully, she wouldn’t bear any lasting injuries. No more than she already had. Hopefully, within the week he could let her go. He’d already saved her, he reasoned. Keeping her for a few more days wouldn’t harm anyone . . . and if it brought down Sullivan, it would serve the greater good. Right?