Hell Breaks Loose (Devil's Rock #2)(25)

As bad as the rest of them . . .

Her words had hit their mark. Maybe she was right. He thought himself so different than Zane and the others, but what had he done with his life? Maybe he hadn’t killed the man that he was sent to prison for killing, but his hands weren’t clean. You couldn’t spend a decade at the Rock and come out clean. He’d seen things . . . done things. And he would continue to do things. Things like killing Otis Sullivan. Just because he felt justified didn’t mean it wouldn’t be murder. The way he looked at it, he was already in jail for that particular crime. He might as well make it a reality. And killing Sullivan would be worth it.

Reid stepped into the minuscule shower. Warm water was fleeting so he made quick work of washing himself. Bowing his head, he let the last of the warm spray rush over him. Now he only had to stop thinking about what Grace Reeves felt like, all those curves and sweet skin and how long it had been since he had sunk deep between a woman’s thighs. With a groan, he slid his hand down to grip his dick, giving himself several hard strokes.

This wasn’t exactly how he had imagined spending his precious days of freedom. He had imagined he would eat a good burger. Find a quick, anonymous f*ck. Then he would top everything off by killing Sullivan. The icing on the cake of his brief bout of freedom.

He rested his forehead against the wall of the shower and pumped his dick, working it almost savagely, desperate for release, something to take the edge off. Thinking about her wasn’t hurting anything. Remembering how hot her sex had felt, how wet her panties, how easy it would have been to slip the fabric aside and find her slick heat with his fingers. He closed his eyes, his breathing growing ragged as his balls drew up tight. His fantasies took a turn and it wasn’t just his hand anymore. In his mind he was spreading her thighs wide and driving his swollen length into her. She’d arch, her body swallowing him, fitting him like a glove, milking his hungry cock.

He came, blowing his load with a head-tossing groan. He stood beneath the spray of water, rattled in the aftermath. He was certifiable. Just the thought of her had him jacking off to the best orgasm he’d had in years. And that was still saying something, since all his orgasms in recent—and not so recent—years had been self-service. This one shouldn’t have shattered him so much.

Water crashed over him, kneading the lingering tension from his muscles. No question about it, she had a hot little body under the sexless clothes she wore, and those big brown eyes did things to his head. He cursed and reminded himself that he’d always liked blondes, the occasional redhead, and mile-long legs. That was his type. He should be able to keep it together around her. He was all about control. In prison. Out of prison. It made no difference. He hadn’t fallen so low that he would take a woman against her will. Prison hadn’t ruined him that much.

But what if it wasn’t against her will?

The question slid insidiously through him, a tempting little whisper. She had responded to him on that bed last night. Even if she was attempting to manipulate him then, she had not been unaffected by his touch. He could make her want it . . . want him. He was good at reading people, and he knew one thing for certain about Grace Reeves. The woman had never been well f*cked.

He shook his head, shoving the idea out of his head. He wouldn’t do it. He wouldn’t seduce a woman his brother had abducted for Sullivan. Even if she wasn’t the president’s daughter, it was wrong on every level.

It would only be a little longer and then he’d be rid of her. Zane had promised that he would know something in a few days. Then he would get what he wanted.

The sudden image of Grace Reeves asleep in the bedroom next door appeared in his mind. Funny how she popped into his head when he thought about what it was he wanted.





Nine




Grace woke to stinging wrists and the sound of running water. Blinking, she lifted her head and looked around the unfamiliar bedroom. The motion reminded her of the soreness on the side of her face. Her hand drifted up to cup her cheek. She shuddered as everything rushed over her. Darkness pushed at the glass of the room’s single window, letting her know she’d somehow slept the day away in the back of the van.

It felt as though a lifetime had passed since she was grabbed outside her hotel. Since she was hit and thrown in the back of a van by a gang of thugs. A lifetime since she shared a strange bed with a man she had thought she could trust. A man she had let put his hand between her legs. Shaming heat rushed through her. Not because she had thought to use her body to manipulate him. This was about survival. She did what she thought she had to. She still would do that. Whatever it took to get out of this. Whatever it took to get home.

No, her shame was because she had felt something. She’d grown wet as he palmed her sex. She inhaled sharply at the sudden clench in her belly, an echo of the want he had roused in her. Still mortifying. She was pathetic. Crazy. Clearly her dormant sex life was catching up with her. When she got home, she was going to have to correct that. She would finally sleep with Charles. For all intents and purposes, he was her boyfriend. Might as well cash in on the perks. Maybe surviving this nightmare would bring them a greater appreciation for each other.

The quilt was soft and smooth underneath her. Her fingers flexed against the yielding, well-worn fabric, clinging to it for something solid. She inhaled again. There was none of the stench of the last place. The air smelled faintly stale, but not foul or rotting as before. She sat up fully, wincing at her aching muscles.