Hell Breaks Loose (Devil's Rock #2)(29)

He shook his head and let go of her. For his own good if nothing else. Stepping back outside the cabin and onto the porch, he turned to face her. He held up one finger in warning. “Don’t run again.”

Her expression turned mulish. She held her chin at a defiant angle but said nothing. He studied her for a moment. Strangely enough, there was dignity to her—with her bruised cheek, wrecked clothes, and tangled hair sporting bits of leaves and twigs. A woman like Grace wasn’t accustomed to abuse. She should look fragile, but he knew that was the furthest thing from the truth. His shin still throbbed, and it reminded him of one universal truth: never underestimate anyone. Even the smallest inmate could surprise you with a reserve of strength or hidden skills. Skills like plunging a shiv into your spine when you least expect it.

Marching out into the night, Reid snatched his towel from where he had dropped it and wrapped it back around his waist. Returning, he closed the door behind him and faced her, wondering what he was going to do with her. He couldn’t keep her tied up, but he didn’t trust her not to try and run again. Or clobber him over the head the first time he turned his back.

Crossing his arms over his chest, he announced, “I imagine you would like a shower.”

Her eyes widened. “Are you serious?”

He didn’t like it. The sense that he was doing something nice for her. He didn’t need her to think he was nice. He stared her down. “Do you want a shower or not?”

“Yes,” she blurted, nodding rapidly, as though afraid he might retract the offer.

“Your clothes are finished.” He looked her up and down. “Mine are too large, but maybe we can scrounge something up in one of the drawers.” He nodded toward the master bedroom.

“Yes, that’d be great.”

He moved to the master bedroom, sensing her following him. He opened drawers, searching for something that might work. He found some clean T-shirts that probably belonged to his grandfather, size medium. He tossed one at her. In another drawer he found some boxers and a pair of sweatpants with a drawstring waist. Straightening, he propped a hand on the tucked edge of his towel and tossed her a pair of boxers. “Sorry. No underwear. You’ll have to go commando. It’s actually quite liberating. You might find you enjoy it, princess.”

He didn’t need to scandalize her. It was just that a perverse part of him wanted to remind her that he was a not-nice guy. He wanted to remind himself of that, too. Maybe he needed to remind himself of that.

She stood there frozen for a long moment, hands fisting the clothes, red suffusing her face like someone had just slapped both cheeks.

He arched an eyebrow. “Shower?”

She blinked. “Y-Yes.” Turning, she fled from the bedroom.

Reid followed at a slower pace. Upon entering the bathroom behind her, she turned and gasped, clearly startled.

She inhaled, nostrils flaring. “Am I not to expect any privacy?”

His gaze moved away from her, scouring the small space, making certain he wasn’t overlooking some obvious means of escape. She wouldn’t be able to fit through the tiny window above the toilet. His gaze returned to her. “Be quick. I know you had a nice long nap, but I’m beat.”

“I’m not stopping you from sleeping.”

Her quick rebuttal irritated the hell out of him. Didn’t she know how to behave like a proper hostage? “You’re stopping me from a lot of things.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Her molten brown eyes flashed.

“If it wasn’t for you, I wouldn’t even be here.” He would be doing what he broke out of prison to do . . . what he put North and other members of his crew in danger to do. None of which she would understand.

“Oh, it’s my fault your gang kidnapped me? It’s my fault you won’t let me go free?”

Valid points, and that irritated him even more. He advanced a step. “You asked me to get you out of there. I did.”

“And you brought me here!” She flung her hands up. “I should thank you?”

“For getting you out of there? Away from them? Damn straight.” They were standing so close he could feel the warmth of her body radiating into him. Her lashes, a deep fringe of dark ink, lifted up in a slow, sweeping blink. There was no fear. They pulled him in. It was a dangerous thing. He took a slow step back.

Her gaze trained on his face, accusing, sharp and probing. It disturbed him. She disturbed him. She should look terrified. Instead she was this argumentative, fierce female with barbed words.

He retreated another step, and that’s what it felt like. A retreat. Necessary, though. He wasn’t fool enough to think himself immune. He might have jacked off in the shower, but he was hardly sated. Not after eleven years. That race through the woods and unsatisfying grind into her softness only got his blood pumping harder. He was haunted by the sensation of her, the warmth of her sex pulsing against his hand. He should have never touched her. Christ. He shouldn’t even be here with her now. Not that there had been any choice.

“Twenty minutes,” he said, grabbing hold of the doorknob. “Then I’m coming in for you.”

Her eyes flared, but he closed the door, desperate for the barrier. He only needed to hang on for a few days. Be strong. He’d spent a lifetime behind bars and managed to keep himself together. How could this be any harder than that?