Hell Breaks Loose (Devil's Rock #2)(34)

Reid thought about it hard.

Leaving his mom. Moving in with Grandpa. Leaving Mom. That was the part that stuck.

She needed him.

“If it’s just the same, sir. I’ll stay with Mom.”

So he had stayed. Taking care of Zane and his mom. It should have been the other way around. She should have been looking out for him. He probably should have gotten over it. Left her. And not just for him, but for Zane.

She was just too weak, though. He’d always been the strong one.

In any case, Grandpa died six years later. He was seventeen then. A year later and he could have left, but he couldn’t leave Zane behind.

Then he got sucked into Otis Sullivan’s web. The money. The sense of belonging. Stupid kid that he’d been, it had lured him. He’d been missing his grandfather and at the time believed Sullivan like the grizzly old man. Rough around the edges, but with honor. Someone who might break a few rules but was essentially good. A man with a code who looked out for his own.

Reid couldn’t have been more wrong.

He’d paid for that mistake. Eleven years he paid. He knew about consequences. And suffering.

A few days with Grace Reeves wasn’t going to break him.

He could stay away from her for a few days. He could handle a little self-denial. He was accustomed to that.

Taking advantage of her, using her, hurting her . . . he wasn’t accustomed to doing that to a woman. He never had before. He wasn’t about to start now.





Twelve




Grace woke to the smell of frying bacon. There were worse ways to greet the day. As a captive, she guessed this was especially true. She was awake after all—alive and unharmed and, presumably, about to be fed.

She stretched sore muscles in the empty bed, her gaze straying to the door. Not only was he gone, but his makeshift pallet was missing, too. It was as though he had never slept in the room. But she knew better, of course. He wouldn’t have left her unsupervised through the night. Not after her bolt for freedom.

She rose from the bed and hurried out into the bathroom, her feet padding quietly over the wood floor.

She slipped on her bra and once again donned the big cotton T-shirt she’d borrowed. It was in better shape than her silk blouse. She pressed a hand against the window above the toilet, feeling the frosty glass. It was chilly inside, but even colder outside.

She slipped the too big boxers back on and returned to the bedroom to search for something warmer. She hit pay dirt. The drawers held quite a few garments. All for men, but she wasn’t picky.

She slipped on a pair of baggy sweatpants, knotting the drawstring as tightly as she could before emerging into the kitchen.

He looked up from the stove, lifting bacon onto a waiting plate. “Morning.”

“Morning,” she returned, easing carefully into a chair at the table as she took in the domestic scene.

“Sorry. No eggs. But we have bacon and toast.” He set a plate in front of her.

“That’s fine. Thanks.” She picked up a piece of toast, convinced she couldn’t eat beneath his watchful gaze, but the moment she took her first bite, she didn’t stop until the last scrap of food was gone. Swallowing the last bite, she looked back up at him. “Aren’t you eating?”

“Already did. C’mon,” he announced, turning away from the sink and moving to the door. She watched warily as he put on his boots.

“Where are we going?” She edged to the door and her shoes waiting there. He arched an eyebrow that seemed to say: Does it matter? You have to do what I say.

He opened the door and gestured for her to precede him, like he was any gentleman she might have met out on the streets back home. Except he wasn’t. He was a far cry from that world. In all her years of private school education, including four years at an all-girls college, she had never encountered an individual like Reid. He represented a world she was never supposed to touch. Unsavory, twisted, and of the criminal variety.

She stepped out on the porch before him, still keeping a careful distance. Everything looked much different in the light of day. Awash in browns and greens, her surroundings hummed and crackled as wind moved through branches and leaves. There was no grass to speak of—trees and shrubs offered the only green. It was raw and compelling and beautiful. In many ways synonymous to him.

The morning was cold, a faint mist clinging to the air. His boots thudded across the porch and then dropped down, hitting the dirt-packed ground. She followed him, her gaze scanning the line of brush, recalling her mad, desperate dash for freedom that had failed so miserably. Really, she was a little embarrassed by it now. If she was going to escape, she needed to be smarter.

“C’mon,” he called, looking over his shoulder.

She hurried ahead obediently, telling herself that for now this was how she would play it. She would follow his instructions, play the beaten little puppy and gain back his trust until a moment presented itself for escape. No more impulsive, ill-planned attempts to break away. The next time she made a break for it, she would succeed. If there was one thing she had learned from watching her father and his staff all these years, it was that strategy was everything.

“Where are we going?” she asked, catching up and following one step behind him as he rounded the back of the cabin.

He didn’t answer, and she wondered if he was still angry at her for yesterday. Would he treat her to perpetual silence now?