Hell Breaks Loose (Devil's Rock #2)(51)

She’d let him deliberately think she was engaged to Charles . . . that it was a real relationship. It was a prideful thing to do, but she didn’t regret it. She knew Reid’s power over her. Well, over her libido at least. He likely knew, too. She’d been his for the taking. So many times now. Much to her embarrassment. He could be smug in that knowledge.

He started heading for the cabin. She jumped with a squeak and dove into the bedroom, closing the door behind her. It had been an impulse to hide. Or instinct, rather. Following that instinct, she hopped on the bed and pulled the blanket over her. She didn’t know if he would check on her, but it seemed safer to feign sleep. Less risk of interaction.

Settling on her side, she closed her eyes and lay perfectly still, tucking her hand beneath her cheek. She held motionless for several long minutes, listening to him as he moved around the house. His steps came close to the door, hesitating just on the other side. She held her breath, wondering if he would enter, hoping he would, praying he would not.

She waited as the sound of his steps faded away. Her limbs relaxed, growing as heavy as her eyelids, until it was hard to keep them open anymore. In fact, she didn’t need to pretend to be asleep at all.



Nightmares had been a regular part of Grace’s childhood. Her mother accused her of being overly dramatic (and eating cookies before bed—somehow the two were connected). She stopped coming to her room after the first couple of times. Daddy called it tough love and insisted Grace was in dire need of it lest she become weak spirited. Her mother, of course, agreed. Daddy was always right—and neither one wanted a weak daughter afflicted with nightmares or anything else that might mark her as less.

So that left Anna, their housekeeper. She was always there to comfort Grace in the middle of the night when she woke up screaming. She’d pet Grace’s head and cluck sympathetically, asking about her dream and encouraging her to talk about it. The problem was, Grace didn’t know what to say because she didn’t remember any of it.

Grace knew children were supposed to have these great memories, when their minds were fresh and young. But that wasn’t the case with her. Her dreams vanished like wisps of smoke as soon as she woke. Only the terror remained, clawing her throat and coating her mouth with the taste of metal.

Tell me, sweet pea, what is it?

And she never could tell Anna despite the housekeeper’s encouragement. She wanted to. Anna seemed to think it was important. As though Grace could somehow defeat her monsters if she put a name to them. Eventually the nightmares stopped. She grew up, which was a good thing since Anna retired and she didn’t have anyone to comfort her in the middle of the night anymore.

Unfortunately now, when she woke up screaming, gazing blindly ahead in the cabin bedroom, she remembered everything.

There was no haze of smoke to obscure the nightmare that had her bolting upright in bed, her scream ringing in her ears. There was no forgetting it. She could see it all too well—actually felt as though she were still trapped in its grip, the images chasing her into lucidity. Her chest heaved, aching in a way that felt unsafe—like she might actually be having a heart attack. Her hands were bound again—and she was running. Only this time it wasn’t Reid chasing her. It was the other men. Rowdy and Zane and the others. Their faces contorted in a crazy blur like something out of a fun house. She was crying, choking on sobs as they caught her and tossed her between them. Tearing at her clothes. Striking her with their fists. Shoving her down beneath the crush of them.

“Grace!” Hard hands shook her, and for a moment she thought it was still part of the dream. She fought back, striking and scratching, earning a grunt from her attacker.

Her hands were seized and pinned above her head. “Grace! What’s wrong?”

She blinked up at Reid’s shadowed features. The room was draped in the soft purple of dusk. Blinking, she assessed the room and him. Her chest deflated with a breath. “Reid,” she breathed. He wasn’t Anna, but she wasn’t alone. He was here.

“Gracie.” He brushed the hair back from her face, his touch as gentle as his voice. Her stomach flipped at the sound of that nickname on his lips. His hand skimmed down the length of her arm and took her hand. “It’s all right, Gracie. It was just a dream.”

She nodded, choking back a sob, marveling that such a rough, frightening man should possess even a scrap of gentleness. “They were after me. Those men . . .” She shuddered, the image so very real she could feel their hands, smell their sweat, and still taste the fear so clearly. “I couldn’t get away from them. They were animals—” She abruptly stopped, sucking in air. She was talking about his friends, after all. One of them was his brother. He could very well take offense.

“Ah, sweetheart.” He folded her into his arms. She went, collapsing against him, nestling her cheek against the hard wall of his chest. “I’m sorry,” he muttered into her hair.

“What are you sorry for?” He hadn’t been the one hurting her in the dream.

“I think it’s pretty obvious. If you’re having nightmares, it’s because of me.”

“Not you,” she managed to say, her fingers curling around the edge of his short sleeve. “Without you I would be living that nightmare right now. I’ll gladly take the nightmare over the reality.”

And reality was this sweetness. Right now. Being held in his arms and feeling safe.