Chapter 7
Dane
Paige turns in my arms, panting. She reaches for my cock, but I stop her with a hand on her wrist. I bring her palm to my lips and kiss it.
Her brow furrows in the dim light. “Dane…” she says softly.
I suck her middle finger into my mouth and release it with a pop. “Not tonight, baby. You need to sleep. Let me hold you.”
She swallows. “Are you sure?”
“Positive.” We have never had a tit-for-tat relationship, and we’re not starting now. I enjoy watching my girl come. It’s so fucking hot that it’s enough for me. Of course, I also like fucking her into tomorrow, but not every time. Sometimes, I just want to absorb her moans and watch her face as she reaches her peak.
I rearrange us so she’s once again spooned against me. I stroke the loose hairs from her cheek and kiss her neck. “Sleep, baby.”
She takes several deep breaths. “You won’t let go of me?”
“Never.”
She threads her fingers with mine below her breasts. Perhaps she thinks if she does so I won’t be able to get away. “What if this never happened?” she whispers.
“Then I hope we’re both having the same dream and die together in our sleep.” I mean that. Neither of us could survive waking up to find out this didn’t happen.
I inhale her scent over and over while her breath slowly evens out, and she finally fully relaxes in my embrace, sleep taking her under. I’m not sure I’ll ever be able to sleep again, but I want her to.
I’ve lost countless nights in the past three years. I’ve woken up in a sweat more times than I can count. I’ve paced in the night and stared out the window, wishing I could turn back time and have my girl back.
Part of me is furious that she made this choice to leave me in the dark and leave our life together. Part of me is angry with myself for my part in her decision—the fact that I never said, “I love you,” or let her know she was so fucking important to me that I wanted to marry her. I did that. It’s on me.
I also understand why she made the decision she was faced with. I know how persuasive the FBI can be when they need to keep a witness alive. I’m sure they told her my life would be in danger. Her father’s life. Her friends’ lives. Not to mention her own life.
They weren’t wrong. If the news had blasted out on every channel that there had been a survivor, chances are that motherfucker would have killed her in her hospital bed before she ever woke up from the surgery.
I’m frustrated. I’m angry. But not at Paige. I can’t continue to blame her. I gave her enough of my ire in the first half hour after I realized she was standing in front of me.
No matter how much sleep I’ve lost, she has lost much more. She’s been alone in the world for three years. She lost everything, including her father, her friends, her boyfriend, and her career. That had to hurt.
On top of that, she’s been looking over her shoulder for over a thousand days. Worrying he would find her, staying out of sight. Hiding. I can’t imagine how stressful that was. She probably needs to sleep for a week. I hope she’ll feel safe with me and know she can rest.
I have to think ahead. There are a lot of things to do. I will call my cleaning service first thing in the morning and pause their services indefinitely. I’ll need to ensure that no one comes into my penthouse for any reason without prior approval. If maintenance needs access, I will require notice so I can hide Paige in my safe room.
I can call in sick for several days. My employees will take care of things, and I can do most things from home. But after a few days, eyebrows will rise. I’m a very hands-on employer. I do not take days off. I don’t even go on vacation. I need a story.
My mind shifts gears. I need to research the remaining bank robber. I don’t even know his fucking name. Fuck the FBI and the police. I may work with them when they need me, but they do not have the resources to find someone like I do. I am going to find that asshole and exact my own justice.
I will not have Paige hiding for a year or two after he’s found, waiting for a trial. I will not have her name dragged through the media while she suffers. I will not take the risk that the robber has friends who might seek revenge on my girl before or after the trial. There will be no trial.
That asshole has no idea that he’s about to be hunted by one of the most skilled trackers in the country. I do not know the meaning of the phrase missing person . He might have been missing until today, but not for long.
Paige whimpers and shifts her weight a bit. She stays asleep.
I didn’t ask who her handler is. I should have. I might know him. Though that’s a stretch. Lord knows how many US Marshals there are. He might not even be in the Seattle area.
I will have her make contact with him tomorrow, and I will speak to him myself. I need her under my protection, not his.
I have to place a grocery order. She’ll need clothes and toiletries, especially if she doesn’t return to her apartment. My brain won’t shut down. I can’t even close my eyes.
I stare at the side of her face for a long time. It’s the same as it was three years ago. I can’t see a lot of evidence that she’s aged. Maybe more worry lines between her brows, but she definitely earned those.
Suddenly, Paige murmurs, “Cuffs.”
I startle. I thought she was sleeping.
She turns in my arms. “Get them, Dane.”
I frown. Is she talking in her sleep? I have no idea what she’s talking about.
She sits upright. “Get a pair of nylon cuffs. I’m sure you have some in this apartment.”
“What on Earth for?” I stroke her face, staring up at her.
She rolls her eyes and sighs in exasperation. “Just get them.”
Unable to deny her, I rise from the bed and shuffle over to the bathroom. I turn on the light and lower it to dim before I head for the armoire. I’m baffled while I open a drawer and grab a pair of black nylon cuffs, the kind that fastens with Velcro around the wrist.
When I return to the bed, Paige holds out her hand. “Put one on me.”
I indulge her and wrap it around her right wrist.
“Good.” She takes the other one and puts it on my left wrist before adjusting the strap so that our hands are cinched together. “There.”
I smile at her. “What the hell, baby?”
She lowers to her left side. “Slide under the covers.”
I slip in, facing her, chest-to-chest. Our combined hands rest between us.
She scoots closer so that her chest is against mine. “Lie on your back,” she orders. So bossy.
Doing as she instructs, I lower to the bed.
She pulls the covers over us and snuggles into my side, one of her small legs over mine, our bound hands against my chest. “There. Now, stop thinking so hard. People in the next building are restless because of how hard you’re thinking. I can’t get away, and if we’ve fallen into another dimension, we’re stuck in it together. We’re tethered to one another.” She gives a slight tug. “See?”
I chuckle. Her reasoning is warped madness, but I like it. It’s so totally on par with the Paige I remember.
“I need you at your sharpest in the morning. We have lots of decisions to make. You can’t stay up all night. I’m not going anywhere. I can’t. I’m cuffed to you.”
“It’s not like it requires a key,” I point out.
She sits up again, reaches with her other hand, and gives a tug to the Velcro. In the silence of the room, it’s like blaring music. She seals it again and resumes her place against my chest. “See? No escaping. Velcro is fucking loud when you try to remove it. Neither of us could sleep through something like that.”
She has a point. It’s still warped, but it’s a valid point. “And you’re confident if one of us were to slip into another dimension, the other would be forced to go along?” I tease.
“Definitely. Have you no imagination? Have you never read a science fiction novel?” She scoffs.
I chuckle so hard that both of our bodies shake. Fuck me. It really is her.
Closing my eyes, I nuzzle the top of her head. I love you .
It wouldn’t be right to blurt that out tonight, but I’ll be damned if I’m going to wait more than a few days to make sure my woman knows she is deeply loved. Never again will she think it’s okay to enter some godforsaken witness protection program without me.