Chapter 22
Chapter Twenty-Two
The thumping of his footsteps resonates through my stomach. Each step jostles my body, which is draped over his shoulder. I close my eyes, hoping to ease the dizziness caused by the blood rushing to my head. My fingers are curled in a death grip on either side of his waist.
A frigid wind whips by, crashing into me and causing a ripple of shivers to cascade through my body.
Attempting to use his warmth to soothe my chilled limbs, my grip becomes an awkward, upside down hug.
I pull myself closer to his back, pressing my chest into him.
A deep hum vibrates in his chest. I immediately release my arms, letting them dangle over my head.
Is…is he enjoying this? The warm, bubbling feeling of rising anger churns in my gut. Combined with the frozen fear in my lungs, I can scarcely breathe.
My hands clench into fists before I crash them against his back. Over and over, I slam them against him. My mind somersaults over everything—what's happened, what's to come, and why.
Alarm bells blare inside my head. This isn't right. None of this is right. Where is he taking me? And what will he do to me when we get there? This can't be freaking happening to me. Why did he choose me? No one chooses me.
I pummel his stupid, hard back until the slight ache in my hands becomes a dull roar. No matter how hard I hit, he doesn't make any attempt to stop me. He doesn't even make a sound. I feel like a flea punching an elephant; it's useless.
I drop my hands, feeling utterly defeated. Tears stream from my eyes, drenching my face and dribbling down the back of his jacket. A sob rips from my chest. It's followed by another and another until I'm bawling against his back.
The arm banded around my thighs tightens. I flinch when his hand lands on my back. My muscles tense, anticipating pain. But the pain doesn't come. Instead, his hand moves, rubbing in slow circles.
“Shh,” he murmurs softly, “you’re okay.”
I will my body to remain tense, desperately holding on to the knowledge that I'm not okay at all. I beg my muscles to stay locked up, ready to leap from his arms and away from danger. Despite how hard my mind fights, as the minutes wear on, my body begins to relax.
“That's it, precious,” he coos. “Calm yourself.”
I crinkle my nose, hating the effect his soft praise has on me.
Hating how he can feel my limbs loosening in his hold.
Hating how warm his body is against mine.
Hating the closeness of him. Hating that my skin still tingles from his touch.
But more than anything: hating that I wanted him to keep touching me.
My body rocks forward suddenly. I wrap my arms around his waist, afraid I'll go tumbling off his back. I look up, suddenly panicked, only to find that he's just stepped us over a curb. I could let go of him. I should let go of him. But I don't. My hands remain firmly planted on his sides.
My mind wanders to the hard surface under my palms; to the feel of his muscles moving beneath them. He's strong. I've never had a man carry me before, but it seems effortless for him. Is he this hard everywhere?
No, I inwardly chastise myself, do not think about this. Do not think about his body. He's a freaking psycho who cornered you in an alley and is carrying you to…well, who knows where. He could be dragging you to your death!
But the thoughts don't stop. If anything, they spiral further in the exact wrong direction.
My mind replays the entire encounter on loop.
Remembering the feel of his hand on me, I press my thighs together.
I'm not sure if it's to hide my reaction to him or to seek out more friction, but I can't stop.
His dark chuckle drifts to my ears, making my face heat with embarrassment.
We turn into another street and the sounds of the city become louder.
My ears perk up at the whooshing of passing cars and the chatter of people.
People who can now see me being carried down the sidewalk like an ill-behaved child.
With my private embarrassment suddenly becoming public, I begin my struggle anew.
Shoving my hands against his back, I push hard in an attempt to pull my head up.
“Stop,” he commands in a voice darker and deeper than before. His tone leaves no room for argument. The demand skitters down my spine like a chilled wind, halting my movement.
When he begins to lower me to the ground, my heart thunders in my chest. My brain backflips with a rush of fear so strong it makes my head spin.
I wrap my arms around his neck, suddenly terrified of what will happen when my feet hit the ground.
To my dismay, it doesn’t stop my slow descent to the sidewalk below.
My grip on his neck has only served to anchor my body to his.
In a painfully sluggish movement, he pulls my body down.
My nipples ache and harden as they rub against his jacket.
His lips trail slowly down the side of my face.
When my feet hit the pavement, my knees shake, threatening to refuse to hold my own weight.
I tilt my chin back, finding him smirking down at me.
I rip my arms away from him so suddenly that I almost fall over.
He steps back, putting precious distance between us.
I pivot on my feet, preparing to run, but his hand is on my arm before I have a chance to take a step.
He pulls me toward a black SUV that I hadn’t even noticed we were standing in front of, and opens the door. His hand sweeps out, gesturing for me to get into the passenger seat. My mouth drops open, but nothing comes out. Is he insane? Does he really think I’m going to get into a car with him?
His lips curl up into a knowing smile. “You can get in the car on your own,” he gestures again to the open door, “or I can tie you up and put you in the trunk. Your choice, little bird.”
If it were anyone else telling me this, I wouldn’t have believed them.
Surely, no sane person would throw someone into their trunk in the middle of a crowded, city street.
But the man in front of me is clearly not a sane person.
A shudder runs through me as my mind flits to the potential collateral damage he might cause if I don’t do as he asks.
With a defeated sigh, I get into the car.
* * *
My eyes go in and out of focus as I watch the city lights race by.
They twinkle and elongate as we rush past until they slowly begin to blink away, lost to the distance.
The further we get from the populated metropolis, the darker the night becomes.
When there’s nothing left to see from the window but my own haggard reflection, I turn to look at my captor.
“Where are you taking me?”
He glances at me quickly before returning his eyes to the road. “Home.”
“Your home!?” I wince hearing my own screeching voice.
He snorts a short laugh through his nose. “No, precious, not tonight. I’m taking you to your home.”
My stomach flips at the implication in his response. He’s not taking me to his home tonight? Does he plan on taking me to his creepy stalker lair some other night?
I cross my ankles and pull my shoulders in, suddenly feeling the need to make myself small.
My hands latch on to the edge of my dress.
I rub the fabric between my fingers, which seems like a better option than watching them shake in my lap.
My breathing becomes heavy, or at least it seems heavy in the quiet space.
I glance toward him. If he notices my anxiety, he doesn’t show it.
His proud nose remains forward, eyes firmly planted on the road ahead.
Slivers of moonlight seep in through the windshield, highlighting the strong features of his face and reflecting off of the black locks that surround it.
Even in the dim light, he’s devastatingly gorgeous.
His full lips curl into a wolfish grin. “See something you like?” he asks.
I blush, realizing I’m no longer glancing at him from the corner of my eye. My entire head has turned toward him as I stare. I whip my head forward before replying in the snarkiest tone I can manage, “There’s nothing I like about you.”
His smile widens, clearly indicating that he doesn’t believe that. I’m not even sure that I believe that, but I’m entirely unwilling to explore that particular issue right now. I press my cheek against the window, hoping the cold glass will cool my heated face.
We sit in deafening silence for what could only be minutes, but feels like hours. Nervous energy twitches in my veins, demanding that I verbalize something…anything.
“What’s your name?” The question pops out of my mouth before I can think better of it.
“Grayson,” he says, “but you can call me Gray.”
“Gray?”
His voice is light, reflecting the smirk on his lips. “Or you can call me master.”
My lips turn down into a grimace that I hope he can hear. “That's never going to happen.”
The car slows as the road morphs from an arterial thoroughfare into a winding, rural road.
Towering forests surround us, making the tree line more dense.
The sign for Windon Farms zips by my window, telling me exactly where we are.
There’s a bend in the road about two miles ahead of us.
In order to stay on the road, we’ll be forced to slow down significantly. It may be my only chance.
With the ghost of a plan scarcely formed in my head, I quietly unbuckle my seatbelt. Then, I steel my nerves and wait.
The car slows, lurching forward just slightly as we edge around the angle in the road. I flick my eyes toward the man I now know as Gray. He’s staring at me intently, his eyes sparking with something dangerous.
“Don’t even think about it,” he demands through his clenched teeth.