2. Garrison
TWO
GARRISON
S edated, hungover, partially naked, captive and still mouthy as fuck.
I enjoy smoothing my pistol-calloused hand up and down her soft, supple calf while she can’t kick at me, or holler for me to quit. “I’m not gonna hurt you,” I tell her, deciding that’s likely what she wants to hear the most. I won’t hurt her, and the only reason she’s in this bind now is for her own damn good. Well, that’s half true.
Pulling the comforter off of her legs, I slip the silver key into the cuffs keeping her feet together, and free them.
“Wh—what are you d-doing?” she questions, her raspy tone wobbly and weak. I catch her eyes on me, full of fire, the edges soft and glossy, lined with inevitable fear, too, as much as she thinks she’s hiding it. What she doesn’t know is that she doesn’t need to be scared. Hell, under my care is the only place she’s safe. She just doesn’t know it yet. No point in telling her that, as I’d likely be made to hear first how she can take care of herself, second how her brother and Nash are protectors, and whatever else. Truth is, if any of them were half as smart and skilled as I am, Carsyn wouldn’t be here.
Reaching for the cuff on the floor, I loop it around her left ankle and close it. “Giving you back some freedom.”
She lifts her shackled leg, which is probably using every ounce of strength she has, that little firecracker. Peering down, she eyes the shackle before letting her foot drop against the other with a painful thud.
“The handcuffs keeping your wrists and ankles together are gone, but this stays on,” I tell her, smoothing my fingers around the solid metal cuff. “But you have enough length to use this entire suite.” Skating my hand up her calf, I grip her knee gently. “There’s a private bathroom, too.”
“Generous,” she groans as she gains momentum, attempting to roll to a sitting position as the sedative wears off. Kind of her fault it hit her so hard. If she hadn’t been so fucking wasted on whiskey and prowling for cock, she’d be kicking and screaming right now.
Still chained up and sedated, just far less groggy.
I half expect her next words to be, “get your hand off of me,” but she doesn’t say it. Instead, I sit there, massaging her sore muscles, skirting my hand beneath her tank top, up her back, tracing the curve of her spine. The more I touch her, the more awake her body becomes. Her mind, too.
“Rouse Colton from sedation like this?” she questions, her voice so raspy it sounds painful for her to speak.
The answer is clearly no, because we both know I wasn’t rubbing her brother’s legs and back to get him to wake up after he was dosed. “He preferred head rubs,” I deadpan, continuing my path up her back.
After a few minutes, she manages to sit up, her thick, shiny hair in a tangled clump where she laid on it. Cautiously and weakly, she lifts her hands up, analyzing the red marks where the cuffs wore and pinched her.
“I have a cream for that, the red will go away in a few days.”
Her glare is sharp against my profile as I stash the cuff key into my boot.
“I thought we were going to talk,” she rasps, and I know it’s not right, but that hoarse voice of hers gives me a hardon.
Resting my boot on the floor, I twist on the bed to better face her, finding her knees pulled to her chest, arms wrapped around them, almost childlike. It’s a defensive position, one that tells me she thinks I’m the man who's gonna hurt her. I don’t have to like it to get it. “Let me go,” she whispers, the plea so frail I can’t help but feel a twinge of empathy for her.
“When the time is right,” I tell her, searching her amber eyes, no longer blood shot. The booze and paralytic is wearing off, and I don’t know whether to be excited or nervous.
“When the time is right? What the fuck does that mean?” she balks, veins thick in her throat as she struggles to find volume. “There’s never a good time to be a captive, Garrison ,” she hisses.
I hate that this is who I am to her right now. A monster. A man who kidnaps and traffics women. The man she believes me to be reflects in her wide, fearful eyes, so that’s the role I’ve got to play. For now.
“You said we were gonna talk,” she argues.
“I told you what’s important.” That’s not a lie. I told her I ain’t gonna hurt her and she won’t be captive forever. What else is there? She thinks because we drank a whiskey together or that she’s chained up that I owe her every iota of information, every lick of detail about what’s going on. She’s wrong but still glaring, so I add, “You know what you need to.”
“No, you didn’t tell me what’s important and I don’t know what I need to,” she continues to press, mimicking my voice as she repeats my sentiment. Outstretching one leg, she pushes her foot into the side of my thigh. Only, the weight of the cuff on her ankle hinders her ability to pull her leg back quickly, and I grab her foot on recoil.
“What specifically do you want to know?” I ask, playing a foolish game while driving my thumb up and down the center of her bare foot. I can’t tell her anything, but I can’t resist her, either. Her shoulders deflate a little, but she pulls the comforter to her chest defensively. Carsyn likes my touch, but she doesn’t want to. I chew on the inside of my cheek so my smirk doesn’t slip free as I savor this information.
“How about… what’s going on? Why did you take me?” she questions, her hands playing at the corner of the comforter where a singular thread is loose. Her nostrils flare with impatience as she eyes me, waiting for answers, for pieces of her puzzle to fall into her lap. Carsyn is a smart woman, and I know she wants to work out what’s going on, I know she wants to solve the riddle of Carsyn and Garrison in the farm house. But what she doesn’t realize is no matter how many questions she asks me, she won’t understand what is happening until I allow her. Until it’s time.
Now isn’t the time.
I get to my feet before placing one hand against the headboard, bending at the waist to bring my face just a foot away from hers. A strand of wild hair tangles in her eyelash, but I don’t brush it away. “What were you lookin’ for at that bar?” I bring my other hand to her cheek, and she tries to pull away, she struggles to put space between us but I slide my grip to her throat, and force her to face me. Her chest rises, pupils expanding with each fearful gasp. Releasing her, I let my hand explore her chest beneath the collarbone, feeling of the place I stuck her as I eye her flimsy tank top. Carsyn has nice tits. Fucking soft and full—a perfect handful for me. Tits I’d love to push together and slide my cock between, tits I’d love to blow all over, to suck, to slap. I peer up at her, finding her lids heavy and her cheeks flush. I know exactly what she was looking for last night, and so does she. My hand lowers one more inch, right above the lip of her tank top, testing her.
“No,” she whispers, blinking down at my roaming hand.
Continuing the path, I bypass her breasts and inch my hand down her side, over her belly, enjoying the taut terrain. “Chest looks okay. Like I said, in a couple hours you won’t know you were stuck.” She says nothing, and I move my palm over her belly again gently. “Why’d you go to a seedy dive bar outside Buffalo Trails last night, hmm Carsyn Beckett?”
“Please,” she begs.
I know what she thinks I’m gonna do, what she fears is coming next. I think Carsyn fears something being forced on her more than she fears feeling me inside of her, because beneath that thin tank, her nipples are pebbled. Skirting my lips against her ear, I gently rest my hand between her legs, over her panties. Defensively, she slams her thighs together, trying to prevent me from touching her pussy. I can’t help but chuckle before reminding her of my reality. “When I want you, I’ll have you.”
I get to my feet and make for the door. Before leaving her, I turn back for another look. Carsyn’s legs are outstretched, the comforter in heap around her waist. There’s a crease between her eyebrows etched into her forehead, and one of her hands is outstretched on the bed toward the door where I am—she didn’t want me to stop, she’s reaching for me, though she’d deny it with every breath.
She thinks I’m a monster, but I’m a monster she wants to ride..
“A fuck,” she murmurs. “You know I was there for a good fuck.”
I lift my brows but don’t say a word.
“I answered your question, so you answer one of mine,” she breathes, her fingers reaching for me against the mattress, whether she’s aware she’s doing it or not.
“No,” I reply, “and I already knew why you were there. I just wanted to hear you admit you were gonna be my filthy little slut last night.”
Her face twists with anger. “You mother fuc?—”
I close the door before she can hurl a litany of curses at me. And I also close the door because the smirk I’m wearing would really piss her off and I’m trying to ration my sedative.