Chapter Twelve
Gemma
I didn’t even think twice about my next move.
I ran.
I raced up onto the porch and straight into the cabin, putting almost all my weight on my toes so that I was soundless and light-footed. I found Rembrandt sleeping peacefully on the bed I’d been chained up on. I scooped him up then sprinted back into the open kitchen, dining and lounge room, my eyes darting left and right as I searched frantically for the car keys.
Ugh . They’d be in the car’s ignition, of course they would. There was no one around here to steal his only mode of transport!
Rembrandt wasn’t impressed when I ran outside, pulled open the driver’s car door only to find so sign of the keys.
“Looking for these?”
I spun around to find Evander smirking my way, one arm lifted with the car keys dangling from his fingers.
I shrieked, then holding Rembrandt closer to my body, I ran away from the cabin and the car, from the jerk Evander, and toward the stream. I splashed through it, the icy-cold water deeper than I’d expected as it soaked me up to my waist before I waded through to the other side where it was shallow once again.
A sharp rock pierced the underside of my bared foot and I winced, then stumbled, water splashing Rembrandt and making him hiss.
I gathered him closer, then straightened before glancing back. My breath shuddered out. The jerk had reclined his seat farther back and appeared to be enjoying the sunlight, relaxing as if he didn’t have a care in the world!
I scrambled up the opposite bank, aware then Rembrandt’s claws were digging into my chest and arms as he looked wide-eyed back at the water we’d traversed.
That he’d stayed relatively high and dry didn’t seem to matter, he clearly had trust issues.
“Yeah, you and me both,” I ground out.
I only wished I’d worn runners before I’d been kidnapped, instead I raced barefooted across the grass with its intermittent stony ground and headed toward the far-off mountains. I wasn’t that far from New York, was I? It might look like the wilderness out here but I’d bet there was plenty of people just outside the perimeter of his property...wherever that might be!
I’d run for probably half-an-hour before I was too winded and footsore to run anymore. I half-limped, half-walked toward the mountains, which didn’t appear to be growing any closer.
It was only when I saw the tall, chain link fence in the distance, one I wouldn’t even attempt to try and climb, that I stilled, my arm muscles going weak even before Rembrandt jumped free.
The deep resounding thrum of a motorbike pierced my senses long before I spun around to see the Harley Davidson motorbike heading toward me, Evander sitting astride it like he was the king of the world.
I had no doubt he was the king in this part of the world.
I slumped. Wasn’t it bad enough he ruled half of New York along with his brothers?
I wilted a little more as Rembrandt streaked away from me and the motorcycle, heading straight back toward the cabin. I had no doubt the traitor would get wet and swim across the stream to return to the apparent safety of his new home.
It was more than apparent my pet also had more common sense than I did.
Who had I been trying to fool by running away a second time? There was no way Evander would let me escape again. He’d probably put a tracker on me the next time I slept as a backup plan.
Though tears welled, I refused to cry. I lifted my head as Evander rode toward me as though he had all the time in the world. I huffed out an aggrieved breath. Probably because he did have all the time in the world!
I wasn’t going anywhere. Not anymore. The tall fence hemmed me in as effectively as the handcuffs had kept me prisoner.
I crossed my arms and raised my chin another notch, trying not to notice how damn masculine he looked as he approached, the wind ruffling his dark hair, while his shadowed bristles verged on becoming a beard.
If he was tired I no longer noticed. He looked vibrant and alive on his motorcycle, his arms spread wide as he gripped the handlebars, his shoulders relaxed and loose and his dark eyes crinkled at the edge as he smirked.
The bastard was enjoying my defeat.
I glowered as he slowed the bike then pulled up beside me. “Going somewhere,” he asked roughly.
I wanted to scream at him and stamp my bare foot in the grass, but I’d only look sillier than I already did. Instead more tears threatened, my vision misting with red. “Does it look like it?” I asked mock-sweetly.
He arched a dark brow, then gestured with a jerk of his head toward the back of his bike. “Get on.”
I baulked even as I muttered, “Let me guess...I don’t have a choice.”
A corner of his mouth twitched. “You guessed right.”
“Asshole,” I gritted out.
Except, although I might hate man—I did hate him—all the feel good parts of my memories came flooding back as I put my arms around his waist, his six-pack rippling beneath my hands.
How easy would it be for me to slip my hand lower and caress his dick through his pants? He was likely already hard. I’d learned from our past dalliance that it took very little to give him an erection.
It was my turn to smirk. I’d just had to look at him in a certain way, flutter my fingertips down his chest, then lower, and he’d been ready, willing and able.
Then the Harley thrummed with menacing power and we took off, the landscape flashing past in an adrenaline-fueled rush that made me realize how thrilling it was just to be with Evander again.
The wind whipped at my hair, pulling it back behind me like the tail of a kite, my fingers flexing against the musculature of his abs while his jacket fluttered either side.
My core clenched and flooded with wet heat, my traitorous body wanting the one man on the planet I didn’t want to want. But I also knew I wasn’t alone in my yearning. Even when I’d been with Evander in the past, women had thrown themselves at him, making no attempt whatsoever to mask their lust.
He veered to the right, following the recently depressed track in the grass. A minute later we went over a rickety wooden bridge with a clack-click-clatter, the stream below shadowed from the overpass.
I released an aggrieved sigh even as I glanced down at my soaked leggings. But of course there had been a bridge. And of course there was a motorcycle. No doubt he’d hidden the Harley Davidson out of sight behind the cabin.
A minute later he pulled up at the cabin— behind the cabin just as I’d suspected—before I removed my stiff, cold body from the metal beast and the warmth of the rider I’d attached myself to. I stood sullenly, waiting for him to alight.
I scowled even harder when I acknowledged he didn’t even need leathers to look the part. Even in his suit jacket and pants, his white dress shirt, he oozed toughness and power, like he belonged on a motorcycle in just the same way he belonged in the mafia.
He stalked toward me and I turned and hurried toward the front of the cabin. Rembrandt sat out the front on the grass, looking pitiful as he licked his wet fur. I slowed and clucked my tongue. He’d always hated baths, add being cold into the mix and he was probably hating on me more than ever.
Evander pulled off his suit jacket as he approached the cat, then dropping into a crouch he pulled Rembrandt into the cozy warmth of his jacket, drying him off like he was something precious.
I inhaled slow and deep. This man was a killer, someone who took away life, at the very least, he tortured and seriously hurt people.
So why was he carefully drying off my cat?
Despite my hardened resolve against Evander, my heart softened more than a little. When he cared about someone, he cared deeply. Once upon a time, I’d been the recipient of that care.
Now vengeance was his one and only goal. That I was vulnerable to him and to his acts of goodwill were suddenly becoming all too clear to me. I reveled in his caring side even as I reveled in his dark, wild side.
Hate and lust really were becoming harder and harder to differentiate between.
He pushed back to his feet, Rembrandt in his arms and purring loudly.
It was ridiculous how envious I was in that moment, like I’d been punched and left reeling, then snapping and snarling like a rabid dog, one that’d chase Rembrandt up the nearest tree. Or perhaps he’d climb higher on Evander, seeking his protection.
Evander smirked, as though reading my every thought, my every emotion. “Though I probably have no need to warn you about running away again, you can consider this your cautionary probation.”
“How kind of you,” I sneered.
Though I was playing with fire, I didn’t much care in that moment. I was getting my just desserts by becoming his prisoner yet again.
He chose to ignore my comment as his gaze swung to my finished painting. “I must also congratulate you on your landscape. It’s...exquisite. You’re exquisite. I’m pleased to see you haven’t lost your passion.”
My hands fisted at my sides. It was as if his words were taunts aimed directly at my churning doubts and heaving hormones. In five long steps I was in front of my stunning artwork. Lifting a fisted hand, I punched the canvas off the easel. It flew through the air, then thudded dully onto the ground.
It was enough of a racket and emotional disturbance for Rembrandt to jump from Evander and onto the ground. He scampered inside then, his tail high and fluffed-up, and flicking with agitation.
I froze as shock pulsed through me. What was wrong with me? I never disrespected art, and I certainly never disrespected my own hard work!
I didn’t look back at Evander, I was too embarrassed, too torn up by my own telling emotions to want to read his reaction. Withholding a sob, I raced up the steps and along the porch before I burst inside the cabin—just as he caught my arm and tugged me around to face him.
His eyes burned down into my mine, his voice a low, thrumming growl. “I think we both know you redirected your passion in the wrong direction.”
I gasped, my whole body vibrating with fury, with unfulfilled need. “Go to hell!”
“You already sent me there, la mia Gemma.”