Chapter Seven
Torture
Jameson Bishop
I barely slept.
Not because of the floor; I’ve slept on far worse.
No. I didn’t sleep because of her.
Rachel was restless all night. Turning. Shifting. Whispering.
At one point she said my name, just a soft, gentle moan.
Having thought she was sleeping and dreaming, I sat up to check. Only to find her orgasming at her own hands.
Several times. Each time a little fracture in my self-control.
It shouldn’t have bothered me the way it did. She’s a grown woman, with needs just like anyone else. But the fact that it was my name. The way she was touching herself.
It hit me like a punch to the ribs. I lay there in the bathroom staring at the ceiling, every nerve pulled tight, every instinct telling me to get up, get distance, get control.
The other part of me shouting to finish what she started. To give her what she wanted. My dick hard as steel. Just replaying it over and over again.
To go out there and take control.
Show her exactly what I was holding back. So once and for all it was over and done. She would never want me after that.
By dawn, I was exhausted and furious.
Rachel looks just as tired when she steps outside, rubbing her eyes, hair pulled back, jacket zipped to her chin. She doesn’t look at me at first.
Maybe she’s embarrassed about her nightly activities.
But I need her focused on the case. And not tempting me with late night orgasms in the small room we are forced to share.
Ranger Handlin meets us at the station with a map spread across the hood of his truck.
“There are nine trailheads with parking lots that haven’t been searched yet,” he says. “If Rourke came in from any direction other than the main road, he could’ve used one of these.”
Nine. Nine more places he could be hurt. Or worse. And Im lusting after my field assistant like a fucking pervert.
I grit my teeth. “We start with the ones closest to the river valley. It’s more likely that he wouldn’t have ranged far without anyone with him.”
Rachel nods, tracing the map with her finger. “The disappearances cluster along the water. If he followed the same pattern, he’d be somewhere near the lower ridge.”
She’s right. She’s always right.
We hike the first trail in silence. Other rangers taking the remaining trails.
The woods are dense, the air heavy with morning fog. Every sound feels amplified; branches snapping, birds calling, the distant rush of water.
Rachel walks ahead of me, confident, sure-footed, familiar with the terrain. I watch her movements, her posture, the way she scans the trees. The easy way she navigates the broken ground and uneven path.
She’s good. Better than good. She’s an asset.
I just wish I didn’t want to fuck her like a rag doll over one of these rocks so I could hear her moan my name again.
Never mind that David is with us. Maybe he can learn a thing or two.
I hate that I’m still thinking about last night. Watching her furious pace, the motions of her hands, and the look on her face in the dim light as she climaxed.
Fighting myself not to crawl into bed with her and demand a taste for myself.
“Trail splits ahead,” she calls back. “Left follows the ridge. Right drops toward the river.”
“Left first,” I say, dragging my mind out of that room and the overwhelming urge I have to take her now against a tree.
She nods, but glances at me, a quick look, assessing me. “You okay?”
“I’m fine.” I breathe, shaking off my lust.
I am not ok.
“You look… tense.” She says quietly.
No shit.
“I’m always tense.” I huff. It’s true, and she knows it.
But she has no idea how tense I can be.
She huffs a quiet breath. “More than usual.”
I don’t answer. I can’t. I can’t tell her that Im struggling or why. She can’t know how badly I want her.
We are here for Justin. I need that to be my priority.
I cannot fuck the young agent on assignment with me.
I need to get it out of my head. I will sleep in a truck if I have to.
We continue up the ridge, the incline steep, the trees closing in overhead. The forest feels too quiet, too still, like it’s holding its breath.
David catches up to us. “If Rourke came this way, he’d have followed the markers. They’re faint, but still visible.”
Rachel stops suddenly. “Bishop.”
I move beside her to see what has her attention. She’s pointing at the ground.
A footprint. Boot tread. Its fresh.
My pulse spikes.
David kneels. “This could be him.”
Rachel looks at me, eyes sharp. “We’re close.”
I nod, forcing my voice steady. “Keep moving.”
But inside, everything is twisted tight. Fear for Rourke, frustration at myself.
Something started last night that I can’t afford to happen.
But I don’t know how Im going to resist her if this goes on any longer. I don’t know what I’ll do if she rejects me afterwards.
I can only resist my nature for so long.
“Justin!” I call loudly, scanning the undergrowth shaded by the large pines and oak trees.
We follow the trail of boot prints that wander off the trail after a half a mile or so. The ground slopes downward and Rachel moves ahead, scanning the terrain with practiced eyes.
She’s too fearless.
It terrifies me. I knew another fearless woman once, and I couldn’t save her. And this situation is already far more dangerous than she knows.
“Prints are deeper here,” she says, crouching. “He was running.”
David nods grimly. “Something chased him.”
I don’t say what I’m thinking. I know they are thinking it as well.
“Justin!” We call out.
We push farther into the trees. The canopy closes overhead, blocking out most of the light. The river is somewhere to our right, I can hear it faintly, a low rush beneath the silence.
Rachel stops again. “Bishop… look.”
I step beside her.
Bones.
Small ones at first; animal bones, strung on cords of sinew and twine, swaying gently from branches. Then larger ones. Human-sized. Weathered. Hung like warnings.
My stomach drops.
David swears under his breath. “Jesus.”
Rachel’s voice is quiet. “This is creepy as fuck.”
I scan the trees, every instinct screaming that we’re being watched. The forest is too still.
“Stay close,” I tell her quietly, watching for movement in the shadows.
She glances at me, brow raised. “I wasn’t planning on wandering off.”
Oh that mouth. All the years she has been working with me, I hate and I love that mouth.
“I’m serious.” I tell her urgently.
“I know.” Her voice softens, just slightly, and it hits me harder than it should.
Because she obeyed. The urge to tell her she’s a good girl is strong.
We move deeper, following the boot prints until they vanish near a cluster of rocks. The stones are gouged with claw marks deep, jagged, unnatural.
Rachel kneels, touching one of the grooves. “This isn’t bear. Or cougar.”
David turns to look at her. “How do you know?”
She studies them again. “They are too regular. The spacing is also too wide. For a bear to have done this, it would have had to continue the same motion repeatedly to get this depth. And why would it want to?”
I swallow hard. “Rourke came through here.”
“And something else did too,” Rachel adds.
The woods shift around us; a breeze, a rustle, a whisper of movement.
I turn sharply, scanning the tree line.
Nothing. This whole place is giving me the creeps.
I can’t help but feel like something is out there; watching and waiting. But it is not an animal.
Rachel steps closer to me, unconsciously, like her instincts are pulling her toward safety.
I shouldn’t be her safety. I shouldn’t want to be.
But I do.
“Let’s keep moving,” I say, voice low.
We push forward, deeper into the valley.
And as the trees close in around us, I know one thing with absolute certainty:
If I lose her out here or if anything happens to her, I won’t survive it.