Chapter 13
Ezra
They were acting strangely. Ryker would hardly look at him this morning.
Willow was blindfolded again while they ate waffles and sausage he’d found buried in the chest freezer. They could send their captive into the other room, but he didn’t trust her not to try something. Especially now that Ryker had put a complete ban on tying her hands.
Ezra glanced around the room. He really needed to sort through the place more thoroughly, maybe get rid of some of the old stuff. The couch cushions sagged, and the blanket his aunt had knitted was draped over the back, concealing a couple of tears from years of use.
He’d spent so much time here—back when his dad was fucking up too much to take care of him anymore.
“What are you doing getting caught up with this, Ezzy? You’re better than your dad!”
Rick’s words were getting louder in his head the longer he stayed.
He only ever visited to make sure the place hadn’t been broken into and to keep up with maintenance.
Rick had been so disappointed in him the first time he got busted and sent to juvie at fifteen.
At least he’d passed before Ezra had truly fallen to the depths. Stuck in a world of crime.
At least he’d be glad I didn’t shoot this girl in the head.
Willow’s brows came together, as if she’d heard his thoughts. Her black hair was messy and tangled. It hadn’t been the most comfortable sleeping arrangement, but he’d been so exhausted that even the storm couldn’t keep him up.
“Can I shower today?” Willow asked.
Ryker cut in. “If you tell her no, I’ll fuckin’ deck you.”
That caught him off guard. His friend was getting more defensive of this girl, and he wasn’t sure why. Willow turned her head and offered Ryker a coy little smile.
“What the fuck is going on between you?” Ezra demanded, jealousy burning inside his chest.
“Nothing,” he replied. “There’s just no reason to be a dick to her.”
“Fine.” Ezra pulled the van keys from his pocket and held them out.
“She can have her shower… and you can drive down to see if the road is clear.” The wind had died down a bit, but the cleanup always took time.
He had no expectation that the way was passable, but he wanted Willow to himself for a little bit.
There was definitely something going on, and he was going to find out what.
Uncertainty flickered across Ryker’s face, but he shot out of his chair and yanked the keys from his grasp. He pulled on his coat and headed for the door. “I mean it, man. Be nice.”
Ezra waved him off, keeping his focus on Willow, still sitting there. He pulled his mask on before removing the blindfold.
No fear. She never showed fear. Instead, she returned a glare that could make Satan flinch. The door slammed in his periphery as Ryker dashed outside to the van.
“So,” she started, “are you going to be a dick or can I shower?”
He sat back in his chair, taking a casual position. “Tell me something first.”
Her eyes nearly rolled out of her head. “What do you want to know?”
“Is it Davidiuk?” He needed to be sure. Questions about her and Ryker could come later; he wanted to observe first.
“I have no idea who that is.”
The answer sounded sincere. Maybe she was telling the truth. “Why do you have all those scars?”
Her jaw clenched. “You didn’t say there would be follow-up questions.”
“Fair enough.” He pushed out his chair and stood. Then, he took their plates and dumped them all into the sink. Washing them could come later. At the moment, he was fixated on the idea of Willow stripping off those dirty clothes.
“Want to wear something else?” he asked.
Her eyes traveled up and down his body. “Do you have something that would fit?”
Oh yes, baby girl.
Ezra shook off the intrusive thought, trying to maintain control. He retrieved a pair of shorts and one of his sweaters from his dresser in the bedroom. They smelled like the wooden drawers from sitting in there for so long, but it was better than making her stay in that.
She took them, unsure. “Uh… thanks.” Her eyes darted between the bathroom and him, maybe expecting this was some kind of trick.
“Take your shower. Toss whatever in the washer, and I’ll get it going later.”
Willow hurried off, and he was left there, thinking about her lathering up with his soap. His smell would be all over her then. He liked that thought.
While she was occupied, he settled on the couch and peeled off the mask before checking his phone. He knew there would be nothing. He hadn’t paid to keep up the Wi-Fi, so there was no service of any kind. He flipped through old photos of himself with his uncle. Back when things were simple.
A tightness formed in his chest as he came to the one that still haunted him.
Rick, with his salt-and-pepper beard and a broad smile held out a tiny trout.
It was ridiculously small—maybe five inches, but he insisted on getting the picture.
It was the last one Ezra had taken before the cancer diagnosis.
By the time it was found, it was too late.
The cancer was everywhere. His aunt Patty wanted nothing to do with the cabin so she’d agreed to give it to Ezra.
“He needs something stable. A place he can always go.”
Too soon, or too late, the water shut off and he listened as Willow went through whatever routine she decided on with limited options. He would need a shower next. Sweat was making the mask uncomfortable, and he could rub one out. This girl was making his head spin.
The latch of the door sounded, giving him the cue to hide his face.
“So,” she said, “is this a family place?”
His spine stiffened. “What?”
She padded across the room, her feet bare against the hardwood.
His clothes were way too big for her, but the sight only amplified that possessive edge that had been threatening to take hold of him.
She had pushed the sleeves of the sweater up since they were too long, and the hem rested well below her hips.
Willow had tied the drawstring of the shorts as tight as possible to keep them in place, and the bottoms dipped below her knees.
Intricate abstract tattoos circled her legs, starting at her ankles and disappearing beneath the shorts. He wanted to see how far up they went.
“I’m not an idiot,” she continued. “You know this cabin inside and out. Plus, I doubt you picked all this…” she pointed at an old lamp, “decor.”
“Maybe it’s none of your business,” he answered, keeping his focus elsewhere.
“Point taken.”
He wanted to get far away from the topic of the cabin. Looking at those pictures had been a mistake. Maybe it was time to ask her about Ryker.