Chapter 14
Chapter
Fourteen
This had to stop.
Maya was going to rub her skin raw, not to mention the water had to be burning her, not that she seemed to notice.
Stripping off his T-shirt and sweatpants, Thunder reached under the spray to grab hold of his girl. Predictably, she fought against him, but he wasn't letting her hurt herself. Giving her space to process her emotions was fine, but causing herself physical pain was not.
“Sorry, babydoll, but you can't keep doing that,” he said, keeping hold of her with one arm and reaching around her with his other to turn off the shower. Since she didn't seem to like him calling her Maya, he was more than happy to stick with the nickname, which didn't seem to bother her.
Part of him wished he’d always stuck with it, and waited until she was ready to share her name with him.
But there was no going back, all Thunder could do now was deal with what was and not what could have been.
Waiting never would have been realistic because they’d sent pictures of her and the DNA sample and fingerprints to Prey before they’d even brought her back there.
It was what they always did, and although he’d felt a pull toward her the moment he’d found her in that cage, he couldn’t have known that pull would only grow stronger the more time he spent around her.
“Come here,” he murmured softly as he maneuvered her squirming form out of the large walk-in shower.
She was still fighting him, and as he lifted her and set her down on the vanity, he had to pry her fingers off the nail brush she’d been using, which he tossed into the sink.
Her skin was bright red from the hot water and scrubbing, and she kind of folded in on herself when he reached for a towel and began to dry her off.
While he wasn't sure exactly what had led to her deciding to try to initiate sex, or what had her desperately scrubbing at her skin like she wanted to rub it straight off her body, he understood helplessness, rage, and pain.
That they shared, maybe he could use it to try to reach her.
Because it felt like Maya was drifting further away from him with each passing hour.
Unacceptable.
This woman was important to him. He didn't care that it made no sense, and he fully understood she might choose not to stay there, but he was going to do everything within his power to help her in any way he could.
“I want to show you something. You up for a walk?”
Slowly, her eyes lifted to meet his. There was so much pain in them, it hit him like a punch to the gut.
If only there was an easy way to wash that all away from her.
But there wasn't. All he could do was keep being there and hope that when she was ready, she’d see that he was here for her and allow him to help her.
There wasn't just pain in her eyes, but confusion, too. Like she was struggling to comprehend her own emotions and behaviors.
When she gave a small nod, his heart soared. Even though she felt so far away, she wasn't lost to him yet. That was something he was clinging to.
Finishing drying her off, he quickly ran the towel over his own body, then threw his clothes back on.
It was still cold out, not quite spring yet, but with his enhanced ability to withstand temperature extremes, he wouldn't need a coat.
Didn't want to leave Maya alone to go grab one either, because he felt that her acquiescence was tentative at best. Given some time alone, she was likely to change her mind.
Once he was dressed, he lifted Maya back down, allowing his fingers to linger on her soft skin. It was still pink, but he’d stopped her before she could do too much damage to herself.
Attracted as he was to her, it would have been so easy to give in, give her what she wanted.
Only it wasn't really what she wanted. Just because he didn't understand the thought process that had gotten her from seeking comfort to initiating sex, he knew it wasn't something she truly wanted.
Which meant he wasn't giving in to his desire.
If they ever had sex, it would be when she was in her right mind, not lost to fear and terror and darkness. It would be because her body cried out for him as strongly as his did for her.
Guiding her into the bedroom, Thunder quickly rifled through her closet, grabbed her jeans and a sweater, warm socks and a pair of boots, then a coat. When he set the items on the bed, she gave them a weary look, like the effort to put them on was more than she possessed.
“I got you, babydoll,” he soothed as he began to dress her. Maya didn't fight him, and five minutes later, he was leading her through the house.
Again, there was no fighting him, it seemed to have all drained out of her. Pausing briefly by the door, Thunder shoved his feet into his boots, and then they stepped out into the night. It was dark, but not so cloudy that there wasn't plenty of light from the moon and the stars.
“One of the first things I did when our boss found this place for us to move into was build a treehouse,” he told her as he stopped in front of a tree in the forest. It looked no different from any others, and if you didn't know what was built in the high branches, you’d never spot it.
“This is my special place. The place I come to when the darkness inside me becomes too much to handle.”
Scooping her up, he balanced Maya over his shoulder as he began to climb the tree.
Her hands fisted his T-shirt, but she still wasn't fighting him, and he had to take that as a good sign.
It didn't take him more than a few seconds to get up through the branches to the tiny, little shelter he’d built.
“I’ve never brought anyone else up here before,” he admitted, wondering what the space looked like through her eyes.
It wasn't much, just a wooden platform with three sides and a roof, kind of like half a log cabin.
There was barely enough space for two people, but as he set her down and then sat beside her, they both dangled their legs over the edge of the platform, and Thunder found the silence was companionable.
“I built my first treehouse when I was six,” he started talking.
It wasn't a conscious decision to share, and it wasn't because he was trying to manipulate her somehow into sharing her own trauma.
It just felt natural to talk to her about this.
“It was where I used to go to escape my parents when they were in a rage.”
The one he’d made back then was nowhere near as nice as this one. That one was nothing more than a few branches tied together halfway up a tree in their backyard. But he’d made it himself, with his own small, bare hands, and six-year-old Thunder had been proud of it.
“My dad had anger issues. No real reason why.
We lived in a nice house, he had a good job, and we weren't struggling for money. No alcohol or drug-related issues. No gambling issues either. We went to church every Sunday, he coached my soccer team, my mom worked part-time, so she was home a lot, she would bake cookies, and go to every one of my games. On the outside, I think we looked like the picture-perfect, middle-class, suburban family. On the inside, we were anything but.”
Maya’s hand landed on his knee, and he stared at it. In the moonlight, it looked so pale, yet perfect against the black of his sweatpants. It looked right, like it was where it belonged.
“I was angry too. Angry that my dad beat on my mom, angry that my mom took that out on me.
Angry that the older I got, the more my dad thought it was okay to start beating on me.
Angry that nobody noticed, no one at church, or school, or soccer, or Boy Scouts cared enough about the fact that I was always covered in bruises.
I learned that fists were the way you solved problems, and interacted with others.
I started getting into trouble a lot at school.
Lots of fights. Got suspended a few times.
Arrested twice but let off both times with a warning.
I ruined my chances of getting into a good college, my grades were bad because I didn't spend any time studying, and with all the trouble I'd been in, I decided that the military was a good fit for someone like me.”
A life-changing decision. For a while his life had improved dramatically.
Until everything fell apart.
“When there was an opportunity to sign up for an experimental drug program, I thought it was my chance to finally make something of myself. Instead, I wound up with even more anger than I'd had before, suicidal thoughts, and three years living in a cage.”
Placing one of his hands over hers, with his other, Thunder grasped Maya’s chin, making sure he had her attention. Once her wide eyes were focused on him, he continued.
“Your strength and bravery inspire me. I know what it’s like to be angry and helpless, to feel hopeless.
But despite that, you're still standing, doing the best you can, and that’s all anyone can ask of you.
You're so beautiful, babydoll, and I'm insanely attracted to you.
To your body and your soul. But I won't have sex with you until you're ready to make love.”
Without realizing it, his body drifted closer to hers.
Hers to his.
His lips hovered just millimeters from hers. “It will be slow, tender, and beautiful. Beautiful just like you, my sweet, brave, strong girl. And you’ll want it so badly, it consumes you, and you can't think of anything else. Just like it is for me.”
March 4 th
4:24 A.M.
Mesmerized by his words, the warm puffs of air against her lips, in the end, Maya was the one who closed the small distance between them and brushed her mouth to his.
Then, completely against her better judgment, she fell headlong into the kiss.
How did he kiss this amazingly?
She didn't even know that kissing could feel like this, like he was making love to her with his lips.
And his words …
Was there any chance they were true?