16. Escape
SIXTEEN
ESCAPE
CONNOR
It’s a poke with the blade, through my jeans, into the meat of my ass cheek, in and out again. I yelp—because what else could I fucking do—and spin on the top stair just in time to see her hold up my knife slick with my blood on it.
For a split second, I see the expression on her face—determination mingled with fear—and all I can think is: how did she get my knife?
If there’s one thing I’m sure of, it’s that Haven’s no pickpocket.
Trust me. I would’ve known if she shoved her hand in my pocket to steal it…
only she didn’t have to. My dumb ass left the knife on the drying mat earlier, completely forgetting to put it away after my shower.
And Haven must’ve pocketed it because I sure as hell don’t remember seeing it there while I was cooking dinner and cleaning up.
I want the knife. I don’t care that she stabbed me, but my knife… I want it, and I reach for it.
That was my mistake. I lunge for Haven, and she shoves. That’s all it takes. A single shove from Haven as I turn toward her on the narrow stair and, suddenly, I’m tumbling down them.
When I’m downstairs with Haven, I don’t bother locking us in. There’s no point. If she tries to escape while I’m right fucking there, I’d stop her. Kind of hard to do that, though, when I’m flipping ass over end down fifteen stairs before landing in a pile on the cement floor.
My ass is bleeding, but she didn’t stick me deep enough to do much damage. I took a couple of hard knocks during my fall, but after a few stunned seconds while I try to figure out what the hell just happened, I realize that I left her at the top of the stairs—and the basement door is open.
Shit.
I hurry to my feet. The thought of losing Haven, of her somehow getting away from me… that’s so much worse than any injuries I might’ve sustained. My back’s okay. My head’s clear. I don’t have any broken legs which is a good thing because I immediately start bolting up the stairs as fast as I can.
She has a head start. More of one than I’d like to admit, but Haven Smith has always been a creature of habit.
Whether it’s ordering from the same restaurants, having the same volunteer shifts down at the animal shelter, or going to the same stores…
I didn’t have to be the world’s greatest stalker to get her habits down pat.
Every time she tries to escape, she goes for the front door. Tonight’s no different. When I burst out of the basement, running down the hall, I feel a pang to see that the door’s wide open. Ignoring the mild yet throbbing pain in my ass cheek, I pour on the speed, running out into the night.
Just to be sure, I whip my head to the left to see if she booked it down the gravel drive.
Nope. Last time, she tried to run into the woods and hide, only she stumbled before she could.
I’m not banking on her stumbling this time.
She’s been eating and sleeping and, damn it, planning for something like this.
I’ll find her—I have to—but Haven… she’s not going to make it easy for me.
I need to rattle her. I need her to understand that I’m coming for her, and hope that that’s enough to get her to stumble or slow or give me some clue to where she ran off to.
I wait until I’ve dashed into the trees surrounding my property. Hoping that she ran straight ahead, I take the same path while calling out to her.
“Haven?” My voice echoes through the still night air. “I won’t let you hide from me, Haven. Never again.”
I pause, listening. A crackling sound comes from my left. Branches and twigs snapping under her running feet… that way. She went that way.
I veer in that direction. “There’s no escaping me, Haven. Run if you like. You won’t get far, I promise you that. You’re mine and always have been.”
Where is she? I have to find her. I have to—
Whoa.
Suddenly, there’s a knife to my throat. Suddenly, there’s a panting Haven, her hair falling forward into her face, her grey eyes gleaming in the moonlight…
suddenly, there’s a woman on the brink of the edge standing right in front of me, her hand surprisingly still as she puts the point against my skin.
In an instant, I know what happened. She must’ve realized that I meant it. Had to know she couldn’t outrun me. So, instead, she ducked behind a tree, and rather than let me continue chasing after her while she backpedaled, Haven jumped out at me, threatening with my own blade.
Shit, that’s fucking sexy.
Especially since she’s not fucking around. She doesn’t stab me in the neck the same way that she jabbed the blade into my ass, but the way her lips are firmed like that… she’s thinking about it.
Damn it. What a time to get a fucking hard-on. It’s just about immediate, though. The way Haven’s glaring up at me, watching her wield my own weapon expertly… how could you expect my cock to behave?
Slowly, I lift my hands. She digs the knife a little deeper, a silent warning. When the blood trickles down my throat, it’s obvious she cut me, but as long as she doesn’t slash the way that I did, I should be okay.
And if I’m not? At least the last thing I’ll look at before I die will be Haven fucking Smith.
Then, because I’m Connor fucking Heyward, I give her a tiny smirk. “Tag,” I say, my voice soft because I don’t want to move my throat that much. “You’re it.”
I don’t think Haven appreciates my attempt at humor. For a heartbeat, I think she’s really going to slit my throat and wash her hands of me—but then the most amazing thing happens.
She speaks.
“Let. Me. Go. Connor.”
My body bucks as it hits me that that gravely voice, that hoarse demand… that was Haven.
Holy shit. She did it. She spoke. Each word sounds like it was ripped out of her, spat through gritted teeth, and she dug the point of my knife into my throat a little more with each word, but she fucking talked to me.
And that’s not all. When a single world costs Haven more than anyone should have to pay, she didn’t stop at ‘go’.
No. She tacked on my name, using it for the first time since I rescued her, as though finally admitting that she knows who the hell I am.
I mean, I know she knows me… but using my name? It’s like taking ownership of it.
Ownership of me.
Fuck. This time, I really can’t help myself.
Between the hate-filled look in her eyes, the delicious pain as the knife cuts me a little more, and the rasp of my name—Connor—in her ragged, raw voice, I lose the last of the control I was clinging to and, with a gasp of pleasure, I explode in my jeans.
I haven’t creamed my pants since I was a fifteen-year-old kid who climbed the window outside of the Smith house, watching Haven undress before heading to the shower.
Sometimes I made it last, stroking my cock and marking that tree as though I could claim the untouchable Offering.
Other times I couldn’t hold it, and I ruined my pants before I could even get my dick out.
Since then, I’ve worked on my stamina so that I don’t embarrass myself when I eventually consummate my relationship with my wife. Tell that to my cock, though, because without her doing anything more than turning my knife on me and saying my name, I just lost complete control.
The way Haven’s expression is suddenly horrified? She might be a ‘technical’ virgin, but she knows exactly what happened.
I don’t get her to talk again. She just jumps away, throwing a look of pure disgust at me. Fortunately, she takes the knife with her, too, and she doesn’t run so… yeah. I’ll take whatever win I can.
I shrug. “Sorry, ladybug. You had a knife to my throat. You had to know that would turn me on. It’s okay, though. Chasing you through the woods… give me a couple of minutes to get it up again, and I’ll see if I can last longer for you next time.”
I want her anger. I want her fire. Shit, I want her, and if this is as close as I can get…
Something flares in Haven’s stormy grey eyes. Could be hatred. Could be anger. It’s possible she’s rising up to my bait and my dare because, in that instant, the haunted look I’ve become so familiar with fades as murderous determination replaces it.
God, that’s so fucking hot.
I groan again, and she glares as she darts a quick look at my damp jeans before baring her teeth at me.
That’s fine with me.
“Hate me if that’s what you need to do. I can love you more than enough to make up for your dislike of me, but I promise you this, my precious Haven.
One day, you will love me. I won’t have to keep you locked in with me.
You’ll choose to stay on your own, and if you need to run, you’ll always run back to me.
Because if you don’t… you need to understand that I will always chase you. ”
Did I think she looked murderous before? That’s nothing compared to the look in her eyes as I make myself perfectly clear.
“Holy shit, Haven. You look at me like you could kill me, and, sweetheart?” My answering smile turns feral. “I’ve never seen anything more beautiful in my life.”
This probably isn’t the best time to compliment her. For some reason, she isn’t all that receptive to it and, before I can block it, she rears back and kicks me dead in the nuts.
Fuuuuuuck.
I’m down. Grabbing my junk, rolling on the dirt ground, gasping at the pain in my dick, sucking in a breath when I land on my ass and irritate that wound… she got me. Haven got me good, and the thing that pisses me off the most is that she doesn’t even stick around to enjoy her handiwork.
On the plus side, she could’ve killed me.
If that’s what she wanted, I would’ve stood there and let her do it, then thanked her for the honor while my blood was spilling out the same way that Wise’s did.
Only she didn’t kill me, and as I force down the agonizing pain so that I can flip myself onto my hands and knees before pulling myself to my feet, all I can think is: progress.
Once I’m standing again, I shove my hand in my pocket.
My knife and my phone aren’t the only things I carry on me.
In case Haven is spiraling and there’s no time to prepare a sedative for her, I keep one handy.
Pulling it out, I lift the syringe up so that I can check it in the moonlight.
It’s a miracle that it didn’t break after how hard she worked me over, and I palm it before taking off after Haven again.
I’m prepared for her to jump out at me a second time. We’re going to see who’s faster: me with my syringe or Haven with my knife. Turns out, that’s not necessary. This time, she decides to keep running in the hope that she put me out of commission.
Poor Haven. She underestimated how much I want this. Want her. A little pain isn’t going to stop me, and though there’ll come a moment when I have to pay the piper, the fact that I explode into the clearing where she’s catching her breath is enough to startle her into running right into my path.
I tackle her. I try to twist, taking the brunt of the fall to my already battered body. I don’t want to hurt her—I never want to hurt her—and I hit the ground hard before shifting our positions, trapping Haven beneath me.
Thankfully, I knocked the knife out of her hand before we fell. Without giving her the chance to recover it and stab me again, I hurriedly jab her in the neck with the syringe.
Her eyes flash at me, and though she doesn’t speak again, I don’t need her to in order to know how fucking pissed she is that I got her down.
It was inevitable though, and as the sedative begins to drag her under, I know there’s enough time to help her understand.
Stroking her cheek, rubbing her temple, I murmur, “For nine years, I had to put a pause on my Claim. Not anymore, my darling… my sweetheart… my love. That only led to someone trying to take you from me. I won’t let that happen. Never again.”
And after tonight? I think she might finally understand that I fucking mean it.
My ass hurts. My nuts ache. Shit, my whole body aches right about now. Still, I’ve got a bandage slapped on one, ice resting on the other, and yet… I’m not mad.
How can I be? I left the knife where she could grab it. I gave her the perfect opportunity to try and escape me, and rather than stay withdrawn inside her own traumatized mind, she seized it.
I’m so proud of her.
Now, do I wish she would just give up already? The selfish part of me that wants to hold Haven close and call her my wife… yeah, I wish she would. But knowing that she hasn’t? If she hadn’t done a number on my boys with her foot, I might be coming all over again, I’m that excited.
Of course, I can’t let her know that. As much as I appreciate her fire, I don’t want to encourage her to leave me. Not when I’ve made it absolutely clear that that… that’s not going to happen.
And if she needs a bigger hint that I meant it when I say that I can’t let her go?
Once the sedative took hold, I sucked up the pain, hefted her into my shaky arms, and hobbled the rest of the way back to our house. I brought Haven right to the basement where she belongs, laying her out on the bed in the panic room.
Then, because I decided she lost the privilege of shoes after she took off on me, I removed them.
After a moment, I figured that she’s easier to keep in one place when she doesn’t have pants so those came with me, too.
And because I’m a sick bastard who likes seeing her in her clothes, but loves seeing her in mine, I strip her out of her clothes before putting another of my old t-shirts on her.
Hey. I left her underwear on, so I should at least get credit for that—though I’m sure, when Haven comes to again, she probably won’t see it that way.
Just like how I’m not so sure how she’ll take the gift I left on her pillow…
She thinks she can escape me. That it’ll be as easy as that. Fat chance, baby, but I’m also done with her thinking she can keep me out, too. That’s why I made sure to give her one of the two keys I own that unlocks both the door to the panic room, the bedroom, and the bathroom.
This time, I’m the one who leaves a note for her:
Nice try, sweetheart. I’d appreciate it if you didn’t do that again… and if you think you can hide in here where I can’t find you? Sorry. This key’s yours, but mine? You’ll never find it.
Love you!
Your husband,
Connor
And though I need a sedative myself to sleep through the night after the stab, the tumble, and the kick, I make sure to only give myself a half-dose.
After all, I have to be up bright and early to prepare breakfast for my wife in the morning—and watch her reaction when she realizes that there really is no getting away from me.