Hell Breaks Loose: A Devil's Rock Novel (9 page)

She panted as he rolled his hips, grinding into her. God, he was about to come like some inexperienced fifteen-year-old with
his first girlfriend.

“All right,” she blurted. “I won’t fight you.”

He forced himself to still, lifting his face up from her hair. Her wide eyes glimmered in the dark. She wanted him off her.
He was just a dirty felon scaring the shit out of her. “Right,” he got out between clenched teeth. He was going to need another
cold shower.

Standing, he yanked her to her feet in one deft move and started dragging her through the woods.

“What would your mother say if she could see you now?” she asked in a shaky voice full of contempt.

He laughed. “My mother would probably ask to borrow money for her next fix.” That silenced her. “I know what you’re thinking.
You’re thinking that explains a lot about me. Right?” His voice had gone cold. He heard it. Felt it, too. Just like he felt
her gaze, as searing and judgy as one of those fine church ladies who used to drop off boxes of used clothes for him and Zane
so they could go back to their nice houses and pat themselves on the back as they recounted their good deeds to all their
friends.

She probably felt dirty because he put hands on her.

He closed his eyes in one hard blink. Bad memory. It did nothing to alleviate his hard-on.

She stumbled, and he wrapped one arm around her waist. Slipping his other arm under her thighs, he lifted her up again and
cradled her against his chest. She yelped, her hand going around his neck.

He felt her glare on his face as his long strides ate through the woods. He didn’t even need to look at her to know those
dark eyes of hers were staring daggers at him. She released a heavy huff of breath and crossed her arms tightly in front of
her.

“Now you’re going to pout? Give it up. You’re not going to escape me.”

“I’m the victim here,” she reminded hotly. “It’s my right to be angry. To try to escape.” With that said, she resumed struggling
and tried to break free as if she possessed no true fear of him. That thought did something to Reid. Made him feel funny on
the inside. The perpetual tightness in his chest loosened a fraction, just enough to make breathing not such a fucking struggle.
It was always a struggle. Always a fight being him.

He tightened his hold and fought a smile. Maybe he was sadistic after all. He was actually enjoying having her around . . .
captive and all.

“Escaping is only going to make me mad. Make me catch you and pin you down. And trust me, you don’t want me to do that again.
Every time I pin you down I have to fight the urge to fuck you.” Might as well be honest. Maybe that would scare her into
behaving.

She went still in his arms. “You’re cruel.”

Her accusation sank sharp little teeth into him.

“You don’t know cruelty,” he snapped. “You haven’t been raped. Or beaten. Haven’t even missed a meal. I saved your ass back
there in that house, princess. Not that I expect gratitude from you for it but—”

“You’ll get my gratitude when you release me.”

“Well, that ain’t happening yet.”

She was quiet for a few moments. “I can walk,” she said after a bit.

“Then walk.” He set her back down on the ground, still keeping a firm grip on her arm. They had reached the road by now and
were halfway back to the cabin.

“You can let go of me. I won’t run.”

He smiled humorlessly. She blinked up at him so innocently, as though she thought he might actually believe her. “I don’t
think so.”

They fell into silence as they finished walking back to the cabin. It was just the song of cicadas, wind, and their footsteps. 

As they entered the house and stepped inside the warmly lit living room, her gaze dropped, looking him up and down. Hot color
flamed her cheeks and her stare darted away.

He didn’t care. He resisted the urge to seize her chin and force her stare back on him. Let her look her fill. Let her see
what she did to him. His fingers flexed on the smooth flesh of her arm. Whenever he was with her, it became all about her.
What she did to him. What he would like to do to her. Everything else seemed to drop away.

That was dangerous. He’d already let her sway him off his course. For God’s sake, he was in this cabin with her and nowhere
near Sullivan.

She twisted her arm, trying to break his grip. “Can you release me now?”

“I don’t know. It doesn’t appear that I can trust you. Maybe I need to tether you to me.”

Her chocolate eyes widened, sparking dark fire at him. “Please, no.”

He shook his head and let go of her. For his own good if nothing else. Stepping back outside the cabin and onto the porch,
he turned to face her. He held up one finger in warning. “Don’t run again.”

Her expression turned mulish. She held her chin at a defiant angle but said nothing. He studied her for a moment. Strangely
enough, there was dignity to her—with her bruised cheek, wrecked clothes, and tangled hair sporting bits of leaves and twigs.
A woman like Grace wasn’t accustomed to abuse. She should look fragile, but he knew that was the furthest thing from the truth.
His shin still throbbed, and it reminded him of one universal truth: never underestimate anyone. Even the smallest inmate
could surprise you with a reserve of strength or hidden skills. Skills like plunging a shiv into your spine when you least
expect it.

Marching out into the night, Reid snatched his towel from where he had dropped it and wrapped it back around his waist. Returning,
he closed the door behind him and faced her, wondering what he was going to do with her. He couldn’t keep her tied up, but
he didn’t trust her not to try and run again. Or clobber him over the head the first time he turned his back.

Crossing his arms over his chest, he announced, “I imagine you would like a shower.”

Her eyes widened. “Are you serious?”

He didn’t like it. The sense that he was doing something nice for her. He didn’t need her to think he was
nice
. He stared her down. “Do you want a shower or not?”

“Yes,” she blurted, nodding rapidly, as though afraid he might retract the offer.

“Your clothes are finished.” He looked her up and down. “Mine are too large, but maybe we can scrounge something up in one
of the drawers.” He nodded toward the master bedroom.

“Yes, that’d be great.”

He moved to the master bedroom, sensing her following him. He opened drawers, searching for something that might work. He
found some clean T-shirts that probably belonged to his grandfather, size medium. He tossed one at her. In another drawer
he found some boxers and a pair of sweatpants with a drawstring waist. Straightening, he propped a hand on the tucked edge
of his towel and tossed her a pair of boxers. “Sorry. No underwear. You’ll have to go commando. It’s actually quite liberating.
You might find you enjoy it, princess.”

He didn’t need to scandalize her. It was just that a perverse part of him wanted to remind her that he was a
not
-nice guy. He wanted to remind himself of that, too. Maybe he
needed
to remind himself of that.

She stood there frozen for a long moment, hands fisting the clothes, red suffusing her face like someone had just slapped
both cheeks.

He arched an eyebrow. “Shower?”

She blinked. “Y-Yes.” Turning, she fled from the bedroom.

Reid followed at a slower pace. Upon entering the bathroom behind her, she turned and gasped, clearly startled.

She inhaled, nostrils flaring. “Am I not to expect any privacy?”

His gaze moved away from her, scouring the small space, making certain he wasn’t overlooking some obvious means of escape.
She wouldn’t be able to fit through the tiny window above the toilet. His gaze returned to her. “Be quick. I know you had
a nice long nap, but I’m beat.”

“I’m not stopping you from sleeping.”

Her quick rebuttal irritated the hell out of him. Didn’t she know how to behave like a proper hostage? “You’re stopping me
from a lot of things.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Her molten brown eyes flashed.

“If it wasn’t for you, I wouldn’t even be here.” He would be doing what he broke out of prison to do . . . what he put North
and other members of his crew in danger to do. None of which she would understand.

“Oh, it’s my fault your gang kidnapped me? It’s my fault you won’t let me go free?”

Valid points, and that irritated him even more. He advanced a step. “You asked me to get you out of there. I did.”

“And you brought me here!” She flung her hands up. “I should thank you?”

“For getting you out of there? Away from them? Damn straight.” They were standing so close he could feel the warmth of her
body radiating into him. Her lashes, a deep fringe of dark ink, lifted up in a slow, sweeping blink. There was no fear. They
pulled him in. It was a dangerous thing. He took a slow step back.

Her gaze trained on his face, accusing, sharp and probing. It disturbed him.
She
disturbed him. She should look terrified. Instead she was this argumentative, fierce female with barbed words.

He retreated another step, and that’s what it felt like. A retreat. Necessary, though. He wasn’t fool enough to think himself
immune. He might have jacked off in the shower, but he was hardly sated. Not after eleven years. That race through the woods
and unsatisfying grind into her softness only got his blood pumping harder. He was haunted by the sensation of her, the warmth
of her sex pulsing against his hand. He should have never touched her.
Christ.
He shouldn’t even be here with her now. Not that there had been any choice.

“Twenty minutes,” he said, grabbing hold of the doorknob. “Then I’m coming in for you.”

Her eyes flared, but he closed the door, desperate for the barrier. He only needed to hang on for a few days. Be strong. He’d
spent a lifetime behind bars and managed to keep himself together. How could this be any harder than that?

There might not have been a choice in bringing her here, but he had a choice when it came to whether he was going to lose
control around her. He would stand firm. He would not let her get under his skin.

The shower felt better-than-sex-good. She winced beneath the spray, certain it was no coincidence that she had sex on the
brain. Probably had something to do with the living and breathing female fantasy one room over. Well, minus the whole escaped
felon thing. That didn’t figure into most fantasies. At least not hers. Dangerous men that held her against her will were
not the fodder of dreams.

Even so, she could imagine all the inappropriate things Holly would say about Reid if she clapped eyes on him.
I’d like to lick his lollipop. He could tie me up any time.
If Holly were here, he wouldn’t be able to keep his hands off her, and she doubted if Holly would mind. The two of them would
be going at it like beasts.

Jealousy flared inside Grace.
God.
She was mental. Was she actually jealous of a fictitious scenario her overactive imagination had cooked up?

She rested her forehead against the wall of the shower.
Her libido had turned into a full-fledged chorus in her head.

The water pounded over her battered and sore muscles. The temperature was lukewarm, but she didn’t care. Pushing the clamoring
chorus of her libido to the back of her mind, she closed the door on them.

She shampooed with a generic shampoo that smelled decidedly unfloral. Definitely a brand for men, but she didn’t care about
that either. She was blessedly clean, and after this she would sleep on a bed and not the steel floor of a van.

She dropped her head and moaned as the sudsy water sluiced down her spine. It was a struggle to hurry through her shower.
She just wanted to stay under the water forever, but she knew twenty minutes would fly by, and the last thing she wanted to
do was take him up on his threat.

Her face burned at the prospect of him walking in on her. She’d seen him naked. God. That image of him was singed to her eyeballs.
She wasn’t experienced enough to say with one hundred percent conviction, but Reid was endowed.
Well
endowed.
God
. Why was she even noticing that? It had to be the stress talking. Or shock. Or trauma.

They’d shared a bed together. He’d touched her intimately. She’d been stripped down to her underwear, but there had always
been darkness between them. He hadn’t
seen
her naked and she intended to keep it that way.

Reluctantly, she shut off the water and wrung out her hair, flipping the heavy rope over her shoulder. Stepping from the small
shower, she wrapped her body in a towel and faced herself in the mirror. She was pale underneath her olive complexion, the
bruise on her cheek a bluish-yellow tinge that only made her eyes look bigger, darker, like some wounded animal staring fearfully
out at the world. No one would probably even recognize her if she were to turn up looking this way.

She was a far cry from the well-packaged First Daughter paraded about the country—not that she was any Grace Kelly by any
stretch of the imagination. No, not even on her best day. There’d been enough skits on
Saturday Night Live
featuring her awkwardness for her to know precisely how she was perceived.

But this woman staring back at her didn’t possess even a fraction of her usual polish. She was a hot mess. Gone was the tightly
contained hair. She normally wore it pulled up or blown out into smooth sleekness. Also missing was the power suit and heels
that her stylist insisted slimmed her down, giving her body length and her girlish features an aura of maturity. Whatever
the hell that meant.

She angled her face from side to side, studying herself. She could use some makeup. She looked defenseless without the armor
of cosmetics. Her fear and uncertainty were too readily visible.

She sucked in a deep breath and schooled her features, attempting to deaden her face. To not look so nervous. Her father lived
by that mantra. Never let them see you sweat. No matter what he confronted, he never showed fear. The only emotion that leaked
out of the man was carefully planned and orchestrated. He expected the same level of control from her. He drilled that into
her often enough, even if nine times out of ten she came up short and disappointed him.

Sometimes it baffled her why her father didn’t simply let her go live her life somewhere away from the spotlight. She could
come around during the holidays and on important occasions. He’d refused her request to attend graduate school, claiming he
needed her on his “team” even if she wasn’t a sparkling First Daughter. Her mother brought the sparkle. She was beautiful,
if not the cleverest. She looked good on his arm. Grace simply completed the picture of family man.

Her father insisted the excitement of a wedding would give his campaign additional life. He imagined that the buzz could escalate
along the lines of Prince William and Kate Middleton’s wedding mania. He was delusional.

Shaking her head, she wished she had just given her father a flat out no instead of ditching her detail and making a run for
it. She didn’t have to do what he said. In the past it was just easier to give in rather than fight him. She was an adult.
Everything she was going through now was decidedly harder than a confrontation. Facing down her father after all of this would
be easy enough.

Another thought trickled in, clouding her features as she gazed at her reflection. She wondered if he was disappointed in
her now. If he blamed her for this. He must know she had slipped her Secret Service detail by now. Those guys would not hesitate
to reveal the truth. They never wanted to be assigned to her. She’d picked up on that vibe often enough. They thought it was
a joke. A powder puff detail. They would be looking to protect their own butts. Not that the truth would save them. They were
probably fired anyway for letting her slip out undetected.

Her father had to know this was her fault. The granddaddy of all lectures probably awaited her if she got home—and not just
from him, but from various members of his staff, Charles included. Charles especially. He would not understand how she could
have bailed on her security detail. He would deem it the height of recklessness and irresponsibility. Not that he would be
wrong. Especially in hindsight.

She blinked at her reflection, just then catching her previous slip.
When
she got home. Not
if
. Reid wouldn’t hurt her. Sure, he hadn’t released her yet, but he wasn’t like the others. Truly. And yet there was still
that intensity to him, a look in his eyes that made her stomach knot. She didn’t understand it. It wasn’t fear precisely.
It was something else. Something uncomfortable. He might not be like the others, but the man was dangerous.

Shaking off the tangled thoughts, she dropped the towel and slipped on the well-worn cotton T-shirt. The boxers were too big
and she had to fold them at the waist several times, which only hiked them up.

Closing her fingers around the doorknob, she stepped out of the bathroom in her indecently short boxers and plain cotton T-shirt.
She half expected him to be standing there, waiting for her with that hard expression of his, but he was nowhere to be seen.

The house was silent. A lamp beside the couch radiated a low glow that saved the place from total darkness. It was something
out of a Norman Rockwell painting. She almost expected to see a pair of little girls in old-fashioned nightgowns scampering
across the wood floors, dragging rag dolls behind them.

Blinking, she shook off the fanciful image. There was nothing sweet about this scenario. Her bare feet padded quietly across
the wood plank floor. She moved tentatively, stealthily. She slid a longing glance to the front door, wondering if she should
dare try again. She might use up the last of his goodwill if she attempted another escape tonight. No, the next time—and there
would be a next time—would be better planned so she wouldn’t fail. This whole nightmare was her fault. The least she could
do was get it right by escaping.

She moved to the door of the room where she had earlier slept and peered inside. He was there (thankfully no longer naked),
pulling back the covers. Her lungs tightened, air seizing for a moment at the way his back worked and rippled with his movements.
Whose back looked like that?
Two possibilities popped into her mind
.
A Calvin Klein model or a felon who had a lot of time to work out
. Obviously, she knew which one he was.

He looked up at her from where he was leaning over the bed and slowly straightened, putting that big body of his on even further
display. He wore a pair of sweatpants that sat low on his hips. It was sinful, the way his skin looked both soft and hard
at the same time, stretching over ridges of sinew and cut muscle.

She wasn’t the only one staring. He took his time looking her up and down in her ensemble of T-shirt and ill-fitting boxers.
“Feel better?”

She nodded jerkily, tucking the hair behind her ears self-consciously and glancing from him to the bed. With the covers pulled
back, it looked inviting . . . big enough to sleep two. She lifted her chin. “What are you doing?”

“Getting ready for bed. I know you took a nap, but I’m beat.”

Nap or not, she didn’t feel rested.

“You’re sleeping in here?” She pointed to the wall in the direction of the neighboring room. “But there’s another bedroom.”

“Yeah. After your little sprint through the woods, that idea gets a fat no.”

“You’re sleeping with me?” she asked, needing the clarification, needing to hear him say it before she could even start to
panic.

He nodded, a grim twist to his mouth. “You don’t trust me. I don’t trust you. So this is where we’re at.”

She didn’t want to be
at
this place at all. Not with him. Not again.

Her gaze flicked to him and the bed, the panic in her heart alive and real. “No.”

He angled his head as though not trusting his hearing. “No?”

She nodded.

He sighed, and she heard the weariness in that sound. “I’m not up for another battle with you, Grace. Just give me a night
to sleep and I promise we can keep playing this cat and mouse game tomorrow.”

She pulled back in affront. “This isn’t a game to me. It’s my life.”

“And I promise you’ll get back your life. Just a few more days.” His steely gaze held her stare for a long moment, as though
hoping to let that sink in, hoping to convince her. “But right now I’m getting in this bed and so are you.”

She inhaled and took a step away, letting that be her answer.

His glittering eyes narrowed and he crossed his arms over his nicely formed chest. It galled her that she couldn’t help noticing
that. Those nice arms only seemed to draw attention to that chest. “Is this because of the last time?”

Last time.
He meant last night. It already felt a lifetime ago.

“I promise there won’t be any of that going on, ” he added.
That
being his hand fondling her between her legs and making her almost orgasm on the spot.
That
being the most shameful and mortifying thing to ever happen to her. “Even if I was interested, I’m exhausted.”

“Oh. That’s right. I’m not your ‘type.’” The words burst forth before she could stop herself. And she hated them. Hated herself
for saying it. She sounded wounded when really it was skepticism she felt. Was she so undesirable? He was a felon fresh out
of prison. He couldn’t be that picky.

He hesitated. “Yes, that’s true.”

“Forgive me if I have my doubts. You’re an escaped felon. I doubt me not being some leggy blonde matters.”

His features hardened. “I might have escaped from prison, but that doesn’t mean I don’t have a code. I’m not a rapist. If
I was going to attack you, I already would have.” His top lip lifted in a slight sneer. “Your virtue is safe.”

He was right. And that was when she had to face the truth . . . when she confronted what it was that truly frightened her.
Herself.

Then she knew exactly how much trouble she was in . . . isolated in this cabin with this man.

Oh, no, she wasn’t worried about him raping her. Grace knew he wouldn’t do that. She was worried that he wouldn’t have to—that
he could have her if he wanted her. With a look, a word from him, she would give him everything. Permission granted, he could
take her. That had become her worst fear.

She was afraid she would respond to his touch. Welcome it, even. Maybe invite it if she got into that bed with him. In the
darkness the temptation to forget herself—forget the world—could overtake her when she was pressed against a man whose body
was made for tangling in sheets and taking a woman hard, using her in a way that would unravel her.

A part of her wanted to shatter the proper and controlled veneer of her life. To finally be touched. For someone to see her
and peel back all the layers and tap into something that was real. To uncover that part of her that was locked away, neglected.
Never felt. Never touched. Never seen.

If he made any overture, she could crumble.

It was strange. You never knew where you were going to be when self-realization decided to Taser your ass.

She inhaled a shaky breath. He stabbed a finger toward the bed and she almost flinched at the ferocity in the gesture. He
had reached his end for the day. “Now get in this bed, Grace.”

She didn’t know what did it for her—if it was his tone of voice or the shock of her self-realization—but she stepped forward
and slid beneath the sheets. Now that she knew her vulnerability, she could resist. She was armed with the knowledge of her
weakness. She would not fall prey to him—or herself.

The bedside lamp clicked off and he slid in beside her. A small measure of light spilled into the room from the lamp in the
living room.

She curled on her side and her mind immediately turned to escape. She couldn’t count on him letting her go and she definitely
needed to get as far from him as soon as possible. She began turning over the possibilities. Once he fell asleep she could
ease out of the bed, grab the keys, take the van and go. It was doable. Except she didn’t know where he stashed the keys.