Restrain (Siren Book 3) (3 page)

Chapter
Five

Calder

When you're in a routine, the slightest change jostles you. So when I open my eyes to medium-dim light filtering through catwalks, instead of a ceiling overhead, I know something's wrong. “Allen?
Allen?
”

“Yeah?” A soft voice comes next to me, and I turn my head to see Allen catching his bearings.

“
Fuck
. Again?”

“Why the fuck not?” Allen's weary, but seems relieved to hear me talking.

It's hardly the first time I've woken up in somewhere other than where I fell asleep, here. Maybe whoever's behind this does it to rattle us. Or maybe he does it when we've shown we aren't gonna fall into any other hazards where we were.

A soft moan near us startles me, and I sit up. On a catwalk about ten feet away and five feet higher, up about four stairs, there's a curtain of dirty strawberry-blond hair pouring over the railing. And the soft curves of her breasts, rising softly against the worn fabric of her t-shirt, her splayed legs...
She can't be alive
.

It's too good to be true, so it isn't. Something's wrong. She sits up, and starts to get up, and winces. Only then do I notice her shredded pants, and the blood staining her from about mid-thigh down. “Milla?”

Even then, I can't believe it. She was
dead
.

She whips her head around fast, and falls, obviously still woozy from her wakeup. I make my way to her as quickly as I can, past my own dizziness. I'm crawling between her legs before she can get up again, wrapping my arms around her, pulling her against me desperately.

She sobs, hoarse, broken gasps. I can't tell whether it's from pain or emotion. She looks like she's been through
hell
.

“You're
alive
,” is the only thing I can think to say out loud. Everything else has to be said with my hands, roaming over the rest of her body, making sure she's real, she's unharmed.

“I'm—” she starts, her voice still muzzy and hoarse, and I cut her off with a kiss, tasting her as though I might never be in a position to again.

Of course, I might not be. The moment I nip her lip and dart my tongue between her parted lips, she pulls back, shoves me away. “Cal—”

I cut her off with another kiss, pulling her closer, until her ribs creak and nothing exists but the two of us, somehow still
alive
. “You're
alive,
” I murmur into her neck, afraid that if I release her for a second, she'll tumble off the catwalk and be rotten remains by the time I chase her to the bottom.

“
Fucking hell
,” she says, her voice strained from the tightness of the hug. “I can't
breathe.
” Grudgingly I release her, and she takes a deep, halting breath.

The words pour from my mouth in a hopeless jumble. “
Fuck,
you're
alive
. I thought I killed you—got you killed—” Neither one's really right, but it doesn't matter. “But you're
alive
.
Fuck
. You're
alive
.”

She chuckles nervously, one hand straying down to smooth bloody and torn fabric over her calf. “I'm alive. You are too. And, um, swimsuit areas?”

Only then do I realize my hand's most of the way to cupping her ass, tugging her hips against me as though she were made to exist with her legs wrapped around me. I hurriedly withdraw my hand. “How'd you make it? We saw you drown.”

She pulls a nasty face, and it's only then that I realize that she smells like
herself
. Not like decay and mold. That's a relief, at least. I don't think I can take the reminder of how close she apparently came.

“I don't know. I went under, and my breath went out against the side of the tank, and then I was in this pipe, or duct, or something, and somehow when I came up I was somewhere else. There was no way to get out, and I couldn't hear you, so I dived again, felt for another one. I must have gone through four tanks before I found one with handholds. I started climbing out and there was this
whirring
noise, and it started churning and filling, so I wedged my arms and legs around the handholds and
clung
.”

She winces again, so I lower my eyes to her leg and pull the fabric back, to see the damage. The wound's still fresh, which doesn't seem right. She raises her eyebrows at me. “Watch out for the grates on the steps—some of the edges are filed
sharp
, at least in the one area. I put my foot on a false one and it went clear through, but the grate got stuck on the way.” She rubs her scalp ruefully. “Bashed my head on the handrail in the process, too.”

“Fuck,” Allen says sympathetically, and we gather around her leg. It doesn't look infected, and there's very little dirt in it, but the slashes are pretty deep and there's a lot of scabbing where the skin around it was scraped off.

She flashes a grin at him. “I'm glad to see you two. Where are the others?”

Shit
.

Allen gives me a quick look, and I let him talk. “George and Marquel didn't make it.” He leaves it at that. It's probably better that way. If she knows about George, she'll blame herself, and if she knows about Marquel, she'll blame
me
.

“
Shit.
I'm so sorry,” she says to me, but there's a little insincerity there.

“No you aren't.” I call her on it. “Mil. You were intimidated by them. You can mourn them without the platitudes.”

Allen glares at me, unsure of my aggression, but she raises her chin before she responds. “Yeah. You're right. They seemed like asses. But nobody deserves to go like... however they went...”

That honesty, that defiance, it rekindles every spark of emotion, every dream I've had about her, every time I've woken up hoping she was next to me, and I wrap my arms around her again, not waiting for permission before plunging my tongue in her mouth.

There's a cough at my side—Allen telling me to keep it in my pants—and Milla's hands scrabble at my ribs, before she gets enough purchase to shove me away. “Calder,
seriously
. Is this a good time for
anything?
”

“
Fuck
a good time.
You're alive
.”

And then she's back in my arms, though it feels like she might be making a bemused shrug at Allen over my shoulder. I couldn't care less, because she's
alive.

Chapter
Six

Milla

It would be only too easy to get lost in Calder's arms around me, his lips on mine, but I came here with a purpose. I've accepted whatever of me gets tied up with him, on the condition that I see my mission through, not sit here wallowing in his arms like a lovelorn teenager.

I let him have a little more, before I crawl back to regain my distance. “Seriously, Calder. Don't you have more important shit to do than think with your cock?”

“If you think it's about my cock, maybe you hit your head harder than you said.”

I shake my head, brushing that off. “Way to be hyperbolic. But the old reasons stand—even if you've lost perspective, I haven't. We
have
to get out of here alive. How can we do that if you're staring down my shirt like it's a wet dream?”

Calder has the grace to blush, and Allen looks away, uncomfortable. I flash him a mocking grin. It's not like anything I can do can persuade him there's nothing here, if he wants to take it as something to be threatened by.

“It's been
weeks
of hell, by my count. And what I said to you last time, it's even
more
important. If it's just me, I'm gonna break. I need to feel like there's a purpose to my suffering. I need to be close to you, convincing myself that's gonna make it or break it. I need to be as whole as I can, despite the circumstances. And
yes
, some of that's acknowledging that there
is
something here—”

“You can buy that bullshit, but I don't. Not at all.”

“Then
pretend
. I don't fucking give a shit. I've been downright
lost
. Maybe if I'd had my head in the game, Marquel wouldn't—”

Allen glares at him, and the raw, pained look he gives me breaks my heart, and heals me.

“I don't care if you want to imagine never seeing me again, when you're out of here, but if I'm gonna try to pull through, I need the hope of being in your arms, pretending there's something there worth fighting for. Because I believe there is, even if you
don't
. Even if you
can't
. Even if you won't let yourself.”

I flush—this is a lot, so very fast. I don't know if I can honestly
handle
pretending to outright love him. I don't know if I should be able to, either.

“Give me a minute?”

He nods, and retreats, for the first time backing away from me completely. My skin hungers for his touch, and tingles spread over me wishing he'd come back.

I let my breath speed up, and then hitch, as though overwhelmed. Allen murmurs to me in an undertone, “He's right, you know. I thought he was going to waste away.”

I shoot him a startled glance. I'm not sure why he's weighing in, unless he really wants Calder alive.

As uncomfortable as the thought makes me, it
is
why I came back—to get him to fight. And if he truly doesn't hold back, truly puts even
more
of himself into me, I can twist the knife that much deeper next time.

I look at Calder, waiting for him to see me, see how seriously I take this. “Okay. I'll pretend. So long as we're in La-La Land, I'm yours.”

His grin nearly splits his gaunt face, as he lunges toward me, toppling me backward with his passion. His lips find mine, kissing me fit to suck my soul through my lips, before he releases me, smiling triumphantly.

I'm not sure if that's a good thing.

Chapter
Seven

Calder

I can't keep the grin off my face, but with some kind of victory, it doesn't make sense to push it yet. And I can only imagine how uncomfortable it is for Allen to watch me fawn over Mil. Her leg looks awful, and there's more scrapes on her arm and shoulder, but she's
alive
, and that's what counts. She lets me hold her hand as we wander our newest enclosure, and agree on the basics of what we'll do while we're here. Even that little gift of intimacy has a palpable effect on me. My skin's hypersensitive, mind and body clinging to every detail, shouting every sensation from the rooftops.
She's alive. And I'm alive to see it.

She's quiet, but I can't blame her, for what she's been through. She picks her way among the grating very cautiously, watching her step. And it pains me to see her limp, to see how cautiously she puts her weight on the injured leg.

“I can't believe you pulled through,” Allen says, throwing his weight against a locked door.

“I know,” she says. “It might be a while before I can take a bath alone.”

It's optimistic, given that none of us have had anything other than hooker's baths, or in her case an unfortunate dunking in a fetid water tank, but I need that right now. I turn her into me, savoring the way her body conforms to mine when I hold her close, and whisper “It might be a while before I
let
you take a bath alone.” It's the low hanging fruit, but every nerve in my body has come alive, eager to fight until it hurts, and fuck until it heals.

She snorts, and glances at me as she extricates herself from my arms. “What, are you a fourteen year old boy, just discovering his dick does something other than pee?”

“Wait, what? What else is it supposed to do?” I deadpan, wanting to keep that smile on her face, even if she's laughing at my expense. She rolls her eyes, but the smile stays.

“You know,” she says, her eyes wandering the room, “This place is
huge
compared to that second room.”

“Yeah,” Allen agrees, halfway to a chuckle. “You could almost get lost.”

They're not wrong; the room itself might not be that big, but there's pipes and machinery weaving through it, and it's impossible to tell where one level begins and the next ends, with all the ladders, catwalks, and crevices between equipment installations. It's at once confining, and dizzyingly open.

I sigh, momentarily transported to the first room I was trapped in, and the claustrophobia. Milla notices, and squeezes my hand. “Here's hoping the extra space is a good thing, and not just more rope for us to hang ourselves with.” I can't make myself be
that
optimistic, even with her warmth so close.

“And that's not morbid at all,” Mil says, her voice dry.

Allen guffaws, and claps me on the shoulder. “Good to have you back, Cal.”

*              *              *

Once we've all learned the lay of the land, but found no coolers or useful tools, there's nothing to do but stake out where we want to sleep. I don't know why we tire so easily, fatigue everpresent in our sluggish motions and careful steps.

Allen casts a sheepish glance our way, and walks to a nook between two six foot high tanks. He shoots a glance at us to make sure we're not following him, though we've previously slept fairly close together out of paranoia. It's not hard to take the hint, though Milla looks pale as we wander, looking for our own spot. It's thrilling to think that Milla's gonna sleep in my arms tonight, that we're not looking for separate spots, but for a singular one.

She doesn't seem terribly invested in the search, but my enthusiasm makes up for it. The idea of having a space that's
ours
somehow feels momentous, as protective nesting instincts I didn't even know I had emerge. I reject section of floor after section of floor, imagining grate-marks on her face in the morning, or rust flakes peppering her hair.

Finally, I settle on a pipe opening near the bottom, with an opening about six feet tall. It's laid out parallel to the floor, and is both out of view, and in a position that no on could sneak up on us in the night, once we're there. Also, the shape of the pipe looks likelier to blot out the lights, an unexpected luxury, under the circumstances. If I get out of here, I'll never be able to tolerate so much as a nightlight again. True darkness seems a huge gift.

I offer her a hand up, and she accepts it, settling into the space as best she can. I lay down next to her, and gather her into my arms, cushioning her head against my shoulder. She winces as I nudge her leg, and another wave of anger hits me, seeing her pain. “I swear to god, if I
ever
get near whoever's doing this sick shit, I'll tear him apart with my bare hands.”

She smirks, a little apathetically. “Whatever you say.”

“I mean it. What he did to us is gonna look like an afternoon in Disneyland by the time I'm through with him.”

Her eyes fix on me, and in the dark it's impossible to read the emotion. “Whatever you say, Calder.” Then, her lashes flutter shut, and I tighten my arm, savoring her hot breath against my chest.

It's a new beginning, a new chance to get out of here, and return to the land of the living. It's a chance to finally take revenge against the fuck keeping us captive. With Milla here, we'll be able to fight through. I don't know how, but it'll happen. We'll find an opening, or
something
. We just have to be vigilant and stay alive long enough to seize it.

Milla's reserve unsettles me a little—plainly the time without the group was harrowing for her. And some part of me thinks I bullied her into the degree of physical intimacy we're currently sharing. That part of me wants to be a gentleman, to enjoy her closeness, but not push it. To temporarily forget her mouth on my dick, or how the taste of her's haunted me. I have no clue whether I'm that good a man, but I sure as hell have to try.

Her breathing is just a little too regular—she's not asleep.

“It's strange, isn't it?”

“Hmm?” Her eyelids flicker open.

“This whole scrambled thing. Not knowing you can count on each other to be there when you wake up. Not knowing whether you
will
wake up.”

“Oh.”

“For what it's worth, I didn't think there's any way you
could
live. I couldn't keep
any
hope alive, there. And it nearly destroyed me.”

She makes a noncommittal noise.

“I dreamed about you. Realized I'd made you my world, made my hope of survival dependent on you.”

She raises an eyebrow. “That's gotta be overstating it.”

“Not in the least. I don't think I could take it again.”

Even in the low light, her eyes are thoughtful. “Sure you could.”

“I hope we don't have to find out.”

She nods, her cheek rumpling my shirt. There's something fragile, something frightened in the movement. That little flash of emotion, it softens me.

“I pushed you earlier. Into
this
.”

A little shrug, one that shifts her breasts against my ribs.
Damnit
. That's the
last
place I want my mind going, given the conversation. “You were going after something you wanted.”

“Yeah. But I'm redefining it.”

Her apprehensiveness confirms that she's not thrilled with the arrangement, and thinks it could be worse. Not exactly heartening.

“I'm gonna be content just to hold you, from here on out. I—I still want to think I
might
earn more, in time, but if that happens, I want to know I've
earned
it. Not just that you're cornered.”

She snorts and smiles, a true skeptic. “I think we
both
know where that ends.”

“Oh?”

“Me wrapped around you like a bathrobe—”

Her words go straight to my cock. And I can't help fighting fire with fire. “And me licking you up like champagne.”

Milla wrinkles her nose, halfway to laughing. “That, too. You're missing the point.”

“And that is?”

“That, historically speaking, if you and I are in the same room, we're
gonna
end up fucking.”

It reminds me that once upon a time, outside of here, she
still
chose to sleep with me. I only have a handful of memories of flirting with her at the bar, but they still make me smile. How I wish I actually remembered what it was like to take her home, what the sheets felt like around our naked bodies, whether she liked to go to sleep with the TV on for noise, or dead quiet. No doubt I wouldn't have been ready for it then, but now I'd give anything to have bonded with Milla the normal way. I'd give anything to be fretting about meeting her parents, or taking her to meet mine, and the usual milestones.

I'd give anything to not know what her absence feels like, when it's my sternum and ribs being wedged open so someone can rip my heart out.

“Well, at the least, I'm not gonna take advantage of our history to make that happen sooner.”

She nods, accepting the assurance. “Okay.”

If she'd protested, claimed it wasn't needed, any of that might soothe my ego. But the seconds stretch on in quiet, her limbs relaxed against me. She's more comfortable than before, at the least. That's what counts.

I'm nearly asleep when she tips my chin toward her, and kisses me fiercely. In a moment, all my concerns are gone. No worries about smothering her, adding a sexual element to the claustrophobia of our imprisonment. No worries about whether she's just humoring me.

Her lips chase them away, leaving only warmth and wholeness in their place.

She's mine. Because I told her she didn't have to be.

Even as she straddles me, pinning me beneath her, the surreal euphoria takes root.

She's mine.

Her pants and panties are slipping away from her hips, and mine aren't far behind them. My rib twinges when she helps me out of my shirt, but even
then
, the pain can't sink in.

She's mine.

She hovers over me, my tip at her entrance, and though a million thoughts unfurl in my mind—licking her cunt, feeling her nipples tighten in my mouth, her flushed areolas pulling tight with need, memorizing every inch of her body, new scars and old—I'm helpless, hypnotized by her movements.

The bit of light that makes it in highlights her hair, and the curve of her breast. If my rib hurt less, and I actually could limit myself to pursuing the one possibility, I could sit up, and trace that curve with my tongue. The thought's appealing enough that I start to prop myself on my elbows, only to be gently shoved back down. She arches her back and drops her weight, impaling herself on me in one breathtaking thrust.

The limited light catches on her parted lips, her startled gasp barely loud enough to reach me. The noise is perfection. However short a lifetime could be, here, I'd happily spend it devoting myself to nothing more than making her moan like that, over and over again.

She's mine
. No matter what, nothing can take away that knowledge. Whatever happens to us, we have
this
. It's too good to be true. Even as she rides me, not letting me go easy on her, each sensuous curve and delicate brush of skin seems somehow stolen, somehow ephemeral.

“Pinch me.”

“What?”

“At risk of sounding creepy, I dreamed of you
so fucking much
. I can't convince myself I'm not dreaming, even now.”

“Okay.” She pinches my nipple,
hard
, the pain of it making my cock flex.

I can't hold the noise back, though I'm sure that can't thrill Allen. Or it'll thrill him too much, and I don't even want to
think
about that. Not with me buried balls-deep in a goddess. “Better?”

“No. I'm not sure you'll
ever
convince me—”

She grins wickedly, and slaps me across the face, full-force. Her pussy tightens from the effort, and she doesn't lose that fierce, writhing rhythm. Even the pain stinging the surface of my cheek can't phase me. The strange combination of pleasure, pain, and desperation, it blurs it all together.

Allen calls down to us—“Everything okay?”

Milla's pussy clenches as she laughs, quietly, and calls back up to him. “Yeah—you don't want to know. We'll keep it down, I promise.”

“If you don't, I'm just gonna start beating off
really loudly.
I guarantee I'll make it fucking weird for you.”

“I don't doubt that.”

She quakes with those same quiet chuckles, her heels against my thighs, and an infectious smile plastered across her full lips. “Sorry about that,” she murmurs to me.

I can almost taste the forbidden fruit on my lips.

“Nothing to be sorry about.
Fuck
, it's like I can feel your thoughts in every movement.”