Without Mercy, page 7
part #4 of Running with the Devil Series
“Then why save my life?” Mari wasn’t tracking his logic. Didn’t understand.
“The people who want you dead have their reasons. The people who want you to stay breathing also have their reasons. I am just a grunt. I do as I’m told. Take you away, keep you safe.”
Mari watched his face as he spoke. He was not just a grunt, she knew that. He was holding back details. Maybe it didn’t matter. What if she believed him? That last thought bounced around in her head, not quite willing to settle down. Then another thought slammed at her.
“What will they do when they can’t find me?” Dread crushed her as she thought of Amber’s vulnerability.
“They’ll go looking for you. They might figure out I had a hand it. If they find us, they’ll try to kill us both.”
“Why wouldn’t they wash their hands of me and take my sister instead?”
“First of all, the target is you, not her, and they won’t take anyone. The plan is to kill you. Amber is too protected and she hasn’t got the same independent streak as you.”
If the discussion wasn’t so sobering Mari would have laughed. Anto was not a good reader of people.
Anto continued. “As soon as your father realizes you’re gone, your entire family will go into safety lockdown. No one will be able to get to any of them. Don’t worry about your little sister, worry about yourself.”
Mari was frustrated by his easy dismissal of her concerns. “I am worried about myself!” She stood up and walked over to the table picking up her water bottle and taking a swallow before turning to face Anto. Her breath caught as she saw him sitting there, sprawled on the couch, legs open, naked except for the loose shorts. Not bashful, not even aware of how he was perceived. Or maybe he didn’t care.
She scratched at the front of her head as she got lost in the hard surfaces of his arms, his chest, his stomach. Then her eyes flickered away as her brain kicked in and forced heat to her face. She ran her hands through her hair, pushing it out of her face. She needed her hair tie, wondered where it was. She brought her eyes to his face. He was watching her, considering her, but he was keeping his thoughts to himself.
“If they find us, they’ll kill us.” She repeated his earlier words. “That’s why this cabin is so remote. Because they won’t find us here.”
“They will try to kill us. I am not interested in being killed so I will not let them kill me. And because my orders are to keep you safe, I will not let them kill you either.”
A little pinch of hurt needled through Mari. She wanted him to protect her out of a sense of care for her, not out of obligation. Stupid Mari. Why would she have any other expectations of him? And why did it matter anyway? If this was all true, if everything he was saying was true, then at least she was safe. As long as this was true. As long as they didn’t connect her and Anto. As long as they couldn’t unearth a trail to this place.
Anto stood up, dropping his empty glass onto the table. “Time for breakfast. I’m hungry. What will you make me?”
Mari frowned at him. Usually when people pushed her buttons she ignored them or left the room. Her quiet presence made others think they could push her around, made them think they could take advantage of her soft nature. They were often surprised when she ignored them or distanced herself from them or even flat out said no. Which was what was hovering on her tongue, but instead she said, “I’m hungry too. What will you make me?”
Anto grinned. “Marisol, I think I might have liked you better as a rabbit.” But the sparkle in his eye and his wide toothy smile contradicted his words.
Chapter Nine
Anto felt a tug of lust as he watched Marisol cross her arms over her chest. He sensed she was feeling safer now. Obviously less afraid of him by her cheeky retort to his request for breakfast. He didn’t think he’d fully convinced her that her kidnapping was orchestrated to keep her safe, but he was glad of that. He liked her intelligence, her threads of thought, and the less she feared him, the more appealing she became. She was stronger than she believed.
“Marisol, you don’t want me to cook breakfast for you. It will not turn out well.”
“And do you think that because I’m a woman, that my cooking will be better?”
Anto shrugged. He did think that. He said as much. “Women are nurturers, aren’t they? Cooking is nurturing.”
Marisol laughed for the first time since he’d grabbed her. It was as sweet as honey. Damn, now he wanted honey. “Woman are not nurturers. They’re fiends, like men. They’re competitive and territorial. They fight mean.”
Anto shook his head. “I know that’s not true. Not all men are fiends.”
“You are.” Her words were soft but true. He didn’t dispute them.
“But you are not.”
“Because I have nothing to protect.” She frowned a little, her eyes dulling.
“Can you make eggs?” For some reason, her sadness pulled at him and he didn’t want to tussle with it while he was hungry.
“Can you?”
They were at an impasse. He could scramble eggs. Any fool could do that. He said as much, both his mood and his voice darkening. “But you will make them out of gratitude to me for saving your life.”
She hesitated, her mouth pursed, but then she said, “Fine. I’ll make the eggs.” She stalked into the kitchen and started rattling through the cabinets. Anto followed her, stopping at the island, placing his forearms on the countertop, leaning towards her. “Try swearing, Marisol. A fight is so much better with a few curse words. You should say, fine, I will make the fucking eggs, before you huff off.”
She turned towards him, her face at war with itself. He waited. “Just because you think of yourself as my saviour,” she emphasized saviour in a less than pleasant manner, “does not mean you get to hold that over my head. And it does not mean I have to like you.”
“Ah, that hurts. That you don’t like me.”
“I’m sure you’ll get over it. Leave me alone to make the eggs. Go punch your bag or something.”
He did as she asked because he wanted some space between them. Her anger was too enticing. He liked a good sparring match, he thought, as he slammed a fist into the punching bag, then danced back and repeated the move with his other hand. It was rare anyone disagreed with him. They knew better. Most of the time, if he liked them, then it worked well. They would debate until one of them lost, usually not him. If he didn’t like them, he made sure they understood the consequences if they didn’t back down.
But Marisol intrigued him. Different in so many ways from the women he knew. She had a soft sexuality if that was a thing. It was effortless and she just allowed it to be. Either that, or she didn’t understand how to leverage it, which made her doubly enticing. He felt a current snake through him, ending at his cock, shocking it to life. He threw a resounding punch at the bag, then another, and another, pummeling it. He needed to derail his thoughts. He was not his colleague and friend, Michael Black, who could seduce a woman from a hundred yards. He didn’t have the patience for pretty words and silly games. He picked women who wanted him for whatever reason – he frankly didn’t care why. All he had to do was crook his finger and they were on their knees in front him, his cock in their mouths. Another jolt of lust hit him and he punched the bag so hard the windows rattled.
Think of something else, you horny fuck! But the clatter of dishes in the kitchen drew his mind back to the pretty woman in his care. The silkiness of her hair, her lips, not plump, but not thin, curving up at the edges, giving her a small perennial smile, and her blue fawn-like eyes – . He stopped, disgusted with himself. No more poetic bullshit. Think tits and ass, pussy, fucking her, claiming her, eating her, drinking her up. Think of her mouth on his dick, sucking him, swallowing him, his come, his dick, hands on his balls, mouth sucking them, trying to take them both at the same time.
“Fuck!” he shouted slamming the bag with his hands.
He heard a crash in the kitchen and then Marisol’s round eyes looking at him warily. He kept his body concealed behind the bag and looked down at the tent in his shorts. He drew his eyebrows together as he frowned. “How long?” he snarled as he looked back to Marisol.
Marisol cleared her throat. “A few minutes.” And then a fearful, “What’s wrong?”
He knew she was walking on eggshells around him. Every time she relaxed, he said or did something to scare her. It’s not what he wanted. He wanted to understand her, explore her, her mind and her body, every crevice of both. What the fuck was wrong with him? He stepped out from behind the bag and hurried towards the bathroom. “I’m showering,” he said gruffly. “Finish breakfast, get it on the table.”
Anto slammed into the bathroom like a buffalo and dropped his shorts to the floor, kicking them to the side. He turned on the shower, waited for it to warm up and then stepped under the hot stream, spitting into his hand, then grabbing his cock.
Her curves were burned into his brain and he cursed. The more he thought about her, the more aroused he became. His balls ached and his erection was obscene. He stretched out his arm and flattened one hand against the tiles of the shower wall, holding his throbbing cock with the other, gripping it hard and jerking fast. He closed his eyes and imagined Marisol in the shower with him, her strong beautiful legs wrapped around his waist, her hot wet pussy sheathing his cock, welcoming him. His cock buried fully in her, impaling her, pounding repeatedly as she hugged him to her, crying out her need for him, her desire. And his hands on her toned ass, gripping her cheeks, pulling her closer to him so that their bodies were locked in one writhing mass of lust.
His lips on hers, seeking her mouth, tasting her, savouring her. She, tightening her legs around him, moaning, burying him deeper into her. His hands sliding up to her slim waist, then to her long beautiful back, feeling the softness of her skin, the strength of her muscles. And her breasts, perfect mounds, nipples erect, rubbing on his chest, bouncing against him. Then she’s coming, her head flung back, her long neck exposed and vulnerable. His lips on her throat, his teeth leaving a little trail of bite marks. Marisol gasping out his name, again and again, fingernails raking his back, frenzied, him fucking her harder, driving into her without mercy.
His heart was thundering, the hot pressure building in his core, then surging. He groaned out loud, deep and desperate as his balls tightened and he exploded, hot jets of come spurting from him as he pumped his cock. Those few seconds of perfect nothingness, then gone, replaced by satisfaction, fleeting but enough. He took deep shuddering breaths and he rested his head against the cool tiles, the image of Marisol’s naked body still hammering in his brain. It wasn’t enough just to fantasize about her but at least maybe he could get through the day now without bending her over the table and fucking her.
He soaped himself, washed his hair and beard and then rinsed, keeping his mind in neutral, but her face kept slipping in front of him stoking his heat. Christ, he was 33-fucking-years old. He thought he was beyond women turning him into a randy teenager. It’d been so long since a woman caught his attention this way, he couldn’t even remember when it happened last. Hell, half the time he couldn’t remember the woman’s face the morning after.
He turned off the shower and stepped onto the bath mat as he scrubbed his body dry with a thick blue bath towel. He wondered if she was on birth control. He didn’t think to bring condoms. When he was planning her disappearance, he’d had no intentions of fucking her. She was just a job for him. But now, it was different. He wanted her. He ran the towel between his legs, tugged at his balls with it, enjoying the scrape of soft fibre running through the crevices. His balls ached for her, not a fucking do-it-yourself in the shower. He frowned. Why? Why her? Little rabbit, little mouse. He hated rodents and rabbits.
Then the smell of burnt eggs wafting into the bathroom shocked his brain. He was so fucking in lust that he forgot to lock her up. He wrapped the towel around his waist as he bolted from the bathroom. Smoke was billowing from a pan on the stove and the front door was wide open. Fucking stupid horny bastard! He grabbed the pan of eggs off the burner throwing it to the floor as he heard the door on his SUV slam. She had his fucking keys! He raced out of the house and headed straight to the SUV, yanking on the driver side door, but she’d locked it. She startled as he slammed his hand against the window and shouted, “Marisol, open this fucking door and get out of there.” Her face was pale, her eyes wide as she looked at him, then away, fumbling with the keys, her hands shaking.
He could break the window, but the glass would fall on her, maybe cutting her. He didn’t want to take that risk, so he drew his elbow up and slammed it into the window behind her. As it shattered, he reached inside with his right hand and grabbed her hair, fisting it hard and yanking her head backwards.
She screamed. He heard the jingle of the keys as she dropped them, then she brought her hands to his, trying to force his fingers from her hair. “No!” she screeched as she struggled. Anto tightened his grip.
“Stop your fucking struggling or I’ll rip your hair right out.”
She stilled and he heard the sob escape, one loud, shattering sob that hardened his resolve. “Unlock the fucking doors.”
Marisol fumbled at the door, blindly groping for the lock. Almost as soon as the lock disengaged, Anto had the door open. He released his grip on Marisol’s hair, grabbed her by the arms and hauled her from his SUV. She stumbled but his grip on her kept her upright. Fury tore through him like a chainsaw as he saw tears streaming down her face. He struggled to maintain the tenuous grip on his composure. Fuck! He wanted to hurt her, but he didn’t want to hurt her. He was at war with himself.
“I’m sorry!” Marisol wailed and he slammed her up against the SUV. Her head bounced as her back hit the door. Anto knew he was within an inch of brutalizing her. She betrayed him. She had no loyalty to him. The thought fuelled his fury. He saved her fucking life and this was her repayment. He leaned into her, shoving his forearm against her chest, a barrier between the two of them. He held her chin with his other hand, pinching it between his fingers, forcing her face up, forcing her red, tearful eyes to his.
With menace in his heart, he growled, “What the fuck is wrong with you! I show you trust and you abuse it. I should just let you drive off, drive toward your death. It would be worthwhile to see the regret on your face just before they shot you. Except you’d never see it coming.” He emphasized his words with a shove of his forearm on her chest, a shake of her chin and gained satisfaction as she cried out in pain. But her crying was also pissing him off, her fucking terror of him. He yanked her away from the SUV and dragged her by the arm towards the house. She stumbled along behind, but he didn’t slow his pace or narrow his stride. Let her stumble, let her fucking fall for all he cared.
Once inside he yanked open the door of the cage and shoved her inside, slamming it behind her and locking it. She lost her balance and fell to her knees, her back towards him. She covered her face with her hands and curled her body over her knees, rocking as she sobbed. Anto watched her as fury settled in his gut, searing it. He was a fool to think she could be anything more than a hostile prisoner, no matter what his fucking dick thought. He would have to find a way to remedy that. She proved she couldn’t be trusted. It was obvious she had no hesitation in taking advantage of his distraction.
He turned his back to her and rubbed his hand across his beard as he surveyed the mess. She would fucking clean it up and cook him something decent, but not now. Now, he needed to seriously cool off. He stomped off to get dressed.
Chapter Ten
Mari stayed still until she heard Anto move away from the cage. Then she untucked herself and crawled cautiously to the wall, turning around and resting her back against it. She winced as she settled herself. Anto’s rough handling had bruised her and she felt it in her spine where he crushed her against the car door. She wiped at her eyes with the heels of her hands. Her tears were drying fast. Maybe she was getting cried out.
She crossed her legs and dropped her hands to her knees, closing her eyes and taking some deep calming breaths to still the quaking inside her but it was hard to get past his rage, his face twisted and ugly, his pupils dilated. His fury rolling off him when he smashed the car window, when he jerked her hair so hard she thought he would pull it out. When he yanked her out of the car and shoved her up against it. No gentleness, no mercy. His fist… maybe it’s why he threw her in the cage. To put a barrier between them so he didn’t hurt her.
When he’d went into the bathroom, into the shower, she’d known exactly what his intentions were. She saw his erection through his shorts. How could she not? It was huge like him. She shuddered. He was not a quiet man and she heard his groans, his deep grunts. He’d forgotten about her because he was distracted by his horniness and it propelled her to action. She’d raced to his bed, to the jeans he’d worn on Saturday, discarded on the floor. The keyring was in his pocket. It was so easy that she lost a little respect for him. After all, he’d been so smart up until then. Then he let a hard-on rule his head.
She heard his footsteps and opened her eyes to see him standing in front of the cage, staring at her between the bars. He was scowling, but she could also see his confusion. She had a sudden realization that she was the source of his erection this morning. A little grin slipped from her lips before she could pull it back. She had him unsettled. She’d have to think about how to use that to her advantage. If he wanted her sexually, could she play the game? Could she let him have what he wanted?
The problem with her flight was that it put a wedge of mistrust between them. Had she just been more patient, waited a few days, his guard would have slipped further until she had free run. Then she could wait for a good opportunity. She needed to find a way to turn this around.
She bit at the side of her lower lip as she tucked a strand of hair behind her head. “I’m sorry.” Her voice cracked. How could she leverage her sexuality if she couldn’t even speak without falling apart?
