And then, finally, he realized that something was moving in the dark. He called out--"Jane?"--but he knew right away it wasn't her. He knew the way she moved. The way she smelled. If she was in the room with him, he would know.
He strained his eyes to see, but it was still impossible. And this time, when he tried to sit up, he realized that his hands and feet were strapped down, too, and there was a firm palm pressing flat against his chest preventing him from rising even an inch.
The voice was right at his ear. Strange. Distorted. Like it was talking through one of those Halloween voice changers. And the voice alone was at least as scary as all the rest of it so far.
"You think you can cry out? Get away? You're here because this is where you're supposed to be. You're here because this is where I want you, and you will pay."
He felt breath on his cheek, and the voice was that much closer. He thought it was a man. Not that he could tell much from the voice--not that it even really mattered--but there had been the palm on his chest, too. And it felt masculine.
"The sins of the father, Dallas. And if the man who now calls you son wants you back, he'll have to pay."
This time, it wasn't breath on his skin, but something sharp, like the point of a pencil or the sharp end of a nail, and someone was dragging it back and forth across his neck.
"I bet he doesn't. I bet the man you call Dad doesn't spend even a day looking. I bet he doesn't spend an hour."
His voice shook, but Dallas demanded, "Where's Jane?"
"Jane? Why do you care? You think she wants you now? You think you could comfort her?"
"Yes."
A hard slap cut him across the cheek. "Then you're a fool, aren't you? Don't you know that you deserve this? The fear. The humiliation. Don't you know that it's yours to own? To taste and wallow in?"
He shook his head. "No. No."
"Do you think this is about her? It's your fault she's here. Your fault she was in the way. Wrong place, wrong time, wrong boy, and if she dies in here, if she rots in here, it's all because of you."
His eyes burned. He wanted to cry from the horror of that thought. Even more, he wanted to kill whoever was taunting him. Wanted to reach up and strangle them with his bare hands. But he was strapped. Bound. As immobile as a body in a coffin.
The thought made him shudder.
"Please...What do you want? I'll do whatever you want, but don't hurt her."
"What can you do? You can't even scratch your own ass. You're helpless, Dallas. Helpless and alone. And you're the reason she's here, remember? Why the hell would she want you?"
And then the voice was gone, and Dallas heard nothing to mark the departure. No footsteps. No squeak of a door. Just nothing.
Once again, he was alone with his thoughts.
The sins of the father.
The sins of the father?
Could that mean his birth father?
He knew the kind of man his father had been--born to privilege, he'd thrown it all away on drugs and parties. He'd been a fuckup for sure, and when Dallas had acted out, he'd told himself it was bad blood that made him do it. Because that's what Eli thought, wasn't it? Hell, Eli had practically told him he was Donovan's son through and through back when Dallas was thirteen and Eli had found a Playboy in Dallas's room with a picture of Jane tucked inside it.
It wasn't a naughty picture. Just one he'd taken of her sunbathing that summer. And although Dallas had never admitted it, his dad had been right about what he'd thought. Because Dallas really had jacked off for the first time in his life to a picture of his sister. And a whole lot more times after that.
What a damn loser he was.
Just like his father. Just like Donovan.
Had Donovan pissed off the wrong people before he died, and now it was Dallas and Jane who were paying for his mistakes?
Or maybe the sins of the father referred to Eli? God knows Eli had enough money to pay a ransom a zillion times over.
But if this was about Eli, then why would grabbing Jane be a mistake? Eli was Jane's dad, too.
It didn't make sense.
None of it made sense.
And when he drifted off to sleep, it was on a cloud of confusion and fear.
When he woke, there was more light in the room. Not enough to see colors, but enough to make out shapes. To get a sense of place, not that there was much to see. As far as he could tell, he was in a square room with nothing in it but a filthy mattress on the floor and a thin blanket.
But he wasn't restrained anymore, either. And he was clean. His clothes were gone and he was in a T-shirt and fleece pants and he could walk around, pressing his hand to the gray walls. Smelling the straw on the floor.
Had they drugged him? They must have drugged him.
Then he heard the metal creak of a door followed by a startled "oh!" and then the dull thud of someone hitting the ground.
Jane.
He was at her side in an instant. Holding her. Clinging to her. Rejoicing that she was with him and that she was safe. Mourning the fact that she was here at all. That she wasn't free as he had secretly hoped.
"Dallas. Oh, god, Dallas." She clung tight to him, her arms around his neck, her head pressed to his chest. "I'm so sorry you're here, but thank god you're here."
She tilted her head back to look at him, tears trailing down her face. He wanted to kiss them away. He wanted to get lost in her. To forget everything but her. To make her safe. To keep her warm.
"Why are they doing this?" she asked. "Ransom?"
"I don't know." They must have bathed her, too, because her hair hung in damp strands that he pushed away from her beautiful face. "Now that I know you're okay, I don't even care. You are okay?"
She nodded, but her eyes were still full of fear. "They tied me up. With leather straps. Tied to a tabletop. And they said they were going to leave me. That I was going to starve. And then they left and I was so hungry." She closed her eyes. "I don't know how long they were gone before they came back with water and some crackers. Dallas, why?"
Rage burned through him, and he wanted to kill their captors. The sadistic fucks who had done that to her.
But he forced it back. He needed to comfort. Needed to make it better for her. "It's okay now," he said. "You're with me now. And I told you I'd always protect you, remember?"
He looked into her eyes and saw some of her terror fade, and he felt a surge of power inside him, knowing that he'd given her comfort.
He heard her breath hitch. "Dallas." His name was a whisper. Nothing more. But he knew what she wanted, and he leaned in and brushed his lips over hers in the softest of kisses, the most gentle of touches. And in the hell of where they were, that single touch was good.
"I'm so scared," she confessed.
"Me, too."
They held each other for hours, drifting in and out of sleep. There was a gallon of water in the corner and a single can of cat food beside it. On the far side of the room, the captors had left a bucket and a roll of toilet paper, along with a jug of cloudy water that the Woman had said was for washing only. Drink it, and they'd regret it.
It was hardly civilization, but Dallas had been grateful.
They'd waited until they were desperate to eat the cat food. They measured time by the diminishing water.
"Are they going to let us starve?" she asked when there was no food and only a little water.
I don't know. It was the only true answer, but he couldn't say it. Couldn't even think it.
"I don't want to die."
"Jane, no." The thought of losing her ripped him up, but he was scared when he looked at her. He didn't know for sure, but he thought that it had been about a week since they'd been taken. She'd lost weight in her face and in the dim light, her cheekbones seemed more prominent. Her huge eyes seemed hollow. She was beautiful--she would always be beautiful--but she was turning into a waif before his eyes.
God only knew what he looked like. Sickly and scrawny, most likely. Their captors were ma
king them weak. Making sure they couldn't fight.
Assuming anyone ever came back into their room.
The thought sent a shock of terror cutting through him.
"We're not going to die," he said, the words worthless and stupid and they both knew that. Hadn't they explored every inch of their cell? Didn't they know damn well there was nowhere to go?
"Maybe it would be like sleeping," she said as she rested her head on his shoulder. "Maybe it wouldn't be so bad. I think I could stand it, except I don't want to be away from you."
"Don't talk like that." His words were fierce because she was echoing his own thoughts, and he didn't want to think that she'd lost hope, too.
"I just--"
He crushed his mouth over hers to shut her up, and for a moment she was quiet in his arms. Then her arms went around him and she pulled him down, pulled him hard against her onto the disgusting, lumpy mattress.
"I love you," he said when they broke apart, both gasping hard. "I don't want to lose you, either."
"I know," she said. "I love you, too. You know that, right? You've always known it."
"Always," he said, and for the first time since the night he'd snuck out to meet her, he felt alive again.
He felt hope.
He shifted so that he was leaning over her, and she was on her back. He looked into her deep brown eyes and felt like he was falling. He was hard, but instead of getting off her--instead of trying to hide it--he just said, "Jane."
She didn't answer in words. Instead she tugged him down to her, and then she softly opened her mouth to his.
He lost himself in the kiss, their connection erasing all his fears, masking all the horror. When they pulled apart, he was breathing hard, his cock so hard he thought he would burst.
"Are you sure?"
She nodded, her eyes wide. "Aren't you?"
"I--yeah. Yeah."
She licked her lips and then pulled off her shirt. And goddamn it--goddamn it--he lost it. He came in his damn pants just from the sight of her pale skin and her round, perfect breasts.
"I'm sorry, I'm sorry."
She shut him up with kisses, and he moaned as she reached for the drawstring of the ugly pants they'd given him, then loosened them so they fell off his hips. They hadn't given him underwear, so he was naked now, and he kicked the sticky pants off and away.
"Just touch me," she said. "Please?"
Oh, yeah. He could do that. He eased her back, then untied the drawstring of her pants, too. He eased them down, whimpering a little when he saw the first hint of pubic hair.
He'd seen naked women before in magazines, but he'd only fantasized about Jane. She was prettier than he'd ever imagined. He wanted to hold her close and never let go. He wanted to be her protector. Her knight. He wanted to do the kinds of things with her he'd only read about.
He wanted to do everything with her. To her.
He wanted to make her forget they were captives. He wanted to escape with her, even if only into themselves.
And, he realized, he was rock hard again.
Sweet.
"Your shirt," she said, and he ripped it over his head and tossed it aside. For a moment, he was afraid they'd come in. That he and Jane would get caught. But he pushed the thought aside. He didn't care anymore. He didn't know if they were going to live or die. He was going to do what he wanted. He was going to have the girl he wanted. The girl he loved.
"I love you," he whispered, because he had to tell her again.
"I love you, too." She licked her lips. "Have you ever--"
"No!" He'd never wanted to with anyone else. There was only her. "Have you?"
"I only want you," she said, and he melted all over again.
Slowly, he drew his fingers over her, mesmerized by the way her muscles tightened as he trailed up her belly. He cupped a breast in his hands, loving the way it fit, the way she made that sweet little noise. And when he sucked on her tit, the darker part around the nipple puckered up and she got so tight and so hard that it was like he could feel it, too, in his cock.
She rolled over on her side, and he stroked his fingers down her waist and over her hips as she touched him, first trailing her fingertips over his jaw. "You're getting a beard," she said, then grinned. "It's sexy."
He felt his face heat with a blush. "Yeah, well, it's not like they gave me a razor."
"I like it." She turned her head away as if shy. "I like the way it feels when you kiss me."
"Yeah?"
She nodded, then bit her lower lip as she moved her hand lower and lower until her fingers were twined in his pubic hair and his cock was twitching. And then, when she closed her hand around him, he closed his eyes and groaned.
When he opened them again, she smiled shyly, looking pleased with herself.
"Lay back," he said, giving her a tiny push. "Fair is fair."
She did, and because he wanted to one-up her, he used his mouth to tease her belly. To move lower until her pubic hair tickled his mouth and he slid his hands up to push apart her thighs.
She tensed. "Dallas--"
"It's okay. Let me." He lifted his head, and saw that her cheeks were bright red. "I really want to taste you." He'd seen so many pictures, but he'd never understood why he'd want to taste a girl down there. But he got it now. Right now he thought he would die if he couldn't taste her, couldn't get lost in her.
He didn't wait for her to answer, but when she slowly spread her legs he knew that was her consent. He ran his tongue over her folds, then used his fingers to open her. She was like a flower, and when he found her clitoris and teased it, she made the most incredible little sounds.
She was slick and wet, and he closed his mouth over her, then felt the hard nub of her clit against his lips. He sucked and licked, and he couldn't get enough of her. And then when she started to squirm he really couldn't get enough. He kept his mouth on her, kissing and sucking, but added his finger, too, slipping one inside her, amazed at how hot and slick she was.
His cock was rock hard, and he wanted to thrust it in her, but he also wanted to finish this. To keep letting her build. And then, suddenly, she was shaking and crying out his name, and he was so damn hard because he'd made her come. He'd done that for her--given her that escape--and that was just too fucking amazing.
"Please," she said. "Dallas. Please. I want--I want more."
"Me, too." He straddled her and then he pressed the tip of his cock right against her entrance. "It's going to hurt you I think. I'm really sorry."
She nodded. "I know. It's okay. Just--go slow. Okay?"
He tried. But he was so excited. So ready. And in the end he couldn't hold back. "I'm sorry!" he cried when she sucked in air from the pain, but she just shook her head and told him not to stop. That it was okay, that it was wonderful.
Wonderful. The word washed over him right as he exploded inside her, his body quaking violently, wildly. It felt like it would last forever, and when he finally collapsed, sated, beside her, she curled up against him, her legs twined with his.
"Wow," she said.
"You're really okay?" He held her close, wanting to never let her go.
"Really. It hurt, then it got better." She smiled a little shyly. "A lot better."
"I don't ever want to hurt you."
"You couldn't," she said as she curled up against him. "Not really."
"Jane?" he said, after they'd been silent for a while.
"Yeah?"
"Do you want to do it again?"
She eased back, and he could see the desire in her eyes. "Yeah," she said. "I do."
He kissed her, and even though they were in hell, in that moment, he was happy. They might never get out of this room, but no matter what else happened, they'd been able to escape into each other.
For a few wonderful moments, they'd been free.
Dallas pressed his forehead against the cool glass and exhaled, feeling lost. Feeling alone. For long days and longer nights he and Jane had been each other's lifeline,
the point of light in a dark and horrible world.
They'd escaped into each other, worshipped each other. Found secret triggers to incredible sensations. Nothing was wrong, nothing forbidden. He'd touched her, tasted her, buried himself inside her. And it had felt more right, more real, more mature back in those weeks as a teenager than in any encounter he'd had since.
They'd saved each other then, in every possible way.
So why the hell did it feel like they would destroy each other now?
Behind the glass, Quince was still working Mueller, but Dallas no longer wanted to watch. He needed to be alone. He wanted to take a shower and shake off the melancholy that had come with the memories. He couldn't go there, couldn't go to her.
And regrets were for pussies.
The main room of the operations center housed the tech and the holding cell in which Quince was now doing his job. But there was more to this underground lair. He gave a quick nod to Liam at the computer, then headed out the side door to the hallway that led to the Spartan sleeping quarters, along with the steam room and shower.
He dropped his duffel on the cot in his quarters, then strode to the shower, situated in the only room that had been tricked out for comfort, with high end fixtures and a state-of-the-art steam feature. He stripped as he walked, then shut the door behind him and tossed his clothes on top of the marble counter.
The control panel was mounted in the wall next to the glass shower door, and he turned it on, setting the water pressure to high and cranking up the steam. As the system began to hiss, he leaned against the counter and looked at his face in the mirror--he looked tired. Worn out. And he wondered how much of it had to do with coming so close to finding his kidnapper--and how much of it had to do with coming so close to having Jane.
His phone chirped, signaling a text, and he felt a little jolt of hope in his chest--Jane? He turned to pull it out of the pocket of his jeans, now crumpled on the counter, then suffered a stab of disappointment to see that it wasn't from Jane but from Myra. It took him a moment to place the name, only remembering that she was the redhead from last night when he opened the text and saw the short video image.
She was arched back, her eyes closed and her mouth open in an expression that could only be ecstasy. Her breasts were thrust skyward and her legs were spread wide. The blonde's face was buried between them, and from his perspective, Dallas could see the blonde's own sweet, wet pussy between her bare legs as she squirmed and fingered herself, her ass making small circular motions as she excitedly moved her head, blond curls bouncing, while she sucked loudly on Myra's clit.