Hell Breaks Loose: A Devil's Rock Novel (12 page)

Giving her head a small shake, she tried to clear the rushing sound of blood in her ears and to focus. She tuned back in to
the rest of the speech. “. . . right now, I am addressing this country, the world . . . as a father.” Here he paused, and
she knew that moment was calculated. “A father who wants his daughter back . . .”

Studying him closely, she didn’t blink, too afraid she would miss something. She knew this man so well, his tics, his moods.
She’d seen him rehearse in front of the mirror. She knew all the behind-the-scenes details that went into every speech her
father ever gave. He never spoke in front of the camera without a thorough prepping. This time was no different. Even with
her abduction hanging over him, even distraught, this was rehearsed. At the moment, he wasn’t speaking from a place of fear
or loss or panic. He was being a politician.

She stood up and flicked the TV off, unable to watch him. She knew who her father was. She knew she did not rank at the top
of his priorities, but she thought this would have been different. This would have caused a shifting of priorities. Anything
could have happened to her . . . anything
could
be happening to her right now. Even with that fear running through his head he was still campaigning.

She was breathing hard, her chest lifting like she’d just run a great distance. She dragged a hand over her face as though
that would somehow help her pull herself together.

A floorboard creaked and she recalled that she wasn’t alone. She dropped her hand and looked up.

Her gaze flickered over Reid, an unwanted audience witnessing her little meltdown.

“You okay?” he asked.

She nodded once, hard, and then swiftly shook her head from side to side. “No. No, I’m not,” she admitted, her hands trembling.

“I promise you’ll get back to your family. I know what I say doesn’t amount to much to you, but I promise you that.”

He thought she was emotional because of her father’s plea? “Ha,” she got out, the sound strangled. She swallowed to clear
her throat. “Don’t tell me you bought into that little drama.”

He angled his head, clearly unsure what to say.

She continued, her words flying out in a rush. “That’s what he does, you know. He lies.” She rounded the couch and grabbed
the beer Reid had opened and left on the counter. She took a deep swig, forgetting that she hated the taste of the stuff.
She was letting her emotions get the best of her. Her father wasn’t lying precisely. She knew that. But she wished, for once,
he would just be a parent and not that polished public servant.

Reid watched her uncertainly. “I’m sure he’s worried and wants you home safely. He’s your father—”

She laughed hoarsely. “Oh, I suppose he’s worried about me. I know he wants me to be okay. But it’s a toss-up whether he’s
worried about the polls more. About his re-election more.” She sobered and drummed her fingers against her lips. “He’s spinning
this in his favor. Maybe I should show up dead. That’s sure to get him reelected—” Her voice broke. It was a terrible thing
to say . . . and even more terrible to think.

Reid was in front of her now. His hands closed around her arms, warmly clasping her as he gave her a small shake. “Don’t talk
like that. You’re upset—”

“You have no idea.” She wrenched her arms free and took another pull from his beer. “Why did your friends kidnap me?” she
demanded, leveling her gaze on him.

His look turned wary at the sudden change in subject. “They’re not my friends.”

She snorted before taking another drink. “Whatever.” She waved a hand dismissively. “I’m guessing they took me because they
want to get to my father, hurt him in some way? I would have thought they wanted ransom money, but since they’ve made no efforts
there—at least I think they haven’t.” She sent him a questioning look, took his blank stare as confirmation. “Didn’t think
so. So clearly my father pissed off the wrong person . . .” She let her voice fade deliberately, waiting for him to fill in
the silence with an explanation.

Nothing. That was telling enough as he stared at her, his expression even more wary than moments before. That muscle ticking
in his jaw showed he wasn’t unaffected.

She finished the bottle and then moved to the refrigerator. Grabbing another beer, she faced him again. “No comment?”

He watched her like she had sprouted a second head or was simply crazy—and maybe she was. She just declared to her abductor
that he could kill her and no one would care. Well,
much
. Probably not the smartest thing to tell the guy holding you hostage. “Hey, I’m worthless and it doesn’t really matter what
you do to me” probably wasn’t the best thing to say.

Still. She couldn’t stop vomiting words. Tears burned the backs of her eyes and it was either this or break down and cry.
She’d never been big into letting people see her cry, so there was only this over sharing.

She leaned forward as though about to impart something confidential, dropping her voice to a conspiratorial pitch. “I’ll let
you in on a little secret. My father is not the perfect man that forty-seven percent of the country think he is.”

Reid angled his head. “Only forty-seven percent?”

She nodded. “Last polling. Horrible, right? Especially heading into re-election. Although I’m guessing he’s rating higher
right now. Personal tragedy wins empathy.” She waved her bottle in a little circle. “This is probably doing wonders for his
campaign. Bet there is a lot of back-clapping the moment he gets behind closed doors.”

“Stop it, Grace. Your mother looked wrecked.”

Grace looked away as she took another drink, shrugging. Her mother loved her but not as much as she loved her husband. No,
her mother would love no one more than she loved him. Secretly, Grace had always thought that’s why she never had more children.
She suspected her mother never felt enough of a connection to her to have another child.

The reminder of her relationship with her mother only fueled her self-pity. “Suffice to say, you don’t know shit about me
or my life.” She tilted her head and took another drink, gulping in an unladylike way that would have horrified her mother.

Something passed over Reid’s features before a wall slammed down on his face, killing any sympathy that might have been there
for her. “I can see what’s in front of me well enough.”

“Yes? And what do you see, Yoda?”

His nostrils flared. “A spoiled little princess who didn’t like what she just saw. Daddy wasn’t crying enough for you and
now you need petting.” He waved an arm at the TV. “The whole fucking country is leaving roses for you, but that’s not enough—”

She hissed a deep breath. Her eyes stung at his razor-sharp words and the kernel of truth they held. “Shut up—”

“You still want more. Being the center of the universe isn’t enough? Your ego needs more—”

“You don’t get it . . .” He didn’t. Ego was the last thing she possessed. She didn’t need or want to be the center of the
universe. Every time Charles dragged them out to dinner, she wished they could have just stayed in and ordered pizza. Reid
was wrong. She wasn’t that vain creature he was describing. The only thing she wanted was acceptance from her parents. Love.
She’d done everything they ever wanted, shelved her own dreams, hoping to have that from them.

The world couldn’t mourn her? They didn’t know her. This was the same world that voted her unlikable in the polls last month.
So what if they were leaving flowers for her now? They weren’t her family. Her father was supposed to love her. Above anyone
else, a girl’s father should want to tear the earth apart to get her back safely. He should care about her life above all
else, right? She was his daughter. He shouldn’t expect her to marry someone for the sake of his campaign. And he should be
wrecked that she was missing.

Staring at Reid, she imagined that felon or not, he would care if someone close to him was in trouble. If someone belonged
to him, he wouldn’t quit until that person was safe. The idea was faintly compelling. And dangerous. Her gaze skimmed the
strong line of his shoulders, the way his biceps pushed against his snug thermal shirt. She remembered the strength in those
arms. The power. This guy would move heaven and earth for—

She crushed the thought. She would never be that person to him.

“That’s right, princess. I don’t know you. You know who would leave flowers for me? Fucking no one.”

She stifled a flinch.
No.
She would not feel sorry for him. “Big shock there,” she flung out instead, reaching for the memory of him chasing her down
and slinging her over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes. No hugs for him.

“Oh, that’s right.” He advanced a step, his lips moving, spitting out words like arrows. Doubtlessly trying to use his size
to intimidate her. She wouldn’t let him. She stood her ground. “I’m just a dirty felon.”

“That’s right. An escaped convict that belongs behind bars.”

“Yeah, well sorry, sweetheart, but this dirty con isn’t buying into your little pity party—”

“Stop it!”

“If Daddy doesn’t love you enough, maybe you need to take a hard look in the mirror and figure some things out about yourself.”

Her fist rocketed out and struck him in the jaw. Hard. Hard enough to hurt her hand. Hard enough to force him back a step.

She stared, shocked at herself. She had struck him. No measly girly slap either. She full-fledged hit him with her fist, and
her knuckles throbbed for it. She’d never done that before.

Her chest lifted with savage breaths. His words echoed through her, accusing her of the very thing that had hidden in her
heart ever since childhood. There was something inherently unlovable about her.

She couldn’t blink, couldn’t look away from his face. That muscle was alive and kicking in his jaw again. He looked fierce—like
some Viking walking into battle . . . or emerging from battle. All that was missing was his battle-axe.

Too late she realized her mistake.

She’d forgotten herself. She forgot who she was. Simply a captive. And more importantly, she forgot who he was. A merciless
criminal who would stop at nothing to get what he wanted. So what if he wounded her with some ugly words? He could hurt her
in far worse ways.

There was no sound save the crash of their breaths filling the space between them. She started sliding back a step, but his
hand shot out. She squeaked and lifted her fists, prepared to fight him, however hopeless it would be against his greater
strength.

His hand closed around the back of her neck, hauling her closer until all of her pushed against the lean length of him. It
was like being pressed up against a living, breathing wall. A wall that radiated heat. Their angry breaths collided, mingled.
Their gazes devoured each other. His cheek burned an angry red from her fist.

She realized his intent the moment before his head swooped down. His mouth crashed over her own.

Her hands were lost, crushed between their bodies. She couldn’t move. His other arm stole around her, pulling her in tight,
wrapping her up in him. It was impossible to break his iron hold.

Of course, there was the question of whether she wanted to.

His kiss was firm and demanding, punishing and yet seductive. Her head swam as his mouth softened slightly against her lips.
His fingers curled into her hair, fisting the heavy mass and pulling her head back, forcing her chin up.

Her lips parted on a gasp, and his tongue slid along her bottom lip in a sinuous move. Her blood sang, everything in her melting.
She opened her mouth wider, inviting him in. Their tongues touched and it felt like a bolt of electricity shot through her.

The sparks they talked about in movies and books, but she never felt? What she hoped to find with Charles? This was it. She’d
found it at last, and it was with a criminal. Her mother would be outraged.

That single thought gave her the final push. The idea of her mother’s disapproval, her horror, broke any fleeting resistance.

All tentativeness fled. She leaned forward, diving into the kiss, into him like she was dehydrated and he her last chance
for water.

He growled, deepening the kiss, gripping her hair harder, angling her head so that her mouth was in a position to his liking.
He took. He claimed, and that only made the need pulse harder inside her.

She struggled to free her hands, but it wasn’t because she wanted to push him away or fight him. No, not anymore. She wanted
to wrap her arms around his neck and climb inside him. There was no such thing as too close. No such thing as too much or
too far.

He growled as if sensing her surrender. It was the longest kiss of her life. She didn’t know that a kiss could last until
her lips went numb and bolts of sensation flooded to every nerve in her body.

Her entire being ended and began where his mouth fused with hers. The heady taste of him, rich and deep and faintly meady
from the beer—or maybe she was tasting herself on him. She didn’t know. She only knew that minutes ago she had been hurting
and now there was this. Desire and want and sex. Sex with mouths alone. She never wanted it to end. She could climax through
this alone. She knew it. This kiss could keep going and it would happen. She already felt the twisting ache starting at her
core.

He broke away, still holding onto her with that fist in her hair and his arm locked around her waist. He looked down at her
with blazing eyes. “What the fuck was that?”

She moistened her tingling lips. His eyes tracked the movement of her tongue, the flecks of gold standing out within the green
of his eyes. And glowing. Glowing like candlelight. “You kissed me,” she returned, her voice a whispered hush.

“You needed kissing.”

She thought about that for a second, recognizing the truth, terrible or not, of that statement. She needed kissing.
Yes. Yes, I did.

And I needed more.

“So what’s the problem, then?” she asked.

He frowned. “You weren’t supposed to like it. You weren’t supposed to kiss me back like . . .” Words failed him.