Vanquish (13 page)

Her hands locked into fists. He could've been making that up.

He tucked the tablet beneath his arm. “With the lights on.”

Her stomach dropped, and an ache swelled, angry and painful, around her heart. “So you thought you'd...what? Enlighten me? While waving a fucking gun?” It was too much, too many surprises coming at her too damned fast. “Well, guess what? I
am
a whack job, and he can fuck whom he wants. Why do
you
care?”

His pupils flared, swallowing the silver rims of his eyes. “He's due at noon? Yes or no.”

Son of a bitch. “No. Twelve-o-
four
.”

He glanced at the side table, and she followed his gaze. 11:58 glowed on the clock.

No way did he just happen upon Zach at a bar after he
just happened
upon her porch. She gritted her teeth. “How long have you been watching my house?” And how the hell did he get in? “Oh my God. You stole my key? You arrogant, thieving dickhead!”

“Be careful, Amber.” His icy glare raised bumps over her skin. “Cover yourself up.” He waved a hand at the closet. “You have thirty seconds.”

Of all the women in Austin, why her? If he knew her schedule, maybe he'd figured out Zach was the only person who would notice if she disappeared. Hell, he had her phone. If he'd looked at the log, he'd know she talked to no one, had no one.

She strode to the closet, trying like hell to keep her shaking arms over her thinly-covered boobs. “What are you going to do to him?”

“If you ask another question, I'll kill him, slow and messy, all over your carpet.”

Her mind played out that scenario in Technicolor, and her thoughts degraded to a sick, selfish place where her disorder bred and thrived. The damage to her carpet would be permanent, a constant reminder, and she couldn't afford to replace it.

“If you convincingly chase him away, I'll let him live.” He glared at her, his lips pressed in a line. “And I do mean convincingly. The fucker better walk out of here without a doubt in his mind he'll never see you again. I just gave you the ammo to do it. Use it. Fifteen seconds.”

She dressed in a hurried daze, fumbling on jeans and tugging a t-shirt over the cami. This wasn't happening. If she chased Zach away, how long would it be before someone found her body? Or worse, found her house empty?

Would he try to kidnap her? Her skin grew clammy, and a tremor shook her legs. “I can't go outside. You'll have to shoot me first.” Either way, she wouldn't survive.

“I'll be right in here.” He stalked to the closet and gripped the door, with the gun trained on her. “If you fuck this up, if Zachary shows a hint of suspicion, I'll shoot him. Sit on the bed.”

How had she not seen this coming when she met him? She'd let this man into her house, for fucksake. Such a stupid, stupid girl. She deserved this. She wiped at the copious sweat clinging to her face and arms, her ramping heart rate thrashing pinpricks through her head.

Breathing deeply, over and over, she sat on the bed and prepared to drive away the only person she had in her life.

Van faded within the shadow of the closet, leaving the door open a sliver, with a line of sight directly on her.

Six huge breaths later, the rumble of Zach's truck sounded in the driveway. Her heart hammered so painfully, she wanted to double over from the agony of it. She could do this. Her odds of surviving sucked, but she could save Zach.

The front door opened and rattled shut. Van must've left it unlocked, already knowing her routine. Knowing too much. She didn't dare look at the closet door for fear she'd unravel into a worthless blob of panic.

Footsteps pounded down the hall, and Zach's tall, thin frame appeared in the doorway. Images of him with that girl girded her spine, even as a lump clogged her throat. It wasn't jealousy. It was the strangling reminder that she hadn't been good enough.

He smiled. “Jeans today? Didn't know you owned a pair.”

This was going to hurt. She swallowed.
Just do it quick
. “We're done, Zach. No more deliveries. No more sex.” Her voice wobbled, dammit.

He narrowed his eyes and pushed a hand through his chin-length hair, gripping it at the back of his head. “What...what do you mean?”

She drew a deep breath and sat taller. “I saw you last night.”

He flinched, and his arm flopped to his side. Then he squared his shoulders and started toward her.

“No. Stay where you are.”
Get him out of there. Get him safe.
She hardened her eyes and her voice. “I said we're done.”

“How—” His eyes widened. “You left the house?”

Dammit, of course not. But he wasn't as perceptive as the prick in the closet. “I saw you with a girl at a bar on Sixth Street. I want you gone. Don't call. Don't come by. I'm taking my business elsewhere.”

“Hey, no. Just wait a second.” His eyes pleaded, and he swiped a hand over his face. “I can explain.”

When he started forward again, she held up a palm. “Don't come any closer.” Sweet God, the tension in the room made it impossible to breathe. “If you try to contact me, I'll file a restraining order.”
I'm saving your life.
“Now, leave.”

“Jesus, a restraining order? On what grounds?” His voice was thready, and his shoulders slumped. “Amber, she meant nothing. It was a mistake.”

“I'll tell them you raped me.” She cringed inwardly, her insides threatening to heave. “I still have your semen on my sheets. They'll believe me.” If Zach knew her at all, he'd call her out on her cleanliness. But he'd never paid attention to her neurosis, which was what she'd liked most about him. She rose and thrust a finger in the vicinity of the front door. “Get. The fuck. Out.”

His jaw clenched, and his blue eyes turned to glass, losing focus. He nodded a few times, staring at the floor. Then he smacked a hand against the door, knocking it into the wall. “Crazy bitch.” He turned and stomped down the hall. A moment later, the front door slammed.

The truck rumbled through the walls then faded into the distance. Gone. She was officially on her own. And her packages weren't mailed. She released a ragged breath, her eyes burning with tears she refused to shed. She sniffed and looked at the closet door. God help her. It would open any second now.

When he emerged, she met his eyes and spat out her words. “Convincing enough for you?”

“Watch your fucking tone.” He strode past her to the doorway and glared down the hall. “I should've killed him for calling you a bitch.”

Sudden warmth hit at the core of her. The sentiment touched a needy, vulnerable piece of her psyche she refused to examine. He confused her, and maybe that was part of his game. “So you can break into houses and threaten people's lives, but name calling is a crime?”

“Yes.” His pale gray eyes, so contemplative and unnervingly focused on her, made her feel more exposed than a dozen pageant walks before a hundred judges. He de-cocked the gun and tucked it in the waistband at his back. “You can run, but there's nowhere to go but
outside
. If you don't follow my orders, I'll restrain you...
outside
.”

She shook her head in denial and clutched her throat. What he suggested was the worst possible outcome, unless... “Are you going to cut me up in little pieces?”

A cold smile tipped his lips as he chuckled. Then his expression sobered. “Walk to the kitchen.”

Fucking psychopath. He stood right in the doorway, taking up the whole damned hall. At over six feet tall with a muscled body cut from stone, he could squash her without breaking a sweat. She didn't want to go near him. He was terrifying. But being forced outside was worse. She straightened her back and headed toward him.

As she slid by, his arm caught her waist and yanked her back against his chest. She slapped at his hand, bucking against him, and his arm clenched tighter. His erection jabbed against her backside, his breath hot at her ear. “Fighting and squirming only turns me on. Don't stop.”

She immediately stilled. God, he wasn't lying. His dick was undeniably more pronounced against her back. Feeling him like that, so close, so huge and hard, rushed heat between her legs and prickles over her skin. Why, oh why was she responding this way? She hated and wanted it, and mother of all fucks, she couldn't have been more completely and totally out of her mind.

She drew a ragged breath.
Think, think, think.
But his intention blatantly rubbed against her, scattering her thoughts. “You're going to rape me, aren't you?”

His torso moved up and down with his breath. “I thought you wanted to be fuck buddies. Don't make it weird.”

“What? Oh no. Nononononono. I'm not offering now!” Her voice shrilled, and her elbows rammed into his ribs. “This is me saying ‘No’.”

Restraining her with an arm around her chest, he pulled off a glove with his teeth and shoved his hand down the front of her jeans, beneath her panties. She gasped and tried to reach for the gun at his back. The glove dropped to the floor as he kept his back twisted away and the brace of his massive arm effectively immobilizing her movements.

The fingers in her jeans descended with strength and determination. They slid over her mound, between her lips, reaching, curling, and oh God, fucking her. He pressed his palm over her pussy, his fingers hooking inside her. The grip yanked her back, grinding her ass against his erection.

Her inner muscles pulsated around the invasion, clenching and shameless. She wanted to cry, knowing how wet she was, humiliated that he was swirling through the depraved evidence of her frail mind and touching her in a place she never wanted anyone to see.

“Please.” She squeezed her thighs together, tried to angle her hips away from his fingers. “Please, I don't want this.”

He thrust harder and twisted his fingers inside her. “Your cunt disagrees.” Without warning, he yanked his hand from her pants and shoved his fingers in her mouth, pressing down on her tongue and jaw. The tang of her arousal mixed with her saliva as he angled her jaw with his hand, forcing her cheek against his chest and shoving his face into hers.

Every human being had a cruel side, but as she looked into the blackness behind his eyes, she didn't see a facet of varying traits. She saw the entire man. He
was
cruelty incarnate.

He released her, and she stumbled. He reached out to catch her arm, but she jerked away, refusing to be dragged. He grabbed his glove from the floor, slid it on, and gestured toward the kitchen. “After you.”

His soft gait followed closely behind her. She tried to focus on a plan, a useful weapon, anything but the way her wanton body was reacting to the feel of him behind her, around her, dominating her space.

He stopped beside the kitchen sink and set the tablet on the counter. “Get me a glass of water.”

Apparently, breaking-and-entering, fucking with women, and being an all-round asshole made him thirsty. “The water is shut off.” She couldn't stop the flush of humiliation that crept up her neck.

The look of detachment on his face irritated her as much as it frightened her. “I bet you prepared for that. Open the fridge.”

Her molars crashed together as she stormed to the fridge and yanked out one of the four pitchers of water. When she finished pouring a glass, he tugged a baggie from his pocket and dumped the powdered contents into the water, stirring it with a gloved finger. “Drink.”

“No way.” She backed away from him with rasping breaths. “What is it?”

In the next heartbeat, he was on her, chest-to-chest, arms around her back, hauling her to the sliding door. He yanked the shades aside, and the blinding light of the backyard set her skin on fire and her heart into overdrive.

Her legs gave out, and she swung her head away from the horror of the open, inescapable space. If she went out there, it would be her ruination. She wouldn't be coherent, wouldn't be able to talk or scream without breath.

She clawed at his hands, to break his hold, to escape the door. Black bursts spotted her vision, and her heart slammed against her ribs. She panted for air and couldn't fill her lungs. Her eyes smeared with hot tears, blinding her. She fought harder, but his arms were everywhere, too tight, constricting and suffocating. Consciousness teased at the back of her mind as a blanket of warmth and aftershave swept in.

The slide of the drapes sounded, and the sunlight receded. Too late, she realized she was on the floor, curled in his lap, with her face buried in the crook of his arm.

She pushed against the hand cupping the back of her head as the rim of the glass touched her lips.

“We can do this all day.” He rolled the glass over her chin, sloshing cool water against her mouth. “Or you can drink and fall asleep gently.”

So he wanted to knock her out? Well, he could eat a dick. She sealed her lips together and turned her head. “Then what?”

“Then...we go for a ride.”

Van knelt on the bed beside Amber and drew a deep, calming breath. After three more stubborn confrontations with the sliding glass door, she'd worked herself into a sniveling, spasmodic conniption. And promptly fainted.

Shaking his head at the irony, he tied her limp arms to the headboard with the belts from her closet. Then he grabbed the drugged water from the side table.