Wanderlust (15 page)

He released me, pulling
his erect cock from my mouth and curving his body around mine as if
to protect me, but from what?
From
him
, came the answer deep inside me. Tears
slipped down my cheeks—no longer mine. His.

“
Your story,” he said
hoarsely. “The book got it wrong.”

“
What?” My tongue was
heavy in my mouth, half-drugged on euphoria.

“
It’s an old Native
American legend but the explorers who came through changed it to
make the natives seem more barbaric.”

I tensed. He had known the story all
along? It made me wonder what else he’d kept quiet about. His
breath puffed against my neck where his face was buried.

Dread filled me. “So what really
happened?”

He murmured the words so rapidly. They
washed over me like rushing water.

“
She wasn’t running away
from being a sacrifice, she was going off to kill herself. That’s
the girl you identified with, that you saw as yourself. She was
going away to die.”

Pain clenched my heart. It didn’t
matter, some story that had been told and retold hundreds of years
ago. It had nothing to do with me and yet everything. She’d had the
courage to run away, and that had bolstered me to do the same on my
birthday weeks ago.

The truth was she’d given up. Whatever
had happened in her life had been too heavy, and she’d sought the
end over a waterfall. It made me wonder if I should have done the
same.

It made me wonder if I already
had.

How did he even know this story? He’d
claimed not to. Or had he? I asked if he knew it, and he’d asked
why he would.

Not a denial.

He presented himself as a crude, cold
trucker, and it wasn’t that hard to believe. But sometimes, a
certain light would shine in his eyes, something intelligent and
burning bright, and I was convinced he was faking it. There was
nothing to say a trucker couldn’t also be cunning, but in those
moments, I became convinced that he was dumbing himself down to
play the part.

The bigger question was why. Why did
he feel the need to live this life, to be this man? What invisible
shackles were on his wrists and ankles?

I swallowed. “The rest of the story
was the same?”

“
Almost. There are some
variations on the love story, but in every Native American version,
the girl returns to her people. She conveys the message of the god,
and so her people are saved.”

Hot tears sprang to my eyes. “And the
god is alone.”

His arms tightened around
me.

“
Yes.”

I couldn’t breathe within his embrace,
but I wanted it anyway. Too hot, too sweaty, but I wanted his heat.
I was a caterpillar, my many limbs held tight to my body, wrapped
up in a cocoon. He paved the way, eased me from a small and ugly
life to a beautiful one. The transition had been painful at times,
but never more than it would be to leave him. But that was the path
of a butterfly—to fly away from the one who had made
her.

CHAPTER
TWELVE

Only three people are known
to have lived going over the falls without a safety
device.

After a time, Hunter moved off me. I
woke staring up at the knotted oak ceiling of the basement. Anger
welled up in me, making my breath come shorter. Hunter sat on the
edge of the bed, elbows on his knees, head hanging low.

“
You bastard,” I said,
breathing hard.

I hit him, right there, the back of my
hand against the hard muscle of his arm, and again—my hands
clenched in fists, pummeling the impenetrable shield of his
body.

He let me.

He never moved to defend himself,
barely moved at all except on impact from each small blow. I let
loose my rage, expecting a storm and found only a light rain. I
fell still, my breath heaving as I knelt on the bed.

“
You’re angry.”

My laugh was caustic. “Damn right, I’m
angry. You could have killed me.”

“
I wouldn’t
have.”

“
Just like you wouldn’t
hurt your friends, you wouldn’t ever hurt a woman,” I said
sarcastically. “You’re so fucking full of virtue that I can’t even
breathe.”

I stared at the golden skin of his
back, his arms—completely unblemished. He wasn’t hurt by my blows,
but maybe my words could wield more damage.

“
Who hurt you?”

His shoulders tensed.

“
Who bent you over and
fucked you in the ass?”

“
You shouldn’t talk like
that.” His voice was deceptively mild.

“
Oh, you don’t like it
when I use bad words, is that it? You like me innocent and
compliant, right? Is that how you were when someone shoved
their…their
cock
in your asshole? Did it hurt?”

“
Yeah.”

I blinked, surprised he had answered
me. “How did he do it?”

“
They. How did they get
the jump on me and hold me down? That’s what you want to
know?”

No, not really. It sounded horrible,
even if I had cause to hate him. I would never wish that on anyone,
not even Hunter. Especially Hunter.

“
How?” I whispered, some
demon inside me, some spirit who knew he needed to tell
me.

He shrugged slightly, a lift of one
muscular shoulder. “It’s not that hard when a man isn’t expecting
it, when he’s caught unaware and alone. When there’s no one to help
him. They were experienced, and I wasn’t as tough then. I didn’t
need to be.”

A deep breath. “Did no one hear
you?”

He looked back, his gaze hard. “I
didn’t scream, Evie. I prayed.”

I closed my eyes against the turmoil
in his gaze but that only gave canvas to the horrible picture of
his words. Hunter on his knees, Hunter held down, Hunter
praying…for help, for mercy? It didn’t matter. It made me want to
throw up.

“
Besides,” he said as
casually as if he were speaking about the weather. “It isn’t
muscles that make you strong. It’s how much you want it. Those guys
at the diner? I won that fight because they didn’t want it as badly
as I did. They didn’t want
you
as bad as I do.”

“
Why?” I asked evenly. “Am
I some sort of revenge against the world? Or we’re all animals so
who cares anyway?”

“
Doesn’t matter how it
started. I’m not letting you go.”

“
But you said…in the
kitchen…not much longer. You said so.”

He paused, at war with himself. “You
want this as much as I do.”

My breath left me for a
minute.

“
You’re delusional,” I
forced out. “You’re telling yourself that so you feel better about
what you’re doing.”

“
Who the hell else are you
going to let touch you now?” he burst out. “Even before I got to
you, you were so damn tied up in knots that I can’t believe you
actually drove all the way out there. Now I’ve…”

Broken me.
I remembered his question from earlier. Did I
trust him not to break me? But he believed he already had. He
believed I would never fight back, and maybe he was right to think
so. Even if I’d had a good reason not to fight in the beginning,
when I’d thought he might truly hurt me, why not now?

Strangely, I realized that he wouldn’t
really harm me. He’d physically restrain me from getting away, but
he wouldn’t kill me for trying. So what was stopping me? Unless I
really did like this. Not fighting had become a choice now. If he’d
ever stolen my free will, it had surfaced completely now. If I
wanted to get away from him, I could.

How much did I want my
freedom?

Enough to fight a man I’d come to care
about? Enough to break my promise to him not to flee in exchange
for the places he showed me? As wonderful as these weeks had been,
I was still his prisoner. I’d been given toys for my cage, been
taken on walks to sniff around, but in the end I was put away at
night on the mattress in his truck where he used me for his
pleasure—and for mine.

Carefully, I scooted down in the bed
and rolled over, pulling the sheet up over me. After a minute, I
felt the bedsprings shift.

“
That’s it?” he said, and
I knew I’d surprised him.

It wasn’t hard to sound tired. “We can
talk about it tomorrow.”

He chuckled softly. “Are you shutting
me out like we’re an old married couple? Should I go sleep on the
couch?”

I ignored him, snuggling deeper
against the pillow and tugging the sheet up to my chin.

He muttered something I couldn’t
understand. The bed dipped, and then I heard his steady footfalls
creaking the wood across the floor. He reached the small bathroom
where he’d grabbed me earlier—and gone down on me.

The door closed.

A squeak and shudder as the shower
turned on.

He’d already taken a shower—we both
had—but he’d seemed agitated. Just like he had at the diner when
he’d left me inside. His past was his vulnerability, an Achilles
heel on a body otherwise flush with armor. Even thinking about it,
talking about it, made him need to be alone. He left me
alone.

Last time I had made a run for it and
it hadn’t worked out, because the people were too afraid of Hunter
and whatever retribution he might hold for them. Would James and
Laura be scared of him too? No, they seemed completely unafraid,
but that was because they didn’t know what he’d done to me—what he
was truly capable of. They had more to lose, considering
Billy.

I didn’t believe
Hunter
would
take
retribution on Billy or any of them. But it was a gamble and for
once, the stakes weren’t only my life.

It isn’t muscles that make
you strong. It’s how much you want it.

I threw back the sheet and stood,
glancing wildly around the room for something to knock him out…or
lock him in. A couple of wooden dining room chairs were piled in
the corner of the room. Out of place in a bedroom but most likely
kept in the basement for storage. I hooked one under the doorknob,
hoping he didn’t hear the thump over the water, praying it would
hold.

The shower kept running, so I tugged
my dress over my head, covering my panties and tank top. My
heartbeat thudded in my ears. Like before, there was a moment of
doubt: was I doing the right thing? Maybe I could have reasoned
with him. But like before, it was too late. I had crossed the
Rubicon. I was committed.

I climbed the stairs and emerged in
the darkened hallway. I crept into the living room, scanning the
side tables for a phone to call the police. Nothing. Creeping along
the walls, I moved toward the kitchen. Walking through the darkened
doorway, I ran into a warm chest. My scream came out
muffled.

“
Hunter?” I
breathed.

“
Evie?” It was James. “Are
you okay?”

“
Oh God,” I groaned,
slumped back against the wall. The kitchen light flickered on,
blinding me for a moment.

James stood there in his robe, holding
a glass of water. “Are you okay?” he repeated. “I didn’t mean to
scare you.”

I would have to tell James. I had
hoped to avoid this part, even though they would certainly have
found out when sirens pulled up outside their house. Maybe it was
better to give him a warning. Was there etiquette for escaping from
a kidnapper inside someone else’s house?

My mouth opened, mute against painful,
confusing words about a man I’d come to care about. God, it was
true. I did care about Hunter. There were very few people in this
world who had ever bothered about me, and between him and my
mother, he was preferable.

Pitiful.

“
I—I’ve been
k-k-kidnapped,” I said.

He stared at me. “What?”

“
I’ve been k-kidnapped.
B-by Hunter.” Deep breath. “He kidnapped me two weeks ago and has
been k-k-keeping me in his truck with him. I need to c-c-call the
police.”

He stared at me intently and then ran
a hand through his hair, making it stand up at odd angles and
adding a comical edge to the situation. Or maybe that was just my
hysteria.

“
Please tell me you’re
sleeping,” he finally said. “This is some sort of waking dream
or…something. I don’t know. Jesus.”

A tear fell down my cheek. “P-p-please
help me.”

“
Okay,” he said. “Just
calm down a minute. We’ll sort this out. Where’s Hunter right
now?”

“
No, you c-c-can’t talk to
him.” Panic bubbled up, not just for me but for James. I didn’t
really believe that Hunter would hurt these people, but I didn’t
want to throw the dice if I could help it. I tried to reason with
him. “P-p-please, let’s just c-call them. I swear I’m t-telling the
truth, and if I’m not, they’ll figure it out anyway.
Please.”

He stared at me, sorrow creeping over
the bewilderment in his eyes. “You’re serious.”