He blinks again, but when I start to raise the gun in my hand, he whimpers and flinches. He quickly undoes his belt, shoving his jeans down his legs.
"Boxers too."
His face falls. "Dude-"
"Did I stutter?"
He swallows, eyeing the gun in my hand with a terrified look before he reached down and shucks his boxers down.
Jayson suddenly shrieks - this loud, gasping, high-pitched sound.
It's the sound a man makes when he feels the naked steel of a knife blade against his balls.
"Jayson, I need you to listen very closely to what I'm about to say." My voice is ice cold, my eyes burning right into the whimpering face of the fucker in front of me, shaking and sobbing with my switchblade pressed against his nuts.
"You're done in Boston. Is that understood?"
"But- but I live he-" he screams as I pull the blade tighter against his jewels, squeezing his eyes shut and looking like he's about to throw up.
"No, Jayson, you don't. Not anymore. And if you're still here in twelve hours, I will be back to cut these-" I tap the blade against him, making him sob.
"I'll be back to cut these from you and watch you swallow them. Am I clear?"
He's nodding his head before I can even finish the sentence. "Yes! Yes!"
"Wonderful." I whirl on Max, watching him shirk away from me, his eyes on the blade in my hand.
"It should go without saying that the same thing goes for you, shithead. Unless, of course, you want the full treatment too?"
Max shakes his head violently side to side. "N-n-no, man, I get you. I'm gone. I swear."
I slip the knife and the gun back into my belt and turn to Sierra, still lying there unconscious on the couch. I grab a blanket and cover her before I scoop her up into my arms and turn for the door. Jayson and Max shrink from me as I storm past them, back down the grimy hallway, and out the front door of their shitty apartment.
Chapter Fourteen
Connor
She starts to come to just as I'm getting back to my car. Her eyes blink open and shut slowly before they suddenly fly open. She jerks in my arms, clutching at my shirt with a death grip, and I quickly place a hand over her mouth before she can scream.
"Easy, easy," I mutter, bending down to lower her into the passenger seat. "You're okay." I make sure the blanket is around her and covering her before I gently close the door and step around to the driver's side.
She's freaking out in the car ride back to my place, her breath coming in fast, jerking hitches.
"Just breathe," I say quietly. I feel like I should put a comforting hand on her or something, but it's probably not the right time for that, and I'm probably the last person she needs doing that right now.
"Where-" she swallows, eyes brimming with tears as she glances around, before turning to me. "Did they-?"
"No."
I grip the steering wheel hard, pulling off the main road, driving through Dorchester and heading out through the old trucking roads to my building.
And if they had, I'd have taken their balls with me, I think to myself.
I'm telling myself the reason I went after her is for my own good. I tell myself that she might have talked, that she could lead the cops right to me, and by proxy, the Saints.
I tell myself it has to do with the Ukrainians - that they could find her, and through her, me.
But I also know all of that is bullshit.
I went out tonight for her.
I went after her tonight because I wanted her back. It's a strangely possessive feeling I'm not actually familiar with.
She's wordless the rest of the way back. Part of me wondered if she'd fight me, even given the circumstances I found her in. And I wonder at every damn stoplight if this is where she's going to make a run for it.
She doesn't.
In fact, she sits there quietly the whole way back, hands twisting in her lap and her eyes out the side window.
I glance at her as she shivers when we're in the elevator on the way back up to my loft. And again. I want to put my arm around her for some fucking reason and tell her it's okay, but I don't.
For one, because of who I am to her, and for two, because I have no idea how a thought like that even comes into my head.
I run a shower for her, and where before, I'd probably have handcuffed her to the towel rack or something to make sure she didn't make a break for it, I'm pretty sure she's not going to run again.
"Thank you," she mumbles. "Look, I'm sorry I, you know," She smiles wryly and looks at the ground between us. "Sorry I tased you."
"You also bashed me in the head."
She looks up, wincing. "I'm sorry, I just-"
"It's fine."
"Thanks for coming to get me," she says quietly. "Those guys, they-"
"They're not going to bother you again, trust me," I growl.
Why the fuck do I feel like this? Possessive, protective - close to her. Why the fuck do I feel like I want to destroy anything that touches her?
"That was your ex?"
"It's complicated."
"They always are."
She smiles quietly looking again at the floor, shaking her head.
"What?"
"Nothing, I just- I did some stuff I probably shouldn't because I was angry at the way he ended things."
I grin. "What, you keyed up his car or something? Sleep with his friends?" I chuckle. "C'mon, princess, whatever someone like you does to get back at someone, I have a hard time believing it's that ba-"
"I burned down his band's practice space with all their gear inside."
I blink, and I think my mouth hangs open a little because she's got a hint of a smile on those lips as she looks up at me with a shrug. "Still think you've got me all figured out?"
I laugh, shaking my head. "I guess I don't. I do think I'll be locking down the matches tonight though."
This time, she laughs, and when I turn to go grab her a towel, I can't help but smile.
Chapter Fifteen
Sierra
"You can put these on when you're done."
I'm clutching the terrycloth towel he's just given me in my hands as my eyes drop to the perfectly folded clothes he's holding out to - white undershirt and a pair of boxers.
"You want me to wear your clothes?"
"You're welcome to put your dirty ones back on."
He grins.
"You're also welcome to forge altogether, princess."
I bite my lip and look away to hide the grin as I take them from him.
"Thanks."
I place the clothes on the sink counter before I turn back, swallowing as I drag my eyes up to his.
God, he's built.
"Um, does the door have to stay open this time?"
My voice feels small.
Connor gives me a long look. "Depends. You going to run?"
"In your bathroom?"
"It's a five story drop out that window. How spry are you feeling?"
I smile quietly. "I think I'll just shower and save suicidal jumps for later."
"Then the door can stay shut." He nods brusquely. "I'll be in the kitchen."
He steps away from the bathroom door, and it's not until I shut it after him that I let the breath out I've been holding in a thin stream.
I strip quickly, hanging my clothes on a hook on the back of a door. I quickly wrap the towel around myself and look up to catch my reflection in the mirror.
I shiver, realizing I'm standing naked and wrapped in a towel about twenty feet from the man who kidnapped me. The man who shot people in front of me, dragged me here, and tied me to his bed.
… And the man who saved me from the nightmare tonight could have been. The man who says here is the safest place I can be right now. And somehow, I believe him.
Part of me realizes I should probably be more scared of him than I am, but there's something about him. Well, no, he does scare me, but it's more a feeling of adrenaline that shivers down my spine. I don't feel endangered around him, I just feel on edge - nervous anticipation, for what I'm not sure.
And he saved me.
He came for me.
It's a weird juxtaposition of kidnapper and hero.
I glance at the door, biting my lip and weighing the chances of him walking back in. Finally, I peel my towel off and hang it on the back of the door.
I gasp at the scalding hotness of the water, shying away from it and feeling it prickle my skin at first, but then quickly adjusting to it. It's insanely hot - hotter than I'd ever have it myself, but right now, it actually feels heavenly.
Slowly, I feel the soreness in my muscles relax as the water and the steam drapes over me, washing the madness and the fear of the past two days from my skin.
So, this is being a prisoner.
I glance around the lavish, masculine bathroom - the steaming hot water pouring from three different luxury massage-head sprayers, the silver fixtures, the gorgeous vanity counter.
Yeah, could be worse.
I could still be floundering drunk in my apartment, furious that my shitty boyfriend was obviously cheating on me and that I was too much of a pussy to do anything to confront him. I could still be ignoring the calls from my student advisor, the messages getting increasingly more frantic about the state of my grades.
I could be much worse at Jayson's place if Connor hadn't have come and pulled me out of there.
I shiver. No, instead, I'm quite safe, and quite oddly content here with him.
Once again, I think of him as that strange mix of kidnapper and hero.
It's a very conflicting feeling.
I reach for the shampoo, sudsing and then rinsing under the water before reaching for the soap. I lather my skin, wincing at the bruises and the cuts from the other night, from when he took me.