Cuffed Page 15

  That left Rhys, Jenner, and Arah. Her heart leaned toward Rhys, but he wasn’t a morning person, and a glance at the clock confirmed it was four in the morning. That took Jenner out of the mix, too. He loved the dawn as much as his twin hated it, to the degree that he’d chosen a life as a fishing-fleet captain. He was probably prepping his first nets out on the Sound right now.

  Arah won by process of elimination, as he usually did. Rayna almost smiled as she punched in the number for the brother who was separated from her by eighteen months. She wondered what part of the world in which she’d find her guitar god of a brother today.

  He clicked the line open after one ring. “Rayna!”

  That answered her question about whether her siblings had been contacted about all this yet. Stress drenched the voice of her normally laid-back sibling, who spent most of his time writing songs about peace, love, and chakras.

  “Okay…wow.” She tried a teasing tone. “Were you sitting on top of the phone or something?”

  “Where are you? What’s he done to you? Did you escape?”

  She laughed. She couldn’t help it. “Escape? Arah, listen; I’m fine. The shit they’re reporting—”

  “I’m on my way to Seattle now. I’m in San Francisco on a fucking layover, but that gives Ava the chance to catch up with me and—”

  “Ava?” Her astonishment punched both syllables. “Damn it, not cool. Why did you guys bother her? She can’t miss a day on the set. Bella Lanza is the most demanding diva on TV right now—”

  “Who’s recovering from a nose job in Malibu, so chill. Ava’s her stylist, not her assistant, so Bella’s ordered her away until the swelling goes down. As far as the ‘not cool’ and the ‘bothering her’ part, pull your claws back. The news affiliates in LA have already picked up the story. Thanks to your sergeant being a total chunk of man candy, there’s a good chance the trashy entertainment peeps will carry it soon, too.”

  At first, she only groaned from the taffy-tough twist in her stomach. She hated taffy. “He’s not a ‘piece’ of anything,” she muttered, though every taste bud in her mouth watered as she caught Zeke’s curious frown. And he sure as hell isn’t mine. “And he knows what he’s doing, okay? You guys have to stay out of this. I mean it.” When her brother’s anxious silence stretched more than five seconds, she persisted, “Arah…”

  He pushed out a hard grunt. “Fine. Trev and Dallas are already working with the police, all right?”

  “No!” She yelled it before she could think about it. Since Zeke actually grinned at her with pride, she tore back in with a growl. “Not all right! Arah, you can’t trust them. None of you can. A lot of them are in the back pocket of a shithead criminal named Mua. He’s trying to capture and sell me again, Arah. Please, you need to listen to me!”

  There was a pause that gave her hope, though she could practically taste her brother’s incredulity through the phone. Hell. If she was Arah, she wouldn’t believe what she was hearing, either. Police officials in collusion with criminal masterminds? People out to kidnap her, to sell her into slavery? It sounded like a TV show instead of her life. She prayed Arah would heed the desperation in her voice.

  Finally, her brother asked slowly, “What are you saying, Ray?”

  Thank God. “It’s all lies,” she told him. “The scene they’re showing in that feed…it’s not the truth. Zeke was saving me from those two men, not the other way around. They work for the twin of the bastard who imprisoned Sage and me in Thailand. He should be in prison, and according to all the records, he is, but he’s not. I saw him with my own eyes just four hours ago.”

  “So why don’t you go on TV yourself and say that?”

  “Remember the part where I said he was still after me?”

  “But why?”

  “I can’t tell you that.”

  And that wasn’t a lie. So many details from their Thailand rescue had been tagged as classified by the CIA that it was easier to tell her brothers only the surface details of it all. And the follow-up nightmare in that Medina mansion, which had ended up with her shooting King, hadn’t even happened according to the army, the police, and most of the feds.

  “Arah,” she pleaded after her brother’s vexed snort, “you have to trust me on this. And you have to tell everyone else that, too. I’m completely safe. Zeke is hiding me, not abducting me.”

  Her brother let a tense pause go by. She could hear the airport behind him with its paging system, rolling suitcases, and beeping courtesy carts. It was all so normal, yet it sounded surreal and distant from the high-wire act that her life had become—again.

  “If you want me to trust you, Ray, then tell me where you are.”

  She grimaced. Z noticed and took her free hand. His firm, unflinching strength suffused her. “I can’t do that either.”

  “Why the fuck not?”

  “Jeez, Hamilton.” Yeah, it was time to go for the undercut of the middle name. “Is douchebag fusion the new musical trend right now?”

  “You didn’t answer my question.”

  She swallowed and squeezed Z’s fingers harder. “Because there’s a better than half chance he’s listening to us even now, Arah.”

  “Rayna, for the love of—”

  “I’ve already been on too long.” Z’s darkening frown told her that much. “I can’t run the risk of him tracking this signal, okay?”

  “Rayna!”

  “I love you.”

  She ended the call, shutting the real world off once again.

  For a long moment, neither she nor Zeke said a thing. The room began to warm. She wasn’t sure if it was the heating ducts, the Scotch, or the proximity of the man who once again had transported her to a place of refuge and safety. She needed to thank him. She yearned to hold him. Instead, she jabbed a toe at the carpet and muttered, “So what now?”

  Z let his hand slip from hers. She told herself that she was imagining his reluctance about the move. “I’ll get the first-aid shit out. You can go to town on my neck, candy striper. Sound good?”

  Despite her exhaustion, his indulgent tone made her feel safe enough to giggle. Maybe they actually could work their way back to being friends again…

  “Yeah,” she murmured. “That sounds real good. Thank you.”

  His mien stiffened a little. “But right after that, you get into the shower—or a bath if you prefer. While you’re cleaning up, I need to call Hawk and Captain Franzen. I’ll get the run on how they’re tracking Mua and make sure both of us are pulled off AWOL status for as long as possible.”

  “Damn. I’d forgotten about that not-so-little slice of red tape.”

  One side of his mouth quirked. “It helps to have kidnappers in high places, honey.”

  She shot him another laugh. Zeke, clearly pleased with himself for inciting it, sauntered toward the stairs. She gave herself the privilege of watching him for a second. Sweet shitloads of sexy, the man was captivating. His leather club pants moved with his Sequoia tree legs like a second skin. His biceps and pecs fought the constraints of Max’s T-shirt. Nothing in any of his movements betrayed that he had a three-inch gash in his back, let alone hadn’t slept in over twenty hours.

  And all she wanted to do, even in her own sleep-deprived state, was get her hands all over him again.

  Not a good plan, Ray. Not at all. She fished through the fuzziness in her head to get back the words he’d issued in the car, after that toe-curling kiss they’d shared. Shouldn’t have happened. And it won’t happen again. So the man was beautiful and smart, especially about this. No matter how perfectly their bodies fit, they simply weren’t going to snap right when it came to the same sexual “Like” button.

  She prodded her brain to agree. Shoved at the damn thing. Submissiveness? On a regular basis? Her? Right. And tofu was a great side dish for steak.

  Tonight, she’d seen in glorious, living color exactly what that term meant. She closed her eyes and willed herself to pull up the images. She recalled what Luna looked like w
hen Tait brought her in after the session with Z. The marks on the woman’s back…the limp languor of her body…the sparse rasps off her lips…

  She blinked, and all those memories vanished like magic act doves—all but the most disconcerting one. The expression that had blanketed Luna’s face. The peace in it. The adoration in it. The connection in it, reflected in Z’s own face as he’d knelt to her…

  “Rayna?”

  She blinked and looked up. He’d stopped on the landing halfway up to the second floor. His features didn’t hold a shred of that intense stare he’d exchanged with Luna. He’d even dropped the smirk of five minutes ago. Now he regarded her only with friendly, even pragmatic, expectation.

  Ugh.

  “Huh?”

  “First-aid kit’s up here.”

  “Uh…okay.”

  She followed him up the stairs. At the top, there was a large area that was just as comfortable as the ground floor. One side was lined by the balcony-style overlook into the living room. Tucked into the far corner was a window seat with plush pillows and a chenille lap blanket. But occupying most of the eye’s attention was the entrance that beckoned into the bedroom. Correction—the straight-out-of-her-wildest-dreams bedroom.

  There was no way any person, let alone a linens lover like her, could avoid gaping at the bed. Its Mission-style headboard was balanced by a dozen huge pillows in butter and honey tones. They were stacked horizontally down the center of a puff comforter that looked soft as fawn skin and colored the same rich hue. The room’s drapes matched it, as did the cushions on a semicircle-shaped couch that was positioned in front of the stacked-stone fireplace. A flat-screen TV took up the space over the mantel.

  “Holy…wow.”

  Zeke walked ahead of her into the room. “At the risk of redundancy, good wow or bad wow?”

  She glared in irritation that wasn’t entirely a joke. When he tossed a snicker back at her, she stomped over and punched the meat of his shoulder.

  “Hey!” His expression became a glower. “What the hell?”

  “You had that coming,” she accused. “And stop looking at me like that. I didn’t even knick you.”

  His response seemed a humorous move at first, too. As he backed her up against the wall, Rayna let out more giggles—until he actually had her pinned there. One direct hit from his focused copper gaze, and her laughter petered out.

  “You only think that because I hide the knicks well.” Though they were likely the only human life for miles, he said it at a volume solely for her ears. “But I have them, Ray-bird.”

  “I know.” Her trembling whisper blended with the damp musk of the rain in his hair, on his skin, dripping down his leathers. “Believe me, I know.” With her stare still locked in his, she scooped one hand around the side of his neck. “Zeke, there’s really something that I have to—”

  “Shower,” he cut in.

  She blinked. “Huh?”

  His intimate murmur was gone. So was the crack, however infinitesimal, that he’d opened into the core of himself…only for her. Not the easygoing soldier-on-leave self she normally saw, or even the dungeon-leather-and-chains-Dom self of earlier tonight. For a few seconds, she’d beheld the guts and heart of the man who lived far beneath all that. The man who’d once been a teen, gazing at her with those intense eyes on a stormy afternoon in a park tunnel.

  Did he remember, too? And if so, why did he keep shutting her off like this?

  “Huh?” she repeated in an even dumber blurt.

  “My neck can wait,” he declared, “but you’re shivering like a can of pop that’s been used for soccer practice.” He looked down at her soaked, dirty clothes. “And all this is getting washed. Twice.” His brow knitted tight. “Shit. Now there’s a cluster of what-to-do, huh?”

  “A…cluster? Of…what?” She sounded idiotic. Confusion and exhaustion were making her brain a puddle. She swayed on her feet during the minute he took to fish through the drawers of the dresser next to the bed. Nothing was any clearer when he turned back with a long-sleeved flannel shirt that had red-and-yellow parrots printed all over it. They were depicted in flight across fields of bright-turquoise flowers. She almost let out a manic snicker. It was hideous.

  “This’ll keep you warm. It’s one of my favorites. The socks are great, too. They’re designed for high-mountain hiking, but I’ve broken them in. Really soft.”

  She held the shirt up. It was going to fit her like a tent on a sapling. “This is yours.”

  He flashed her a visual duh. “Were you expecting something different?”

  “Maybe,” she answered, then amended, “Probably.” When his duh twisted into a what-the-hell, she explained, “C’mon, Z. You don’t have a stitch of anything that other…ermm…houseguests might’ve left behind?”

  As understanding entered his features, so did a soft smile. Hell, she loved getting that look from him. It lit up everything, including his eyes, and made her feel like she was the only one who put it there.

  “If you’re referring to Garrett, then I’m afraid none of his threads will fit you much better.” He fingered some stray tendrils off her forehead. “He’s the only ‘houseguest’ I’ve had besides you.”

  She blamed her fatigue for how her whole body reacted to that little brush of his fingertips. Still, she managed to quip, “Your mask is slipping, Darth Vader. Better come clean now.”

  “And your ass is begging for a good blush for that, little bird.”

  The rain suddenly stopped. Maybe it was just as stunned as she was—though Rayna wondered if the astonishment on her face came close to the wonderment on Zeke’s. No, she was pretty certain her bewilderment outweighed his, for in that moment, three insane realizations hit her.

  She’d loved what he growled at her.

  She’d loved how it stopped her breath.

  She was terrified at the image it burst in her mind. Because she loved that the most of all.

  Her ass beneath his hand. Her naked flesh, blooming for his touch. Her screams feeding his soul.

  “Yeah. Maybe I’d better get in the shower.”

  He reacted to her rasp with a clipped nod. His gaze had gone dark as burnt copper. His bottom lip was shoved against its mate, and his jaw was a hard square. “Damn good idea.”

  He left the bedroom before she could say anything else, disappearing down the stairs. He pounded the steps so hard, the decorative reeds in the urn at the top rattled each other. Rayna glared at them.

  “Hey, kids,” she grumbled. “Looks like the word of the day is going to be awkward.”

  * * *

  Things went from bad to worse after she got out of the shower. She headed downstairs to find Zeke throwing a couple of blankets and a pillow across the sleeper bed into which the living room couch converted. When she’d thanked him and gratefully sank onto the mattress, sleep encroaching fast now that she was warm, he’d given her a string of snarled “Nos” before snatching her up, blanket and all, and carrying her back upstairs. She’d gotten out no more than three words of protest before he’d cut her off with a sharp, “Good night, Rayna.”

  As he’d shut the door on her, she’d fumed, punched a pillow, and muttered, “Next time, just cut to the chase and tell me to fuck off, Hayes.”

  Before sleep torpedoed the rest of her consciousness, she promised herself a good long meditation session tomorrow—or, more correctly, later on today. She needed to lob a shitload of mental detangler on this mess called Zeke Hayes. The fact that he was now her roommate for a few days only hastened the urgency, especially the not-so-little part about thinking of his hand on her backside—or any other part of her body. He’d made all of that clear, hadn’t he? His kinky world wasn’t hers to tread on. She needed to stay in her own box with him. It was probably better that way for them both.

  On that thought, she passed out.

  That was when, even from hundreds of miles away, Mua got to her again.

  In the dream, she was walking through thick midnight mist
again. But this time, she wasn’t in the city. Her surroundings looked like a canyon, stark and steep, the high walls making each of her steps resonate in frightening emptiness. Mua materialized from the gloom just as he had before, with Round Face and Chain Man by his sides. Rayna backed away but was stopped from behind by arms that curled around her neck and waist with greasy surety. A camera floated in the air in front of them. A tongue slid along the curve of her ear before a seedy voice commanded, “Smile, little bitch.”

  King.

  Her legs buckled. Her lungs seized. Her heart stopped. Her mind turned to paralyzed ice.

  No. No. No!

  One simple syllable. Say it. Scream it. But she couldn’t. She…couldn’t. Her throat was glued shut, strangled by terror. Her mouth struggled to move, to simply process air. What air? She couldn’t breathe. She couldn’t move. He was going to get her. He was going to sell her. He was going to make her disappear forever.

  “Noooo!”

  Her scream burned in her throat and rang in her ears as she shot straight up in bed.

  She reached for the glass of water on her nightstand. It wasn’t there. That wasn’t even her nightstand. She whacked her hand back to her heaving chest and peered around. Where the hell was she? Everything was still dark and murky. Clouds roiled past a glass window, dumping rain in deafening sheets.

  She cried out in confusion and kicked at the covers. There were so many of them, so heavy and thick. Lightning flash bombed the room. Thunder bellowed. She shrieked in full again, her senses caught in the ether between nightmare and sentience.

  A set of arms formed from the shadows. Terrifyingly strong, just like King’s. They grabbed her shoulders. She screamed and twisted free. “No!” The force of her voice gave her strength, yanking her back toward reality. “No, damn you!”

  “Rayna.”

  The voice was gentle and firm—and achingly familiar. She stilled for a second. Major mistake. In that second, her wrists were captured in dual iron grips and then pinned to either side of her head. She flailed and kicked, but her quads were subjugated by a log-sized thigh.