Chapter Three

CHAPTER THREE

Delilah

Ihave now voluntarily climbed into a shitty white van with blacked-out windows, in case you’re wondering how my night is going. Before we left the house, I could have sworn Raider showed a softer side, but I must have gotten a contact high from whatever my brother has been smoking, because he’s back to resembling a deranged psycho killer, driving the chugging van like a bat out of hell.

Or a bat into hell, as the case may be.

After strapping me into the passenger seat with all the ceremony of tossing away an apple core—and a series of grunts—we’re now hurtling down the avenue leading out of town. I have no idea where we’re going, but common sense tells me it’s not the Ritz-Carlton. Or maybe it’s the mattress in the back that tipped me off.

Yeah, on second thought, it was probably the mattress.

“So.” Noticing my fingers are a bloodless white from gripping the seatbelt so tightly, I force myself to let go. “Nice ride.”

A grating grumble. “Borrowed the van temporarily. We’re picking up my 69 Pontiac GTO tomorrow. She’s been parked at a garage up north.”

I lift an eyebrow at him referring to his Pontiac as a female, but he doesn’t elaborate. “Did you make any friends in prison?”

He shoots me a dark look. “You some kind of a comedian?”

“No, I was being serious.” Sort of. “I watch Lockup. You have to affiliate yourself with a group for protection, right?”

His snort is like a bomb detonating. “Do I look like I need protection, doll?”

“Do you answer every question with a question?”

Frustration lines his damaged face, seeming to deepen his scars as he cuts me another side glance. “Listen, are you scared of me or not?”

“There you go again.”

He’s not amused. Well, fine. Neither am I. I’m sure he walked into my house, took one look around at all the swank equipment and decided I was a spoiled princess. I’m not. My brother has a good heart, but he’s a world-class jackass when he sets his mind to it. It doesn’t help that he courts women and friends who like shiny things. When our mother died—Dad hadn’t been in the picture for years—Roger turned to crime, like a lot of young men in our part of town. Money was good in the beginning, but his spending habits, not to mention him being on law enforcement’s radar, meant the cash dwindled fast.

As soon as I was old enough, I got a job at the yogurt shop and started paying half the mortgage, while keeping my grades above average in school. I’ve busted my butt to make up for Roger’s shortcomings, and now here I am, paying for them once again. This son of a Cyclops is kidnapping me, intending to use my body as a placeholder for the money he’s owed…and he’s bent out of shape?

In the words of my ancestors: fuck that.

“Yeah. I am scared of you.” Death must seem like a viable option for me at this point, because I reach over and poke him in his rock-hard side. “Does that make you feel like a big man? Scaring an innocent girl who’s done nothing to you?”

His cheekbones…darken? No way. My eyes must be playing tricks on me. “I don’t have a choice when it comes to scaring people. I just do. All I have to do is walk into a room, like I did tonight.”

“You kicked the door down!”

“It was standing between me and you.” I start to respond to that growly, confusing statement, but he rushes to correct himself. “Between me and your brother, I mean. The money he was supposed to hold on to for me.”

Something about the tight set of his lips makes me suspicious, but I let it go. “Still think you should pay for the damage to the door,” I mumble, crossing my arms.

“Fine.” His voice softens. “Roger can take the repair cost out of my money.”

“Wait. Really?” Victory tingles along my spine, but it’s short-lived. “Are you just pretending to be reasonable because you don’t believe Roger can come up with the money?”

“Yes.”

“That was very mean-spirited to get my hopes up like that.” I ignore the pressure behind my eyes. “And my brother is going to find the cash. You’ll see.”

Oddly, Raider doesn’t seem to like that possibility, which makes no sense. Isn’t the whole point of this felony kidnapping to line his pockets? Maybe that murderous scowl is just his version of resting bitch face.

My musings are cut short when Raider takes a sharp right, burning rubber as we pull onto a block I recognize as somewhere my brother has repeatedly warned me against venturing into alone. We live in a poor part of town. But this section is downright dangerous. The streets are empty except for blowing garbage, dumped furniture and appliances people didn’t want anymore.

The dumped bodies are probably better hidden.

Am I about to become one of them?

“W-what are we doing here?” Discreetly as possible, I unlatch my seatbelt and prepare to make a run for it as soon as the van stops moving. Thank God I’m still wearing my sensible work sneakers. “Were you lying when you said Roger could have two days’ grace?”

He starts to answer, but snaps his mouth shut. Confirmation that he lied?

I grip the door handle. “Look, I’m really sorry I poked you, but…” We turn into a dark alley behind an abandoned building, and the vehicle jerks to a stop. “Please. You don’t need to do this.”

“Yes I do. Need.” Raider reaches out, tracing the curve of my breast with a fingertip. An unwanted tightening starts between my thighs, but I don’t stop to examine how I could be attracted to my murderer. Hell no. Fast as possible, I shove open the passenger door and dive out of the van, trapping a scream in my throat when Raider’s bellow of anger ricochets off the alley walls. “Delilah!”

If I were in any other neighborhood, I would run my ass into the nearest store and beg for help, but attracting attention from anyone in this neighborhood isn’t wise. Getting out first, finding a place to hide second, is the plan. Followed by the close third of figuring out how to keep my brother alive, too, now that I’ve made the decision to run.

My feet pound on the pavement, my hoarse, fearful inhales rattling in my ears. It’s dark outside, and barely any of the street lamps are lit—and the working ones are flickering. In the distance, there’s a low hum of music and shouting. Dogs barking. Televisions blaring.

A man steps out of a car to my right, a cigarette dangling from his mouth. “Hey, sweetie. Need a ride?”

I sprint faster.

The man curses, tossing his smoke away in a flaming arc, and gives chase.

Shit, shit, shit.The streets are unfamiliar and winding. Every turn I take seems to lead somewhere worse and more deserted. The man is gaining on me, laughing, hooting. Why didn’t I grab my backpack before running? My cell phone was in the front pocket, dammit.

An arm snags me around the waist and I’m pulled into a stairwell, just off the sidewalk. It’s deep, and the man crowds me into the cold metal, his face still hidden by shadows. Sour breath smacks me in the face, his hands going right for the zipper of my jeans, prompting me to lift my knee and connect with his balls. But my resistance only seems to excite him.

His head twists sideways, his eyes go blank and he falls to the ground.

Behind him stands a furious Raider, behemoth fists shaking at his sides, nostrils flared, chest rioting with labored breaths. Lord, he’s so massive, his body blocks out the whole night sky, and every sinewy inch of him is rippling with anger…and hurt?

Before I can examine further, I’m picked up and thrown over his wide right shoulder, which could comfortably fit three of me. Defeat makes me go limp, my eyes gritty with disappointment.

“Why? Why did you run from me?” His gritted question sends a sob rising from my chest and releasing hard, seeming to make Raider’s gait falter. “Are you hurt?”

“No. But you should see the other guy.” Dangling upside down, I pinkie wave at the corpse slumped in the stairwell. “Can you make my death swift like his, please? I don’t want to see it coming, either.”

His snarl rings in my ears. “We’re back to thinking I’m going to kill you?”

“Why else would you bring me here?”

Darkness swallows us and we stop abruptly. The world tilts once again and my feet find hard earth, twirling my equilibrium like a tossed baton. There’s an urge to feint right, then left and take off again, hoping my second attempt will be successful and won’t end in capital murder, but for some reason I hold back.

As Raider unlocks the back of his van and throws open the doors, I once again glimpse the hurt I thought I imagined earlier. It’s in the slump of his shoulders, the wounded bear expression. He seemed genuinely worried that I might have been hurt. If he plans to off me, would he even care?

Raider jerks his head toward the back of his van. “Get in.”

Swallowing hard, I peer inside at the mattress, which I didn’t get a great look at before. It’s unexpectedly…clean. Dark blue sheets have been tucked over the corners, but they’re too small, so I can see the mattress beneath is pristine white. As if it was only purchased recently. Weird.

“But…you set this up before coming to my house?”

“No more questions,” he rasps, lifting me by the waist and tossing me onto the mattress. I bounce once, then scamper back as far as I can go, pressing against the cold leather back of the driver’s seat. My eyes are probably the size of dinner plates as Raider climbs into the van, dipping the groaning vehicle with his considerable weight. “Get those boy clothes off your little girl body now.”

The double doors slam, making me jump. Raider’s mass inhabits the entire van, dominating every molecule of space. There’s a tiny sliver of flickering street light filtering into the van around the edges of black paint covering the windows. It illuminates the damaged planes of his face, wild green eyes alive with starvation. His pants are tented, his mile-wide chest fighting for breath…

An image hits me of Raider in my living room. Before he took me. The way the hostility seeped out of his body when I touched him. You tamed the beast, my brother said. Added to the hurt he keeps forgetting to hide from me, I’m starting to wonder if this man is just scaring me…because he doesn’t know any other way.

What do I have to lose by testing my theory? Nothing.

Holding his gaze, I unzip my hoodie and push it off my shoulders. The tank top beneath is tight and low, something I usually only wear alone in my room. When the streetlight flickers and he glimpses my admittedly small but high breasts, his growl is so loud, I reach up and cover my ears until he’s finished. By the time my pants come off and I’m left in nothing but a tank top—no bra—and a powder-blue thong, Raider is seething with explosive energy. Violent, masculine need. Any second now, I’m going to be thrown down and devirginized, so I take a deep breath for courage and walk across the mattress on my knees toward the giant.

I lift my hands, letting them hover above his suddenly still chest a moment before planting them there. Still, he doesn’t breathe or bat an eyelash. Carefully, I trace my touch up to his rough, scarred, unshaven face…and with a gruff, desperate sound, he turns into my touch, inhaling and exhaling rapidly. As I watch in awe, he nuzzles me, malice leaching from his expression in degrees.

“There now,” I murmur, stroking his cheeks, his scalp. “You’re not so mean, are you?”