Prisoner Mine (6 page)

Greer’s pounding heart stilled.

“It’d be a shame to waste all my hard work.”

If she’d had the strength to throw the large bar of lavender soap at his head she’d have given it her all. Her tongue lay like a dead fish in her mouth. Not that it mattered. Her brain couldn’t conjure a comeback to save a saint.

Zach closed the door with a quiet click of the latch.

“Asshole.” Greer buried her face in her hands, not knowing who she called asshole-him, or herself for wanting his admiration.

T
he bathing process
had been a hell of a lot easier when she’d been unconscious. Less pushback. Way less…temptation. Jesus H. Christ. Out cold she hadn’t reacted to his assistance.

Great, now he lied to himself. Sure she’d made tiny mindless noises of pain the first day and pleasure the second when the drug’s effects began to lose their hold. But she hadn’t known her own name, much less that he was the one scrubbing the filth away. Today though... Her eyes had been open. Her acumen returned.

She’d reacted to his attention with embarrassment and irritation. And to his touch. Bloody hell. She’d responded with unadulterated lust.

Zeke stomped his way down the stairs, dumped the sullied clothes and sheets and several clumps of damp hay into the burn barrel with the ashes of the others he’d destroyed yesterday. He’d thought then that she’d be back to normal today, but he wasn’t that lucky. Never had been. It had taken too long to get her right, and even still she couldn’t bloody walk. He hadn’t planned on her being doped.

At least she could do the actual scrubbing herself.

Zeke adjusted his pants, cursed, and hustled upstairs to see what he could salvage for breakfast. Judging by the charred smell when he’d walked through with the clothes, something hadn’t survived.

He’d wanted a full English fry-up, but he’d learned a thing or two during his time in the States. One, Americans thought black pudding came in a snack pack. Two and three, fat as they were, they preferred their bread toasted, not fried, and they usually only ate one meat at breakfast, not three. So, he’d settled for bacon, eggs, salt and pepper tomatoes, and toast.

“Minus the toast.” He rescued the slightly over-crisp bacon from the pool of warm fat inside the pan, and then placed it on a paper towel. The yolks of the sunny-side eggs had cooked through. At least the bottoms weren’t scorched beyond recognition. Too bad the same couldn’t be said for the black squares that had once been bread.

He chucked the lumps of coal, lowered the heat element, and pressed down two more pieces. After distributing the food between two plates, Zeke eyed the loo’s door. His cheeks puffed. Slowly he let the air out between his lips. If only the tension gnawing on his skull—and elsewhere—-would discharge as easily.

Pussing out, Zeke set Greer a place at the table, taking extra time with the crease of her napkin. Like he’d ever folded a napkin in his life. He hardly used them. When the back of your sleeve worked well enough, why bother?

A loud splash sloshed around the barn. What sounded like a thousand droplets rained down inside the water-closet. Visions of Greer executing a cannon-ball in the small tub saturated his mind, but he knew she’d tried to stand again and had fallen. Zeke’s boots churned toward the door before the waves subsided. He almost took the latch with him through the entrance.

Greer thrashed about, throwing beads of water across the already drenched floor. His blood ran cold. She jerked in stilted motions like she was in the throes of a massive seizure. Then he saw the quiver of her upper lip, the grit of her teeth, and the glint of pure rage in her eyes.

“Greer.” He barked her name, but she continued abusing the water with all the coordination of a drunkard. “Are you done acting like a child?”

Her head snapped in his direction and her limbs stilled. The flames in her gaze threatened to roast him where he stood.

“I can’t walk.” Drops of water speckled her face, neck, and chest. Sheets of hair stuck to her breasts and back.

“Christ. It’s not permanent. You’ll be pacing by lunchtime.”

“I know, but have you…” She shook her head. The movement created rivulets down her body.

“Have I what?”

“No.” She dismissed him with a shift of her gaze. “I know you haven’t.”

“Haven’t what?” Why was he pushing this? It didn’t matter what she said. He needed to get her better and get her back to her family. The sooner the better.

She placed a shaky hand on the edge of the tub and centered his gaze. “You’ve never been helpless. At someone else’s mercy.”

“You don’t know the first thing about me.” Zeke’s voice rebounded off the walls of the small enclosure more forcefully than he’d expected.

Greer looked at him, really needled deep with those big blue eyes like she did sometimes. Her shoulders slumped as though he’d knocked the wind from her. It didn’t last long. Her jaw shot up. “You’re right. I don’t because you always have the upper hand.”

Right.

“And you always have a hard head. No wonder they doped you.” She opened her mouth to rebut, but he stepped forward, cupped the now-cool water into his hands and dropped it on her back. The little patch of frothy bubbles disappeared along with her gusto. “Your stubbornness probably saved your life. I’m sure you put up one hell of a fight.”

Zeke braced his arms under hers, but her slack jaw and wide eyes stopped him.

“Did that hurt?”

She shook almost imperceptibly, but her expression stayed the same.

His head tilted. “What?”

“It wasn’t exactly a compliment, but it was the closest thing to one you’ve ever said to me.”

“That’s not true. You finished at the top of your training class, you and Coen.”

“I know, but you never gave me a word of praise.” Her lips closed and curled into a frown. “You patted Derrick on the back and glared at me.”

Well shit. He’d noticed Greer Britton from day one. Any man between the ages of birth and death would with her doe eyes, angel hair, and hot-as-the-devil body. He’d tried not to treat her special, tried not to stare at her perky breasts that’d fit just so in his mouth, lithe legs made perfectly for wrapping around his waist, and a high, tight ass he could think of all kinds of fun uses for. In doing so, he’d still treated her special…only especially badly.

“You hungry?”

She quirked a brow, but didn’t push the subject. “I think I can eat.”

Zeke helped her stand, lifted her over the edge, and then set her on the edge of the tub. He grabbed a towel and started on her hair.

“So, you bathed me before?” Greer’s gaze shifted to the ceiling.

“Twice.” He worked his way down her back and arms. “I don’t do well with the stench of vomit.”

Greer muttered a string of curses.

“I’ll get your legs, and then let you get your middle while I grab you some clothes.”

“Okay.”

After he blotted her prickly legs and tried not to stare at them or the patch of hair above her cleft, Zeke evaced to the chest of drawers next to the bed. He snatched a T-shirt and a pair of underwear, dragged in a few ragged breaths, and then returned to the battle ground.

He had plenty of experience undressing women, but he’d never dressed one before. Cripes, he hardly stayed around long enough for them to dress themselves. There was something too intimate about the way Greer tucked her polished toes into the leg holes, and even more so when he tugged them up her thighs.

His knuckles grazed her hips. Greer drew a breath and held it. His cock lengthened unabashedly. Ah. Put him out of his misery already. Zeke barricaded his lust and braced himself for close contact.

“Up you go.” He wrapped one arm under Greer’s and lifted.

They stood chest to chest. He slumped to keep his dick out of the equation…and to reach her knickers. No, his underwear. It helped to think of them that way. Her arms wrapped loosely around his shoulders, pressing her breasts against his pecs. The softness nearly buckled his knees and plopped them both on their arses. Damn, he should’ve gone top first. Not that it’d help this next part.

Zeke looped his first two fingers inside the band. Greer’s shallow breath quivered along his collar bone. Her skin warmed his knuckles. He pulled them over the swell of her bottom on his right side, and then reached across her back, across the crests and valley.

When he slid up the other side Zeke wanted to toss his hands into the air like he’d seen cowboys do after roping a calf and call it good, but blast if he wasn’t home free yet. He eased her back to the ledge, which was better than against him…until he couldn’t look away from what had been cuddled to him.

“The shirt,” Greer whispered.

“Yep.” Zeke moved as though he’d been shot at. He yanked the fabric hanging from his shoulder, found the bottom, and stretched it over her head. They worked together to maneuver her arms into the holes and cover her torso and upper thighs. The room seemed to sigh with them.

He held out his hands, ready to get out of the cramped space. “You ready to try walking?”

“Yes.” Greer settled her palms against his.

Zeke grit his teeth and ignored the zing, the connection. She pressed into his hold. Her set mouth cracked under the strain. A grunt rumbled in her throat. The instinct to scoop her into his arms flared. He doused it in WTF and let her struggle through.

“You’re almost there. Two more inches, then lock those knees out.” He heard himself cheerleading, but couldn’t believe it.

Her lips turned white under the pressure of her strain. She met his gaze and straightened with a heaved sigh.

No telling why, but Zeke bit back his excitement and exchanged it for a meager nod. “We’re not done yet.”

“I know.” Greer pulled back her shoulders and took a wobbly, defiant step forward. She took another and another until they’d left the loo and lacked only three or four strides more to the table. Her weight shifted into his hands, relying on him more and more for each step. Two away she panted. “I’m not fuzzy anymore, but I just don’t have the strength.”

“You don’t lack strength, Greer. You just lack energy.” He wrapped his arms around her middle and shifted her to the waiting chair. “Hell, you haven’t eaten in days. I don’t know what they fed you, but I’ve been lucky to get you to swallow and hold electrolytes the past three.”

“Three days?”

“Here. Nine there.”

He lowered her to the chair, and then stood…or tried to. She caught his forearms in a pitiful grasp. He took a knee and met her gaze. Greer’s long lashes lowered to her fingers, which caressed the skin just above his wrist. She studied the bruised, raw flesh and gnarly scabs.

Her lips parted. Zeke tensed. He didn’t want to talk about it, wouldn’t talk about it. No point.

“Where’s Raisa?” She released his arms and shifted her gaze to the plate.

For a couple of seconds his feet didn’t move while his brain processed. He turned away, grabbed two glasses, filled them with water, and then sat across from her. Greer’s teeth sank into a piece of toast. She reached for a glass and urged him on with a wide glare.

“If she follows my instructions, she’ll be fine.”

Greer took several gulps. “Where?”

“At one of my safe houses.”

“Why didn’t you bring her here?”

“I didn’t plan to bring you here, but you couldn't tell me what I needed to know.”

She tossed the crust of a toast point onto the plate. “So why even save me? Oh wait, because you wanted information. Of course.”

“I saved you because you were under my command when you were taken. I kept you because I need to know what you learned about the Stas’ operation and if you saw Derrick Coen at any point during your abduction or imprisonment.”

Her hands covered her sob. “No. They have Derrick too.”

Well, that answered that.

When he didn’t answer she composed herself. “You can’t find him?”

“It’s more difficult to find men.”

“How’d you find me?”

“They only have two gentlemen’s clubs in the city. That’s where they put the women young and pretty enough to make them money. The men and older women they send to their packing and transportation hubs. They’re scattered across the country.”

Despite the gravity of their conversation, Greer picked up a piece of bacon and bit half of it off. Self-preservation took over. A breath Zeke hadn’t realized he’d been holding eased from his lungs.

“My cover sucked. I was a waitress. Sure the men talked in hushed tones, but the minute I showed up their attention shifted to other things. Sick sons of bitches.” She pointed the piece of meat at him. “The only one of us who might’ve learned anything valuable is missing. I mean, you were a bouncer. You couldn’t have learned much.”

“A list of all the compounds.”

“How’d you get in the club?”

“Submitted really nice fake documents, called with a Russian number, pretended to be a member of the old-country mob, and vouched for myself. Then I brought lots of money.”

“Where’d you get all the money?”

“An account.”

“Whose?”

“None of your business, Lilly Rush.”

“What?” The eggs she forked into her mouth stalled mid-chew.

“You mean, who?”

She swallowed. “No. I pretty much mean what the hell are you talking about?”

“You’ve never seen the TV show Cold Case?”

Greer guzzled the rest of her water, wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, and looked at him as though he’d beamed in from outer space. “You have?”

“I moved here last year, left all my mates back home. What else am I going to do from sundown to sunup?”

“Sleep?”

“I don’t need much.”

“Back on target. Where’d the money come from?”

“You mean, who is Lilly Rush?”

“Fine.” She shoveled in the last of her eggs and a crumb of bacon, and then chewed once before inhaling. “Forget the money, for now. How did Derrick manage to get placed as a runner?”

“They’d trust a man more easily than a woman.” Zeke stabbed his eggs. “Well, that, and as a waitress he’d have made shit for tips.”

“You do have a sense of humor.”

Zeke winked, added more food to her plate, and put his in the sink. “I have some work to do. You can take the bed.”

“We just had breakfast.”

“Dinner,” he corrected.

“What?”

Standing over the desk with his back to her, he could no longer see her face, but if she could manage it now she’d have a haughty hand on her hip.

“What if I can’t make it there? What if I need to go to the bathroom again?”

“Your mouth works just fine. So, you can tell me when you need help.”

“How do you expect me to sleep? I’ve been sleeping for three days.”