Page 10 of No Strings Attached

Sam crooked his finger quickly until Morgan drew closer. “You have to handcuff me and put me in the back of your police car,” he whispered.

Morgan leaned back enough to look at Sam with a frown. “Why?”

He didn’t think Morgan would do it, and Sam was desperate. Pain exploded around his stitches as he yanked sideways and snatched the cuffs off of Morgan’s utility belt, snapping them around his wrists.

When Morgan’s hands came up, Sam thought for sure the guy was going to shoot him. Instead, he gripped Sam’s arms in a gentle hold, a bewildered look in his brown eyes.

“Please.” Sam trembled so badly that the cuffs were rattling.

“Okay.” Morgan nodded.

Relief flooded him that Morgan was going to play along.

“Can you put them on me with my hands behind me?” Just in case Daryl was somewhere close and watching, Sam wanted this to look legit.

“Not with your back wound.” Morgan’s fingers slid over Sam’s arms as the guy eased him back into the wheelchair. An insane urge to beg Morgan to touch him again flooded Sam.

“I’ll go get my car,” Morgan said to Eddy then looked down at Sam. “Don’t get up again.”

Terrified that Daryl would come inside and try to snatch him away, Sam felt as if he couldn’t breathe. It wasn’t until he saw the police car pull in front of the doors that his lungs began to work again.

As Morgan got out and came around the car, Sam was wheeled outside. Although it wasn’t as hot as before, the summer heat was still stifling after being in the climate-controlled hospital.

Unsure if Daryl was near, Sam kept his head down while Morgan opened the back door. From the corner of his eye, Sam saw Daryl standing under a tree, his tan shirt helping him to blend in with the building.

His gaze was locked on Sam.

“I hope you feel better soon,” Eddy said.

“Thank you,” Sam replied with his head still down.

“Nice and slow.” Morgan eased Sam into the backseat then closed the door. He shook Eddy’s hand, and then rounded the hood before he sunk into the driver’s seat.

As they drove away, Sam was dying to look back and see if Daryl was following them.

“Mind telling me what that was all about?” Morgan glanced at him through the rearview mirror. “I’ve had to force cuffs on people, but I’ve never had anyone beg for them.”

Sam studied the silver bracelets around his wrists. He didn’t want to tell Morgan anything, even if the guy had been nothing but nice to him for the past few days.

Morgan sighed. “I’ll take you to the station so you can get your car.”

Sam’s head whipped up. “The police have it?”

“I already told you we towed it from the side of the road.”

The first two days Sam’s was loopy from pain meds, and he honestly couldn’t remember Morgan telling him that. At least now he had somewhere he could sleep. A car wasn’t ideal, especially when he had no AC and it was still hot outside, but he felt as if he was getting a part of himself back.

While they drove, Sam relished the cool air inside the car, and then Morgan turned into the parking lot on the side of the police station and parked. The area was shaded by tall trees, casting shadows over the cars and offering a reprieve from the sun’s rays.

The back door opened, and then Morgan helped him out. “Let me get those cuffs off of you.”

Just then the burgundy car slowly drove by. “No, leave them on,” Sam whispered, as if Daryl could hear him from the street. “Grab my upper arm like you’re hauling me inside.” His heart wouldn’t slow down. “Please, Morgan.”

Why was Sam even doing this? Did he think Daryl would leave him alone if he thought Sam was being arrested for something? Ever since finding out that Daryl was a real-life monster, it felt as though Sam’s brain was scrambled.

When they started walking, Morgan’s hand felt more like a casual touch rather than a guiding grip. Sam kept his gaze on the sidewalk the entire time, refusing to look Daryl’s way when he saw from the corner of his eye that the burgundy car was parked across the street.

Morgan opened the door and led him inside. Sam had never been inside a police station, but he instantly felt like a criminal. To his right sat a sturdy wooden desk, complete with a computer monitor, keyboard and mouse, a cup filled with a variety of pens, and a plastic document tray. However, there were no personal touches to be found, not even a small potted plant to brighten up the workspace.

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