Page 80 of Ruthless Intent

I step toward her. She steps back. I arch an eyebrow.

“If you’re going to try and run, make sure you’re faster than I am. Because if you make me chase you, and I catch you, you’re not going to like the consequences.”

She continues to back away from me.

“You locked me in the room where my brother died.”

“You locked me in an eight by ten cell for fourteen years. At least this room is bigger than that, and you have a separate bathroom. I didn’t. I had a bed, a sink, and a toilet all in the same space. Be thankful I didn’t lock the bathroom door and leave you with a bucket. Get fucking changed.”

“I’m not wearing these.”

“Then you’ll be walking around naked.”

She makes her move, and darts to the right. But I’m waiting for her to do something like that. I catch her before she makes it to the door, and have her face down on the floor with her hands pinned behind her back seconds later.

“You had to pick the hard way, didn’t you? But I didn’t expect anything different, so I came prepared.”

Pressing my knee into the small of her back, I adjust my grip so I have both her wrists secured with one hand, then reach into my back pocket and take out a pair of handcuffs. They’re snapped into place before she can free herself.

Standing, I use one foot to roll her onto her back. Her eyes spit fire at me, but she doesn’t move.

“It didn’t have to be this way, Ashley. You could have put the clothes on, then come downstairs and had breakfast. Do you know what happens in prison when the inmates fight the guards?”

Her lips press together.

I crouch beside her. “They end up doing what they were told to do anyway, only the guard makes sure it’s more humiliating.”

While I talk, I wrap my hands into the bottom of her T-shirt and give it a sharp tug. The material rips in two.

“What are you doing?” She tries to wriggle away.

I hook my fingers into the waistband of her jeans, and drag her back. “All you had to do was get changed.” I pop the button.

“No!”

“This could have been avoided.” I pull down the zipper.

She tries to escape again, twisting around in an attempt to evade my hands. Bracing her feet against the floor, she pushes with her legs, and slides her body over the carpet. I shake my head, grip her jeans and drag them down her legs.

“Don’t touch me!” She screams, a sound cut short when I slap my hand over her mouth.

Straddling her waist, I lean over her.

“In prison, you’d be stripped completely naked, then you’d be searched for weapons.” I lower my head until my face is close to hers. “Is that what you want? Do you want the full prison experience? Because we can do that. I can guarantee you won’t like it.” I lift my hand away. “Answer me.”

“No!”

“No? No, you’re not answering me, or no, you don’t want the full experience?” I hike one eyebrow.

“You’re hurting me. My hands …” Her voice trembles.

We’re so close, that her breath brushes over my cheek with every exhale she makes. If I move half an inch closer, I can kiss her.

The thought is like a bucket of cold water.

What the fuck?

I roll off her, then reach down and haul her to her feet. The torn T-shirt slides down her arms and hangs off the handcuffs.

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