Page 8 of Soul

Thinking of my princess reminds me of the satchel on my back. Gillian’s going to love the things I’ve brought her this morning. Fresh fruit—she seemed to like that apple yesterday—bakery bread, butter, and a decadent dessert. I remember how much she loves to end a meal with a sweet. I’ll show her just how thoughtful I can be if she’ll let me. Eventually though, I’ll have her back, wanting me, making love to me willingly. Tonight though, I’m going to have to take her even if I need to tie her down and make love to her struggling form. If she screams, I’ll just gag her. If it takes all night, I’ll love on her, make her feel so good until she forgets any other man who came before me.

The rope in my bag will do just fine. My dick stirs in my pants, reminding me I haven’t fucked a woman in a few days. That Dana bitch was a nice hole, pretty enough face when I opened my eyes. Most of the time I fucked her with her face pressed into the mattress and her ass in the air. The same way Gillian wanted me to fuck her that one time. No. I won’t fuck my perfect girl like a whore. Only the empty holes of the faceless women could be fucked like that. Gillian deserves more, and tonight, I’ll give it to her. One way or another, she is going to have her legs spread wide, her arms open in invitation and her body bared to me. Only me.

I make it close to my home and hear voices. Silently, I set down the heavy weight of the pack I carried leaning it against a tree. Slinking closer, I can see that pig cop Thomas Redding and a gray haired man scanning the ground around my motor home.

Fuck, fuck, fuck!

I reach into the back of my pants and pull out my gun. I can take them out one by one without anyone being the wiser. Just as I get Thomas’s head in my sights and my finger pressing ever so slightly on the trigger, I hear it. A voice. Scanning to the exact place I don’t want anyone to go, I find Jack Porter’s large form. He is at least fifty yards from where I stand, but I know he’s found it. The storm shelter. I watch, with a lethal shot pointed at his head, as he waves. Then the bane of my fucking existence is running toward him. Chase Motherfucking Davis.

Goddammit!

How the fuck did they find this place? Seething anger rips through my body and tears along the edges of my skin. I grind down on my teeth as I see Jack Porter scatter the leaves I have used to hide my storm shelter. They’re going to find her. A gunshot rings out, the lock probably blasted into pieces. I watch in sick fascination as they open the latch, and Jack’s frame followed by Chase’s disappear down the stairs. Seeing Thomas and the gray haired guy running across the clearing, I run back down the opposite side of the mountain.

Gillian

The sound of a gunshot pierces the silence of my tiny cell. I wake with a start, pull my knees into my chest, and press as far as I can against the cold cinderblock. There isn’t anywhere else I can go.

“Get away from the door, we’re coming in,” a man’s muffled voice says through the door. Then, another gunshot.

I scream and cower into the corner, my shackles cutting painfully into my wrists and ankles. I can hear sounds in the dark until the light blazes like the sun into the room. I shut my eyes and hide my face.

“Baby, oh my God, Gillian!” The voice is Chase’s, but I don’t believe it. He didn’t come for me. It’s a trick. My mind is playing tricks on me. I’ll throw my arms around him, and I’ll wake up, and it will be Danny all over again, groping me, touching me, kissing me. Violent sobs wrack my frame as I hold onto my knees.

Hands are pulling at the blanket covering me then at my shackled hands. “No, no, don’t touch me!” I scream at the top of my lungs. Please God, someone hear me. Get him off me. “Chase!” I yell as loud as I can, hoping anyone, someone, will hear me.

“It’s me, Gillian. Baby, it’s Chase.” Fingers are on my face, light caresses, much softer than Daniel has touched me. “I’m here. We got you.” He presses his forehead against mine and the scent of sandalwood and citrus enters my nostrils. I open my eyes and stare into the stunning Caribbean blue eyes. Tears fill those ocean-colored orbs and fall down the sides of his cheeks.

“Chase,” I croak, my gaze cataloging every feature, every nuance. “You came,” I whisper, tears pouring down my cheeks. His hands gently clasp my battered face, his thumbs swiping along the apples of my cheekbones.

“What did he do to you?” His voice is hoarse, full of emotion.

I shake my head and watch as he does his own examination. His thumbs pet my busted lips, the bruises over my face. Based on the way his jaw gets tighter, I know it’s bad. The fact that I can barely feel the pain anymore, due to being so cold, I know I’m in a state of severe shock.

A man I don’t recognize comes over to me. “I’m Agent Brennen, Mrs. Davis.”Mrs. Davis. He called me Mrs. Davis. More tears slide down my cheeks. “I’ve got a medical chopper on its way. We have to get you out of these chains. Can you stand?” Chase stands close helping me up. The chains shriek along the pulley system.

“What the fuck is this?” Chase traces a hand up the thick, rusted, iron chains attached to my wrists and feet. I stand barefoot in the pasty vomit, which hasn’t even completely dried from last night, but I could care less. He is here. Chase found me. “I want her out of here now.” His tone is a deep protective growl.

Jack comes over and puts a hand on my shoulder. I cower into Chase. “Let me see your wrist.” Chase grabs my hand and holds it out. “I found this in that closet at the top of the stairs.” He pushes a heavy looking metal key into the lock at my wrist and turns. The shackle drops to the ground with a bang. I jump at the noise but allow Chase to maneuver my other hand to get that bond off. Jack pushes aside the toile of the bottom half of my wedding dress and unhooks the remaining bands. I wince as each one is removed.

The big bodyguard breathes in deep. “She’s bleeding around each ankle and wrist. The wounds on her ankles are showing signs of advanced infection,” he says but I can barely hear him. “Get her out of here.”

Instantly, the world turns upside down. Lights and sounds move in a swirl in a dizzying motion through my vision. The light gets brighter as I am carried up what I think are a set of stairs. Ice-cold air hits the bare arms of my skin, and I shiver, my teeth chattering automatically. A whirring sound gets louder and louder, and I’m bounced up and down. I hold on tight to Chase, focus on his scent, his heartbeat and his warmth. Nothing can touch me if I am with him. Just him. Surrounded by his love.

Vaguely, I realize I am being laid down, and a woman and man are barking orders. The whirring sound is so loud, and I’m beyond freezing. So cold. Only one point on my body is warm, and that’s my hand, because Chase holds it tight, never letting me go.

“You found me,” I say, trying to get my eyes to stop rolling around.

“I’ll always find you and bring you back to me,” he promises, his lips pressing down against my cracked lips in a feather-light touch. For the first time in four days, I close my eyes and am blessedly free. Chase has me, and I know he will never let me go.

Chapter Four

Gillian

Beep. Beep. Beep.

“Chase, baby, turn off the alarm,” I mumble. Turning my head, I feel scratchy linen against the tender skin of my cheek. “Ouch, burns,” I turn my head to the other side and feel the same gritty fabric, only this time, it’s coupled with a zing of pain which makes me open my eyes. The room is fuzzy, hazy even as I attempt to adjust to my surroundings. White. Everything is white. I scan the room while opening and closing my eyes. The process takes a great deal of effort because my eyelids feel like they have tiny chains weighing down each one making it almost impossible to keep them open.

Finally, I turn my head all the way to the right and find the most beautiful face known to mankind. Eyes so blue I can swim in them, and I do, often. A slow, painful smile slips across my face as I take in every feature. His thick, coffee-colored hair is a mess of layers falling along the sides of his temples and forehead. A testament to how many times he’s likely brushed his fingers through it or given it a good tugging. He’s sporting a few days beard growth, more than I’ve ever seen. Makes him look more rugged and dangerous. I quite like it. Instead of the ever-present tick in his jaw he’s sporting a huge, toothy grin.

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