Page 97 of Brutal Savior

“What for?”

His voice is scratchy, as if words don’t want to come out. I get it. After the car crash, I didn’t speak for a week. “Marlowe. You saved her.”

“As well he fuckin’ should.” Grandad’s voice is outraged. “If you’d let that bitch blow up that hospital to save me, I’d have killed you myself.”

Jacob laughs, and it’s genuine, if short and quiet. “Good job I didn’t, then.”

Grandad looks between the two of us. “Well, I’m knackered. Better be getting to bed. Give you two lovebirds some privacy and all that.”

He gets to his feet, moving more slowly than usual. For all his British tough-guy act, tonight has really taken it out of him. Unable to help myself, I jump up and give him a hug. He wraps his arms around me and pats my back. When he detaches himself, he’s smiling. He turns to Jacob.

“You got yourself a good one here, my boy. Don’t let her go.”

“No chance.” There’s a ghost of a satisfied smirk at the corner of Jacob’s lip as he gets to his feet. “She’s stuck with me.”

We’ll see about that.

It’s an automatic thought, but there’s no power or venom in it. I’m stuck with him. It doesn’t feel like a prison sentence anymore. All I want right now is to cuddle up in bed with my captor and stay there pretty much forever. It’s not what I should want, but feminism and common sense can take a hike.

I want what I want.

Jacob lumbers to his feet. His movements are jerky and uncoordinated, with none of his usual lethal speed and grace. It’s like a vampire has drained all his energy and left him a husk. He gives Grandad a stiff, awkward hug, and I roll my eyes. They’re male and British, a double whammy of repressed emotional bullshit.

Grandad heads to his room, and Jacob closes his eyes and rubs a hand over his forehead. He hasn’t even glanced at the food. I should be checking him for a pulse.

He focuses on me, green eyes dull. “Bed.”

I’m not going to argue.

It seems to take forever to get there, slogging through air that feels thick. There’s tightness in my throat, tears preparing topounce, even though for once, I’m not the one with something to cry about. It’s too much, the silent tension is too cloying, and as soon as the door closes, I break it.

“What do you need? Tell me.”

He gives me that ghost of a smile again. “You’re polite today. If I knew all I had to do to get you to behave was bump off my own sister, I’d have—”

He trails off as his attempt at black humor crashes to the ground in flames. He follows it, stumbling to the bed and thumping down on the edge, head in his hands. I sit down and lean against him until he tugs me onto his lap and holds me against his chest.

It’s weird how comforting it is and, by the way he’s clutching me, it’s just what he needs, too.

After a long, long silence, he says, “She was a fucking monster, Quinn. I didn’t remember until today. But to do the things she did at seven years old…”

His chin rests on my head, and I tuck myself into his neck. He carries on, “I did what I had to. But fucking hell. Maybe if I’d been born first, I’d have ended up just like that.”

“No. You wouldn’t have.” I shift myself around so I can see him. “You’re not like that.”

He snorts. “Oh, really. I’m a stand-up guy now? A kidnapper with a heart of bloody gold?”

“No, you’re an overly strict, controlling asshole. But I do kind of like you. I’ll get the stick out of your ass yet. Just give me a while.”

He shakes his head, but his face has softened. “I’ll have fun watching you try. Now, get undressed. It’s time for bed.”

“See? Controlling asshole.”

A few minutes later, I’m tucked against Jacob in the dark. His breathing quickly deepens to the long, even sounds of sleep. It’s the first time he’s ever fallen asleep before me. Right afterthe accident, I went through a period of crashing at seven and waking up at noon. It’s like your body needs to cushion shock with rest.

His arm traps me in a protective cage. No collar in this bed, though he’s promised it’s coming back as soon as we’re in our normal room with its creepy Dracula bed and excessive number of sex toys. There’s a twisted little part of me that’s looking forward to some privacy again.

Privacy. With the man who is holding me prisoner. Maybe someday soon, I’ll wake up and be sane again, but I’m not placing any bets on it. He saved Marlowe. He risked Grandad’s life just to save her. On the one hand, it seems insane, but on the other, it’s perfectly Jacob.

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