Page 80 of Brutal Savior

“You are, but it’ll be in a temporary flat. My rooms are in a restricted area.”

And chock full of BDSM equipment there’s no time to move. If Grandad saw the cage in my room, he'd probably die of a heart attack on the spot.

Grandad’s face falls. “Oh. Makes sense.”

Shit. He’s disappointed. “I’ll be able to show you some of the place, though. I’m really happy you’re here.”

He nods. “Me too, son. Now let’s get a move on. I’m fucking knackered.”

I almost laugh as Kendrick’s brows rise. Most people are painfully polite around him. He walks on, setting a slow pace Grandad can match. “Of course. It must have been a trying day.”

“You can fucking say that again.”

Grandad’s eyes are saucers as we emerge through the woods onto the main thoroughfare. It’s late enough that not many people are around, but Grandad still stares at the ones he does see. An older couple wander past, walking a poodle. Nothing says top-secret military base like a fucking poodle.

“Your rooms are on the second floor. Room 203.” Kendrick turns to me. “A word, Jacob.”

We step to the side, leaving Grandad staring all around him. Kendrick’s expression is stony as he eyes Grandad. “I’ll leave him in your care. Keep him out of the way as much as possible. Word has already got out about what’s happening, and some of the Brothers aren’t happy. They think I’m playing favorites.”

In all the excitement, I hadn’t considered that, but he’s right. Plenty of Brothers would love to have their families visit. “Tell them they need to get shot at first. Should shut ’em up.”

A brief smile touches his lips. “I may just take that advice.”

He gives Grandad a polite nod and walks away.

One down. Now to get Grandad settled and work out what in the fuck I’m going to do with Quinn.

Chapter Thirty-One

Quinn

Gabriel and Eve droppedme back home then disappeared, looking purposeful. I’ve been staring at my special phone all night, but nothing has come through. I don’t dare call Jacob in case I make his phone ring right when he’s sneaking up on the bad guy, like some idiot in a movie.

I curl up on the sofa, covered in blankets, to wait.

My ass is screaming, but even so, I can’t find it in myself to be mad at Jacob. Even in the short time I’ve been with him, I know how much he loves his grandad. I even feel guilty about wrecking his dumb sports memorabilia. If something has happened to Jacob’s grandad, it’ll destroy him. Just like the crash did me.

In the quiet hours of the night, I finally let myself think about Marlowe. Now that she’s improving, I can think of her without guilt sending me to grab a bottle. If she’s okay, it makes all this worth something. Becoming Jacob’s slave gave me something in return. Something aside from a red, raw ass and memories that make me want to curl up in a ball and fucking die.

Did anyone realize what Jacob was doing to me under that table? Are they laughing about it right now? I’ve never been shy, but even I have limits, and he seems to know exactly where they are. He loves to push me past them.

You asked for it, though.

That voice again. I shift about, finding a comfortable spot, and confront the truth of it. He calls me a brat, but he doesn’t say it with distaste. He loves it, and it’s getting harder to convince myself that I’m not enjoying this, too, at least on some level. I could have sat there and behaved like a sensible human being at the table, but I didn’t.

I knew he’d react. And, idiot that I am, I wanted to see what he’d do. How far he’d go in front of Kendrick and everyone else. The memory of being bent over that table burns. Every time I think about it, heat spreads all the way through me.

Embarrassment, of course, but the other kind of heat, too. I want to touch myself so badly it hurts. It’s driving me crazy that I can’t, and wouldn’t Jacob just love that? I’m desperate for him to get home so I can pester him to fuck me.

I’m the world’s worst captive. I’m not supposed to be enjoying this, even a little bit.

I must have dozed off, because the next thing I know, Jacob is next to me. I’m dopey for a second, and then my eyes snap open as everything rushes back. “Your grandad. Is he—”

“He’s fine, love. Sorry to wake you up.”

He’s fine. Tight knots in my muscles relax at the news. I study Jacob’s face, which is paler than normal and drawn. He’s exhausted. I want to pepper him with questions but, for once, decide on the sensible option. “I’m glad he’s okay.”

I lean my head on his shoulder, sleepiness already creeping back in. He pulls me into a cuddle, my head resting on his chest, and fuck, it’s wrong how good it feels. How safe.

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