Page 24 of Love Set Free

I’m not about to hurry him along, even though I probably should. Instead, I take this moment, while I’m no longer blindfolded and the light is adequate enough in this room, to see him and take in all the details of his face.

It’s almost too much for my poor brain to comprehend that someone like Phoenix Wilding is here, right in front of me. Literally, close enough to touch.

Besides being the sort of ridiculously attractive that most of us only get to see on the cover of a magazine–objectively, even I can recognize Phoenix’s physical beauty–he and his family are perhaps some of the wealthiest people in the country. Something only someone who’s been living under a rock and avoiding allforms of media wouldn’t be aware of. Before I even met him, I knew who Phoenix Wilding is. During my brief stint as a bag boy at a grocery store, there were numerous times where I saw Phoenix’s image smiling or smirking or glowering out at me from the cover of some magazine or other.

And now, here he is. In the same room as me, companions against the whims of the kidnappers in control of us, and...calling me babe? Calling me sweetheart? It really doesn’t compute.

I have to wonder, as I watch the flicker of his eyes behind his eyelids, what sort of thoughts are flitting through his brain? Is he thinking of me or everything that’s happened to him? Is he coming up with a plan right this moment, while his pulse causes the delicate skin at the base of his throat to tremble?

And why...why...when his deep rich brown eyes open and look right at me...does none of that other stuff matter, as long as he’s looking at me. As long as it’s him and I, together.

Phoenix’s tongue sweeps out, moistening his full lips. And I don’t even know why, but I have the urge to drag my thumb over and run it along that damp flesh. What would his lips feel like against the tip of my finger? I wouldn’t even need to move my thumb over that far, only an inch or so, and it would be right there, touching, rubbing, and caressing, exploring just how his mouth feels, damp under a sheen of saliva.

I manage to curb the impulse. Barely, just barely. Just as well, though, as Phoenix finally begins to lay out what we’re doing next and what he needs from me.

“Okay. Here’s what we’re going to do,” he says. His fingers wrap around the bottom edge of the broken board that had left the hole we’re looking at each other through. “This portion of the box looks like it’s the weakest. Between the two of us—you pushing and me pulling on it—we should be able to make this hole bigger. Big enough for you to squeeze your way out.”

“Phoenix, no. That’ll never—"

“It has to.” Phoenix’s voice is firm and determined as he interrupts my protest. “It has to, sweetheart,” he repeats, a little softer this time. Pleading. It’s clear he needs me to believe him, to believe in this plan he’s come up with. “We need to get you out of this box. Now. Not later. Not soon. Now.”

I’ve explored pretty much every inch and corner of this goddamn box with my fingers over the past several weeks. But I can’t say I’ve tried to break out of it before now. Why would I have? I knew what was outside this box—multiple morally dubious kidnappers, armed with guns and who knows what else. My value as a hostage was pretty non-existent and I hadn’t wanted to test their willingness to get rid of me if I’d caused them any trouble. I have my doubts that creating a hole big enough for me to wriggle my way through will be as easy as Phoenix is presenting it, but what the hell. Might as well give it a go. Especially as the urgency bleeding through in his voice is pretty fucking convincing.

“Okay,” I tell him. “Give me a sec to get in position. I’m gonna lay on my back and place my feet against this board. I’ll push on it with my legs and you start pulling as soon as it looks like it’s coming loose.”

“We’ve got this, babe. You’ll see. This board first, and then we’ll work on the board next to it, then the next, and the next...as many as we need to so we can get you out. But...but we do need to hurry.”

He’s trying to sound confident and up-beat, really, he is. But his reminder that he doesn’t want this taking too long feels like a grim promise that failure to get me freed will probably lead to some bad things for both of us.

Chapter Fifteen

Phoenix

“You’re kicking as hard as you can?”

I don’t mean to sound so annoyed and frustrated. But, goddamn it, why isn’t this fucking thing coming loose easier? It’s barely budging. We’ve been at it for...fuck, I don’t even know. Far too long. Part of it has already broken once, why isn’t it breaking more under the combined force Jackson and I are applying to it? What was this goddamn thing built to hold? A feral, rabid donkey? That’s about the only thing I can think of that would explain why this box is so deceptively solid.

“No, I’m just tickling it with my feet,” Jackson snarkily snaps back. “What the fuck, dude? Yes, I’m pushing on it as hard as I can. But, c’mon.” Jackson’s words stop, and I hold my breath, as, with a snap and squeal of protest, the board we’re working on finally hinges outward a few inches.

“Oh, thank fuck,” I breath out with a sigh.

“Yeah, no kidding. ‘Bout time. But what I was gonna say is...you know very well the nastiness they been feeding us. And I’ve been on that kidnapper’s-special longer than you have. I’m weak as a fucking kitten, dude.” It’s not really a laughing matter,but Jackson attempts a joke as he adds, “But on the plus side, I’m probably scrawny enough right now that we’ll only have to get a few of these boards out of the way for me to slide on through.”

At another time, I might appreciate him going for good humor and levity, but not now. And not about this. The reminder that, while I’m missing a relatively insignificant inch of a finger, Jackson’s probably in a much rougher state is something I don’t want to hear.

I grab hold of the loosened board and give it a good hard yank, uncaring of the fresh flash of ache in my left middle finger and the stab of splinters piercing my skin. It makes a dull clatter as it breaks free. I chuck it off to the side, wanting it out of the way so neither of us runs the chance of accidentally stepping on any of the long, sharp nails jutting out.

“Well, one down, another…one or two more to go,” I comment as I eye the roughly four-inch gap Jackson and I just created in the side of his box.

“Righty-o. Left or right?” Jackson asks.

I hear him shuffle around for a second before his face appears through the space. It’s a rush being able to see more of him and I can’t wait until he’s completely out and I can get my first glimpse of all of him.

“Well?”

My eyes roam along the length of the boards next to the one we removed, then I rap my knuckles on the one that looks like it’s in worse shape. “I think…this one.”

“‘Kay. Give me a sec to get in position and we’ll get cracking.”

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