Page 17 of Bound to a Killer
She shakes her head, batting away her tears and refusing the answer as she stands a little taller. Her eyes glisten as they search mine, possibly hoping to find a shred of humanity in them, any trace of empathy she can manipulate to her advantage.
There is none.
It doesn’t matter that she’s innocent. If push comes to shove, I’ll still kill her to protect those I love.
This was never about what I want.
"I...I can pay you,” she rushes out the moment I close in on her, stumbling over her words. “I swear I won’t tell a soul." Her head shakes with a frantic rhythm. “I’m good for my word. I swear. I promise.”
My jaw clenches as I close the distance. She won’t be able to talk her way out of this. She’ll try, but that’s all she can do. Her back slams into the door, arms springing up to shield herself, but they’re no match for me. I lift her off the ground, crushing her to my chest as she kicks and writhes in my hold, struggling against my iron grip like she has a chance.
She can cry all she wants. It changes nothing.
“No, don’t,” she pleads.
I ignore her.
I carry her to the bed and throw her onto the mattress. She lands hard, gasping like she’s been punched in the stomach, then scrambles upright on her elbows, eyes wide and wet with terror. I seize her ankles and drag her down to the foot of the bed, reducing her to a sobbing, trembling mess.
I need her to cooperate before things spiral further out of hand.
She bucks beneath me, twisting and clawing, fighting witheverything she has left—but it’s not enough. I fish for the ropes at her side, then manage to unravel them enough to wrap around her wrists, but tying them proves more difficult with her flailing beneath me.
“You need to relax,” I growl, pinning her hands above her head and managing to bind them this time. She only grows more hysterical, so I try to soften my voice just enough to settle her down. “Shh, hey, look at me." Her face glows red, her lashes wet with continuous tears. She’s beautiful, even like this. Especially like this. God, I’m a fucking bastard. “I’m not going to hurt you, okay?”
She chokes back sobs, nodding weakly, and I mimic the movement before shifting down to tie up her feet next. Her legs tremble, but she doesn’t try to kick me again. After tightening the final knot, I tilt my head back, allowing my eyes to trail along her pale ankles, past her knees, and all the way up to the curve of her hips, hidden beneath a pair of pink sleep shorts. Her tank top has ridden up to reveal a sliver of waist and toned stomach, my eyes burning into the exposed skin for a moment too long before settling on the wet streaks painting her cheeks.
What have I gotten myself into?
Apprehension tightens her features as she holds my stare, her chest rising in shallow, panicked breaths. What is she thinking right now? More importantly, why do I care?
I’ve got to get my head on straight.
“I can’t let you go tonight,” I tell her. Her face drains of color. “It’ll be okay.” I soften my voice, trying to soothe her like she’s some wounded kitten I picked off the side of the road. “I won’t hurt you. Promise.”
The lie sits heavy on my tongue.
She draws in her bottom lip, worrying it between her teeth, a nervous tic I caught during our short ride to her school this morning. That feels like a lifetime ago.
My dick stirs against the rough denim of my jeans as shekeeps gnawing on that lip, unaware of the effect it has on twisted men like me. I push off the mattress and turn away from her smooth curves. Curves that definitely don’t belong to a high school student.
Christ. Get it together, Ledger.
I adjust myself quietly and out of sight, then cross the room and sink onto the cool, cracked leather of an old couch, dust clinging to its seams. My boots hook over the armrest. I shut my eyes, trying to clear my head, hoping to carve out some quiet time to recoup.
“What are you going to do to me?” she asks, her words barely a whisper drifting across the dank cabin.
That’s the problem. I don’t know.
“No more questions,” I say harsher than I mean to. “Try to get some sleep.”
She goes quiet.
Half an hour later, she’s still silent. My eyes grow heavy as I glance back to check on her one last time. Her legs aren’t as stiff as before, and the deep lines on her forehead have eased.
Only then do I let myself sink deeper into the cushion, guilt digging deeper than the worn leather against my back.
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