Page 38 of Relentless

I’ve heard Alana getting herself off before. While I might have done my best to keep my desires and needs locked down when I knew she was around, she did the opposite.

I swear she bought the loudest vibrator she could find. Either that or she never actually used it and instead teased me mercilessly by pressing it against the wall that separated our bedrooms while she made all the right noises to try and force my hand.

I wanted it. Fuck me, did I want it.

The thought of marching into her room, ripping that battery-operated toy from between her thighs—assuming she was actually using the thing—and showing her how it’s properly done used to make me hard as fucking nails.

My mouth waters as I try to imagine exactly what JD is tasting right now.

I bet she’s so fucking sweet. And I’ve no doubt that he’s right. She’ll be so addictive too.

I’m obsessed with every inch of that woman. I don’t need to wonder about the parts I haven’t experienced. I’ll fucking love them too.

“ARGH,” I bellow as my legs thrash against the bed in frustration.

The last thing I remember from the night I broke in is both mine and Reid’s gun going off simultaneously, but while my shock from seeing my wife barely conscious on his couch ensured my aim was off, his wasn’t.

His motherfucking bullet ripped straight through my shoulder, sending me careening back against the wall before my knees gave out, and I collapsed to the floor in a heap.

I remember them looming over me, Reid’s dark eyes glaring nothing but hate into me. And I remember thinking, this is it. I’m going to be wiped from this Earth, failing to protect my wife like I’d promised I would and at the hands of a man who’ll probably piss on my grave. Not that he’d go to the effort of giving me one. Motherfucker probably has an incinerator here somewhere that he feeds bodies to on a daily basis. The only good thing about the whole situation, as far as I could see it, was that Alana hadn’t been thrown into it. And while she might not have looked good, something niggled in my brain that they were trying to help. It was all I could hope for.

To my surprise, when I opened my eyes some unknown time later, it turned out I wasn’t dead. I was, however, in hell.

The stark gray concrete cell was not the place I’d hoped to be, but there was a sweetness in the air there that made my stomach knot painfully.

She’d been here. Wherever the fuck here is.

Those motherfuckers had been keeping my wife locked in a cell.

And when I found the strength to push myself up, I found even more evidence that this had been where Alana had been for the past week and a half.

The only thing I could do was look on the bright side. If I were in her cell, then she wasn’t in it. Maybe she was being looked after by the two sick pricks living in the house I found her in. I couldn’t even consider the other option for why this cell was suddenly empty.

But the biggest question of all was why she was here in the first place.

As far as I knew, she had nothing to do with Reid or JD. Sure, she was always polite to them if our paths crossed, just like she was with everyone else. Her ability to smile at the men entwined with everything she went through—even if they only share DNA—always blew me away. I knew it was because underneath it all, she was silently planning their painful and bloody deaths, but it still astounded me.

My girl is so strong. So incredibly fucking strong. I was in awe of her the day I caught her trying to run away, and it’s only grown every day since then.

The only thing I’ve been able to come up with in my endless, lonely hours here is that she’s done something to try and get inside information.

Nothing else makes sense.

“Oh my God, please,” she cries, making my dick jerk in my pants.

“Fuuuuck.” I groan as the sound of JD lapping up her juices fills my ears.

I’ve never made a secret of how much Alana means to me. I’ve never regretted it. Until now.

That motherfucker knows what he’s doing. Starving me. Locking me up in a room that is always as bright as a fucking summer’s morning. Taunting me with the fact she’s been here. None of that even compares to listening to this right now.

There is no escape. No way to block them out. To hide how much I want her. How much I need her.

I’m not stupid. If I can hear them, that means they can hear me, and probably watch me too.

They’ll know exactly how this is affecting me. I can try and lock it down as much as possible, but I am only so fucking strong. And after five years of abstinence, I’m always on the fucking edge where my wife is concerned.

If I thought the past few years were hard—pun intended—then every day recently has been torture. Each one harder than the last.

---