Biker Blues: Cash E-Book

Mayer Dale

• Herausgeber: Dale Mayer
• Kategorie: Gesellschafts- und Liebesromane
• Sprache: Englisch

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2016

Beschreibung

Cash Walker has discovered warrior wisdom at the handlebars of his lifeline--his bike: True freedom is the road, the ride, the real emotion that's worth fighting and dying for. Willow Lane has been beaten, broken, and she's finished….until she meets the most unlikely angel imaginable. Cash looks like the devil himself, but he won't let her give up even as he won't let her go. Will he become another captor, or the salvation she's longed for?

Leseprobe

Biker Blues: Salvation

Full SetParts 1–3

Dale Mayer&Tasha Lyons

Books in this series:

Biker Blues: Salvation, Part 1

Biker Blues: Salvation, Part 2

Biker Blues: Salvation, Part 3

Biker Blues: Salvation, Full Set

Other books in the Biker Blues world:

Biker Blues: Morgan, Part 1

Biker Blues: Morgan, Part 2

Biker Blues: Morgan, Part 3

Biker Baby Blues: Morgan, Part 4

Biker Blues: Morgan, Full Set

Table of Contents

Cover

Title Page

Back Cover

Complimentary Download

Biker Blues: Salvation, Part 1

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Biker Blues: Salvation, Part 2

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Biker Blues: Salvation, Part 3

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Author’s Note

Excerpt from Biker Blues: Morgan Part 1

Complimentary Download

About the Author

Also by Dale Mayer

Copyright Page

Back Cover

An abused wife meets the most unlikeliest of angels – a man who looks like the very devil himself.

He won’t let her give up.

Nor will he let her go.

Will he be yet another captor or will he become her salvation?

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Biker Blues: Salvation

Part 1

Dale Mayer&Tasha Lyons

Chapter 1

The water swirled below her feet. The moonlight shone down on the dark scene from behind her, highlighting each ripple and wave under the bridge, shining on every curve and twist as the water led its own life down the river. She wondered if it was happy with its choices. Was it okay to do the same thing day after day? Did it mind when people dumped shit in it, poisoned its pure essence without a second thought? Did it get angry when a storm came and blew the trees down, forcing it to create different pathways? Did it care when the sun came out and drank gallons and gallons of its water into the atmosphere? Or was it sublime in its happiness to be what it could be, what it was always going to be – a river.

And she was a fool.

A fool who could only think about a river as if it were alive – when she was desperate to no longer be in the same state. Only the process of getting from live to dead was what was stopping her. She’d been unhappy for so long… No. Unhappy wasn’t the word. She’d been in pain. Desperate. Beaten. Broken. She’d been at the end of her rope for the last year and it was only getting worse. Ending it all was the only answer.

But was it?

How could she be afraid that he’d still follow her to whatever lay beyond – and maybe she wasn’t afraid of being followed as much as failing in her attempt to end her life and him finding out what she’d tried to do. If he succeeded where she failed, her life would be worse.

A broken laugh escaped. “No, it couldn’t be worse,” she whispered to the dark sky around her. A dark sky getting blacker with every moment. The moon was going behind the clouds as if it too didn’t want to see what she’d do next.

What she didn’t want to do.

But it’s what she had to do.

There was no tomorrow for her. He’d kill her one day. Bury her deep and no one would know. No one would care. Except him. He’d smile at the world around him, keeping the secret from everyone and happy about it on the inside. To know what no one else would know – yeah, he’d love that. At the same time, he’d be on the lookout for his next punching bag.

She felt sorry for that next victim.

Still, if she jumped, her body would show up sometime. Someone might notice the bruises, the breaks, and investigate. She’d love it if they would take a closer look at Greg.

For herself, there was only an overwhelming sense of guilt. She should have left a long time ago. She should have walked out when it first started. Should have. Could have. But didn’t. And somehow over time, it became okay. It became her normal. And everything that had been normal before ceased to exist.

As she sat on the bridge deck staring into the darkness, she wondered if she could work up the courage to jump.

After all, she hadn’t managed to work up the courage to leave her husband. To leave the man who’d tried to break her spirit for so long. That was the part that really hurt. The bones, not so much. They healed. Her emotions, her heart, her own sense of self-worth and that horrific guilt – they never healed. The more she fought, the worse it all became.

But she always chose to survive. Meaning she always gave in, up until now, though usually not until she’d become bloody and beaten – the same point as always. He was away today. Off doing something with his buddies. Something illegal she hoped. Her dearest wish was that someone somehow would do something and change the situation for her as she didn’t seem to be able to do it for herself. And that made her feel worse. But the truth was her options were non-existent and if no one else could help, the river was looking like the best choice available to her. He’d threatened to do something so abhorrent to her if she tried to escape again that she knew her life was over if she failed this time. She had only one chance.

Her escape had to be permanent this time.

She’d run away – twice. Both times he’d found her. Dragged her back. Beaten her until she couldn’t leave again.

The water whispered beneath her feet.

Welcoming her.

Calling to her.

Telling her it would be all right.

Reassuring her that this was the correct decision.

To join it in the everlasting flow of life.

She really wanted to feel that connection. That peacefulness. She slid closer to the edge of the platform. It would take so little to go over the edge. She could swim – a little. Not enough to hold out against the cold and the darkness. She’d last a few minutes, maybe. But then it would be over.

It would all be over.

Music to her ears.

She couldn’t handle the pain.

It was better this way.

It would be best for everyone if she just slipped off the edge into the waiting darkness. No one would ever know.

She’d be just another lost soul.

With that thought firmly in her mind, the need to be free of pain and torment, the first real chance she’d had to make the change she’d needed to make, she scooted her butt to the edge of the platform and glanced around. “Goodbye world. You were beautiful once.”

With effort, she shifted sideways, holding her injured arm close to her chest.

And hesitated. Fear and doubt filled her.

Her mind cast one more beseeching question – surely there was another way?

A man’s voice called out to her. Panicked, she looked through the railing. Someone was coming. Was it him? Please no. She couldn’t be caught.

“Wait.”

Oh thank God. It was a stranger’s voice.

“Let me help you,” he said, running toward her.

She didn’t know what to do. Soon it would be too late to do anything. She shifted her position, trying to see who it was. Did she know him? Was he a friend of her husband’s? He reached for her at the same time and she caught sight of his profile in the moonlight.

A cry escaped and she jerked backwards out of his grasp.

And she fell sideways off the bridge.

She shrieked in terror as she free-floated down into the cold below.

Someone shouted above her. Calling out to her.

Terrified and full of regrets now that it was too late as to what could have been, she almost laughed. She hadn’t been able to do this on her own. Fate had stepped in and made the decision for her.

Too late, she wished there’d been another way.

Then she hit the surface and the water closed over her head.

The force of the fall… The shock of the cold… The awareness that this was it… rendered her unable to move. She sank into the darkness and deeper into oblivion.

*

Cash had caught sight of the woman on the bridge. Instead of seeming to be sitting and enjoying the view, she’d been too preoccupied with the water churning below for his liking.

He’d eased back the throttle on his bike and had approached quietly, slowly, not wanting to startle her into falling off.

The closer he got, the more fantasy-looking she became. Several times he caught himself looking around to see if she was really sitting out here in the moonlight. Long, curly blonde ringlets flashed in the moonbeams.

Then she’d turned her head, and the tears on her cheeks wouldn’t stop rolling, like diamonds twinkling in the half-light, but they weren’t shining happily. It was the shadow on her cheek that made him gasp. And the way she held her arm.

She looked… done. Broken. Beaten. At the end of her rope.

He parked the bike a good ten feet away on the opposite side and walked over to her, undecided how to approach. She looked ready to bolt, but there was only one direction she was going – and that was down.

He didn’t think she’d seen him. At least she never turned to face him.

She appeared to be caught in her own misery. Based on the facial bruises and injured arm, she might have a good reason to be miserable.

He looked around for a vehicle, wondering if she’d been in an accident. Was she in shock? Unaware of how close to the edge she was sitting? Could that be what was going on?

Instinctively, he knew it wasn’t that. She appeared too miserable for that. She was here on purpose. Then he caught sight of her shoes. Shoes she’d taken off and placed neatly off to the side.

Suicides always took off their shoes. He knew that. He’d seen that over and over again. He worked as an orderly in the hospital and had done many shifts in the morgue.

He’d seen his share of jumpers and floaters. Neither were pretty.

Both were permanent.

Shit.

He called out to her.

He watched as she shifted sideways, her gaze turning in his direction and some kind of shock slamming into her awareness. Fear shone from her gaze. No. She was terrified. She held up her hand as if to ward him off.

He lunged closer.

Startled, she shifted backwards and with a surprised shriek… she fell, toppling off the bridge.

Shit. He didn’t stop to think. He jumped after her.

He was a strong swimmer and had done more than his fair share of search and rescue work. He had no problem jumping off a bridge. For a non-swimmer, death was a certainty in this river at this time of year. For a poor swimmer, it was a likelihood. For him, nah, it wasn’t going to happen.

He hit the water cannonball style and let his body sink. His gaze open, he searched the murky darkness around him. He’d kept an eye on her as he’d come down and knew approximately where she’d be. Except the water was moving and she was sinking – and he was a moment behind her.

He spun around once, twice, then caught sight of her ahead of him. He kicked hard and caught her shirt in his hand. He tugged upward hard and sent her soaring to the surface. She lay lax in the water, not fighting for her life nor breathing.

Well, too damn bad. He wasn’t going to let her die. Not on his watch.

Not in this lifetime. He’d done a lot of shitty things in his life, but standing by and letting her go wasn’t going to be another of them.

He shoved her above him again until they both broke through the surface. He gulped down fresh air and immediately turned to the woman lying face up. He dragged her to the shoreline and started mouth to mouth. After several puffs of breath, she choked and coughed. He rolled her over and held her while she emptied the water from her lungs. Exhausted, she collapsed back down, her breath shaky but her chest rising and falling in a steady pattern.

“We need to get you to the hospital,” he said, standing up and reaching down to help her up.

“No,” she said, shaking her head violently, her voice low, panicked. “No hospital.”

He stopped for a long moment and stared at her. “Okay, but you can’t be alone for the next couple of days. It’s a tough time for your body.”

She stared at him, her body starting to shake violently.

She shook her head. “You shouldn’t have saved me,” she whispered. “Now the pain will be worse.”

“No.” he said in a dark tone. “I don’t know who you are or why you jumped, but life is precious and there is always another option than jumping off a bridge.”

“My name is Willow, and I fell,” she whispered. “You startled me.”

“But you were thinking about it though, weren’t you, Willow?” Her silence was enough of an answer.

He bent and picked her up like she was nothing. In truth, she didn’t look more than 120 lbs. and was likely less than that. He figured she’d have to be about 5’8” – tall but lean. Her name suited her. She wasn’t muscled. She looked like a waif more than a woman, and now soaking wet and in shock, she looked even worse.

“My name is Cash,” he said suddenly. “Nice to meet you. Or it would be under different circumstances.” And he started up the hill.

“Where are you taking me?” she asked when she could. Only her teeth started to chatter at the end and the words came out in gasps.

“Somewhere warm,” he answered, shifting her weight in his arms. He easily climbed their way back up the side of the cliff. Quickly, he was on top of the old road not a hundred yards from his bike, his chest heaving.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered. “Please let me go.”

“Why? So you can go over again? I don’t think so.”

“You don’t understand,” she cried, her voice faint.

“No, I don’t. And as much as I’d like to hear an explanation, that isn’t the top priority. We need to get you dry.”

“And you?”

“Me too. But I’m tough. Nothing knocks me down.” He suddenly stood her on her feet. “Now put on your shoes.”

She gasped and stared down at the shoes neatly sitting off to one side. Shoes she’d never planned to wear again.

Chapter 2

The shoes were her favorites. Soft, worn, fit her feet perfectly. Even had a soft side that fit the sore right foot that had been stomped on – again. She stood shivering in the dark, water dripping off her clothing, staring at her shoes.

She didn’t know if she should laugh in joy or scream in pain – instead, she started to bawl.

Before realizing what he was doing, the stranger bent down, scooped up her shoes and then her again, and walked her to the other side of the road. A big motorcycle stood in front of her. She shuddered. Greg rode a big Harley. He loved that whole tough ass persona and played the part when he could.

In truth, he was an asshole.

This guy, however…

She was dumped onto the front of the bike before he wrapped his arm around her. She woke up to her situation then started to struggle.

“Stop it. You’re past the point of fighting me.” His voice, harsh and grating, sounded more pissed off and angry than she was comfortable with. And she’d learned to be comfortable with a lot of anger.

His arms clamped around her and he rolled the bike forward.

“Hold on.”

And the bike fired up.

Shivering, sitting in the front with the wind blasting her face, she turned her head into the strong shoulder that held her. And realized his chest was huge – and steaming hot.

What had she done? Who was she with? And the real question – where was she going now?

Who was this hard stranger? Was he angry at her? Or at himself for saving her?

“I’m sorry,” she whispered, her voice barely audible above the engine noise and the wind rippling past her head.

He must have heard her, for he squeezed her tighter in his arms.

But he never said a word.

Ten long minutes later, he slowed the bike’s throttle to a dull roar in front of a house in a cul-de-sac with massive trees in the back. Then he drove up and around so the bike wasn’t visible from the street.

She was too cold and weak to fight him off, but knowing that no one else would know where she was, and how she came to be here, scared her shitless.

Her gaze darted in all directions, but there was no one in sight to ask for help. No one there to see her as he swung her up into his arms and carried inside the house.

Except… there was a sense of fatalism to her mindset. She’d been through so much. She’d survived so much. Could this man be any worse? He could – a part of her knew that. But he had saved her from drowning. Everything he’d done had been done with anger rigidly held in check. He hadn’t hurt her – in fact, he’d done the opposite – he’d cared for her.

With no other option, she let what would happen, happen.

Inside the house, still in his arms, the darkness appeared absolute. He strode forward confidently, never hesitating in the direction he was going. When a light flicked on, it was to show her the inside of a large bathroom. He stood her on her feet then bent over and turned on the taps, filling the bathtub with hot water.

For the first time, she could see his face.

And realized she recognized him. She quickly averted her gaze. She’d seen him talking with Greg once. Not sure of the relationship, she was wary of her own position now. If he knew Greg… that was all kinds of bad news.

If she was handed over to Greg after this, she’d never be given another chance to get away. And the beating he’d lay on her… Just like that, all the stuffing went out of her. She collapsed to the floor in silence and waited silently for him to do what he would.

Her mind was consumed with the pain of her failure. She should have gone into the river earlier, not waited to watch the moonlight on the ripples. There had always been a chance of a passerby coming along, stopping her. Had she been subconsciously looking for that?

Or had she been in such a mental fugue that nothing mattered at the time?

He grabbed her good arm and reefed upward until she stood on her feet, her injured arm jostled by his rough actions. She bit back the cry. He wouldn’t know it was hurt and she had no intention of telling him. He could be the same as Greg, who treated a weakness as something to take advantage of.

And she couldn’t afford to give him any of those.

He reached out, and she stood docilely as he stripped off her wet clothing. Her shirt was pulled over her head. She gasped quietly when her sore arm was pulled in a direction it didn’t want to go.

His forceful actions slowed, and he was calmer after that. More gentle. He unclipped her bra and tossed it on the sopping shirt beside her. Then he undid her jeans and struggled to pull them down her legs. The denim wouldn’t cooperate. Finally he managed to get them off. Now she stood in her cotton panties and nothing else. He didn’t hesitate. In a completely natural movement, he slipped the underwear off and down her legs. She stepped out of them.

“Get into the water.”

She struggled to move her numb feet forward. They didn’t want to move and didn’t appear to be connected to her legs. They were like walking on tree stumps with no give in the joints.

The stranger let out a strangled sound then scooped her into his arms and gently laid her into the warm water. Heat. Blessed heat sloshed up the sides of her body, giving her glimpses of the potential to come as it slowly realized that the deep freeze was over.

As she thawed, her body started to shiver. Her teeth chattered uncontrollably and she wrapped her arms around her chest.

He dropped a towel into the water behind her then lifted it and wrapped it around her shoulders.

She groaned in joy as the heat bounced against her icy-cold shoulders. But as she warmed up, her shivering increased. She lifted her gaze, now waves of misery riding inside them.

With a strangled sound, he stripped down and as she watched wordlessly, he climbed in behind her and wrapped her up in his arms.

Instantly, heat swamped her. Inside and out, warming up the cold places in her body and soul. He had to be freezing when he held her against his skin, he burned her so she had to chill him. But, it felt so good.

The water poured into the tub and with both of them in now, the water level had risen.

She was still shivering, the pins and needles increasing. It was hard to sit, but she had no energy to move. She lay in his arms and let the sensations flow over her.

Who was this stranger who moved her so?

Who cared for her needs so unselfishly?

Just because he knew her husband—did that make him the same? Not so far.

Finally the hot water soaked into her skin and her shivers abated. Yet the last of her strength had drained with it. She was so tired. Leaning her head back against his chest as the last shivers rippled down her spine, she closed her eyes and dozed.

When more water dripped on her chest and breasts, she never moved. When the stranger shifted back and lowered her head over his arm into the bathwater so her hair floated freely under the water, she never moved. When something soft stroked across her face, she lay quietly in his arms and let him do as he would.

She was past caring.

As nights went, this was the most bizarre she’d ever experienced.

*

Cash wasn’t used to seeing this type of acceptance in a woman – hell, in a man, either. It was both interesting and pissing him off at the same time. She shouldn’t be letting him do anything like this to her. He understood that the cold and the stress of the events had taken their toll on her and she was done physically, emotionally, and mentally, but this complete ‘do what you will’ acceptance wasn’t normal. Some of it was probably due to shock.

He knew he could do what he wanted. She was completely naked, at his mercy and powerless to stop him. She wasn’t showing any signs of wanting to try. Like he’d seen earlier – she was obviously at the end of her rope.

Did she even know how vulnerable she was right now? Did she trust him? Or was she too far gone to care?

She lay damn near asleep in his arms in the warm water, content. What if she was in the arms of the wrong man… Jesus, it didn’t bear thinking about.

He studied her lax features. In deep rest, he could see a beauty in her high cheekbones, long dark eyelashes, and alabaster skin if he ignored the bruises. She was small, lean, and well-rounded, her plump breasts floating gently in the water, rolling from side to side with the movements. He ran his gaze down her ribs and hipbones, the sunken belly and dark triangle of hair. Her legs were lean and long, ending with small narrow feet. There were no physical imperfections, but she was covered in bruises and tiny scars.

Earlier he’d assumed the injuries were from the fall and his attempt to save her, dragging her to shore then hauling her up the hill.

Except as he peered closer, he could see the different colors of partially healed bruises. Not just on her ribs but her hips, her legs. Her arms. His gaze shifted to her neck and the fingertip-size circles fading around her gentle throat. His frown deepened. She wasn’t just bruised, she’d been beaten and from the multitude of bruises, she’d been beaten repeatedly over a long time.

He hadn’t turned on the main overhead light when he’d come in, so there was only a soft ambient light above the bath. Enough to show the damage, but not enough to give the full story. He reached out and stroked her plump breast, his finger circling a large gray bruise on the side.

Anger like he’d never felt before rose up in waves upon waves as he stared at the beautiful woman sleeping in his arms. A woman who’d had the shit kicked out of her. And not just once.

That had to be part of the reason for her jump off the bridge earlier.

In a voice harsher than he intended, he turned her so he could look in her face and snapped, “Who beat you?”

Chapter 3

Willow opened her eyes and stared up at the man who’d save her life. The man who knew her husband and although strong and caring, was no match for Greg when he was in a rage.

“It doesn’t matter,” she said in a soft voice.

“Of course it matters,” he said again, his gaze narrowed and hard. “He deserves to feel every blow he’s inflicted on you twice as hard.”

Like that would happen. She shrugged and stayed quiet. What was the point? As he knew Greg, chances were he wouldn’t believe her. Greg was always the affable, get-along-with-everyone person to his buddies. But in private, it was as if he could be the person he really was inside. He was always angry. Always mad at his friends who appeared to have more. He wanted power and prestige but never could get it.

He was a mechanic by trade but preferred to work on his friends’ vehicles than actually take jobs that make money. She’d been working for the last year to pay the rent and put food on the table. When there wasn’t money for booze, he took off and came home with it anyway. She had no idea what he did or how he got it, but he was always in a rage when he came home. The booze only made it worse. He’d been getting more violent with each passing month.

The first time he’d beaten her, she’d left. Only he’d found her and dragged her back and damn near killed her.

He’d threatened to do so. And she’d believed him. That fear had kept her in line for a long time. But freedom beckoned, only it had been months before she had a chance to do it again. He dropped her off at work, picked her up at work, and her boss watched her like a hawk in between.

Often, there were men in the house overnight, and one of his best friends lived next door. He was one scary dude. And he was always staring at her. Like he would’ve liked to get his hands on her, too. Surrounded by abuse, she’d tried to stay out of trouble and wait for the right time.

Last night had been the right time.

She’d made it.

And somehow she’d failed yet again.

But lying here, it was hard to be mad. In fact, she was damn glad to be alive. She had no idea where she’d go, but maybe she could find enough money to take a bus out East and hide.

“Thank you,” she whispered.

He didn’t pretend to misunderstand but stared down at her and then gave a clipped nod. “You’re welcome. I’m sorry life got so bad that death was preferable.”

“It seemed like the only alternative,” she said in a low voice.

He picked her up until she was leaning against his chest. Her breasts plumped against him. Instantly, cold air pricked her skin and she shivered. She could feel his body stirring beneath her.

With a muffled curse, he turned on the hot water again and let her soak up more heat. “You’re likely to be cold for a long time.”

She nodded and huddled closer. Recovery would be slow on so many levels. A yawn escaped. She just wanted to wallow in the water and sleep. The warmth was a seductive cocoon, like being back in the womb, cared for and loved.

“Where the hell is your family?”

She sighed. He had a right to know some things. Not all, so she’d tell him what she could. “I have no family. My parents and younger sister were killed in a car crash when I was six. I lived in multiple foster homes until I was eighteen and have been on my own since.”

There was an odd silence, then her hand was lifted and the simple gold ring on her finger rotated. Crap. He meant that family.

Greg wasn’t family. He was her captor. Prison guard. And maybe executioner. Only time would tell.

“And your husband?”

“He left tonight.”

The stranger raised his head and he stared at her in disbelief. “You tried to kill yourself because he walked out.”

She shook her head. “He didn’t walk away from me, he finally left me alone so I could escape. But he’ll find me. He always does.” She stared up into the stranger’s mesmerizing gaze and said in an apologetic voice, “Death really is the best answer.”

Anger flared in his gaze. “It’s never the right answer.”

What could she say? She hadn’t wanted it to be the answer. But after months of looking for an escape, it had seemed to be the only option. The last thing she wanted to do was spike the stranger’s anger. She struggled to sit up and in a formal voice that sounded silly to her own ears, she said, “I’m sorry. Thank you for saving me tonight. If we could dry my clothes, I’ll leave.”

“You’re not going anywhere,” he snapped in a harsh voice. “Not yet. Maybe not ever.”

She froze. Her gaze slowly rose to stare at the man who’d saved her – but had he? Or did he have plans for her too?

*

It was not what he’d meant to say, and from the look on her face, it was the worst thing he could say. He opened his mouth to correct his words when he saw that same fatalistic acceptance in her voice. And then he got mad.

“What the hell are you doing?” he roared. “If a man says that, you should be trying to knock him down and out so you can get away.”

She shuddered and bent her head.

“Do you hear me? You are no prisoner.”

“I’m a prisoner. I’ve always been a prisoner,” she whispered. “Of fate first, then the system, then my husband.”

“You are not a victim.” This time his voice was cold and clear. “You were a victim.”

She stared at him.

“Forget what I just said a moment ago,” he snapped. “I’m not a prison guard and you are not a victim, but until you change that mindset, you’re not leaving here.”

Her expression never changed. She was either confused or not taking it in. He wasn’t taking it in either. What the hell was he doing? But he was going to do this. She’d been mistreated for so long she had no idea what the hell life was all about. Victim mentality was crippling at the best of times. In a beaten and abused wife, it was deadly.

Now if only he knew who the hell the husband was. He’d make sure the bastard knew exactly what it felt like to take a beating – a real one.

“So I’m a prisoner but not a prisoner?” Her voice was soft.

“And that’s not fair, is it?”

“No,” her voice rose with indignation. “It’s not.”

“Good, then get angry. Fight against it. Fight against me.”

Instead, she slumped in defeat.

Damn it. This was going to take time.

Fine. He’d had no immediate plans yesterday. He sure as hell did now.

If he had to be cruel to be kind, then he would be. She deserved to know that life was not a bitch. She was only a bitch sometimes. It’s what people made of life the rest of the time that counted.

Chapter 4

She didn’t know what to make of him. According to his words, she’d be a prisoner until… when? Until she changed her mindset. How did she do that? All she wanted to do was run like hell as far and as fast as she could in the opposite direction.

And yet why?

So far, this man hadn’t hurt her. He’d bent over backwards to save her. Even now, his words sounded like he was doing this for her – even if he was misguided. All men did things for themselves and only themselves. She’d learned that at a young age. Maybe if her father had lived she’d have learned different lessons, but so far, men had proven to be power-hungry assholes.

But maybe not this man.

According to him, he wasn’t a prison guard and she wasn’t a victim.

Yet according to the rest of his sentence – that she wasn’t leaving here until she changed her mindset – she was a victim and he was a prison guard. It was confusing, to say the least.

He reached down past their slick bodies and pulled the plug. Instantly the warm water started to drain away. She didn’t want to move. Couldn’t move. He took up so much space that it would be hard to stand without shoving her bum in his face. He’d not made any move toward her sexually, but it would come. Of course it would. She’d listened to other women at work talk about their loving parents and old boyfriends and current lovers. She understood that they were living different lives to the one she was living.

Other women spoke in wondrous tones about making love and how many times they’d climaxed during the previous night. Not her. She wasn’t sure she knew what an orgasm was. Some of the women had asked her about her wedding and the honeymoon. She’d made up the answers, hoping it would be socially acceptable. In truth, she’d gotten married in the town court office and the honeymoon had been spent at home getting the crap beaten out of her.

Why had she gotten married? She stared down at the simple gold ring on her finger. Because at the time, she felt she had no choice. It hadn’t changed anything for her. For Greg, well, it had made him happier. And if he was happier, then her life was easier.

Happy in that he now legally owned her. She’d often wondered why he hadn’t bought her a dog collar. It was how he viewed her. Treated her. Hell, if Greg had a dog, he’d have treated it better than he treated his wife.

Life was a bitch and according to her husband, she was one of life’s bitches, too.

“Give me your hand.”

She jolted back to awareness to see the stranger reaching a hand down to her. He already stood outside the bathtub, a towel tossed over his shoulder, completely uncaring of his nude state. Then why would he care? He was gorgeous and strong, if the heavily ridged muscles were anything to go by, and he was covered with tattoos.

And he was hung. As in seriously hung. She felt the warmth flood her face and she quickly averted her gaze as she reached up to grasp his hand. He held onto her while she carefully stood up and stepped out of the bath.

In the same impersonal manner that was starting to get to her, he took the towel and briskly ran it over her body. Just enough force to dry off the water and not enough to hurt. He’d done this a time or two for people. Oddly enough, that bothered her. Why, she didn’t know. Anyone this gorgeous had women, and lots of them.

None of her business.

As a finale, he wrapped the towel around her body and tucked the loose corner in the space between her breasts, all without saying a word. He grabbed a second smaller towel and proceeded to dry her long hair. And this time, his touch was gentle, as if knowing how painful it could be to have one’s hair pulled. His ministrations were so caring and felt so good she closed her eyes and let him work.

When he dropped the towel over a rack, she thought for sure he was done. Instead, he picked up a hairbrush and proceeded to get all the tangles out.

Again in silence. And again without hurting her.

Yet not letting her do anything but what he wanted.

*

He waited and watched as she let him care for her. She stepped where he said to step and never argued. He wanted to see some of that fire. It was inside. It had to be. Only a desperate person considered suicide, and that was a passionate act in itself.

And the longer he stayed caring for her, the more he cared for the outcome. She was getting under his skin. He hated the submissiveness. The sheer lack of caring. He wanted her to hit him. Stop him. He knew he could lay her on the bed and take her and she’d do nothing to stop him. Good thing he didn’t want a blow up doll in his bed, he wanted fire and ice.

Besides, she wasn’t his girl.

She was married, and that was a complication he didn’t need. Although if death was preferable to being married, then he might not need to consider the marriage an issue either. But someone had to tell the asshole he wasn’t getting his wife back.

He stared down at the silent women and watched in wonder as his own long-buried protective instincts arose. Not since his mother. He’d avoided that scenario ever since, but he’d never forgotten the same broken look on his mother’s face. He’d cared for her until the end.

And hadn’t expected to find himself in the same situation again.

No, this wasn’t quite the same. His mother had died. He wouldn’t let that be the same end for this young woman.

Besides, this woman was younger. She would have time to recover. Surely her abuse hadn’t been for the decade that his mother had endured. She had gotten cancer as her system was too worn out trying to survive. She’d welcomed death.

Like this woman.

At the time, as a young man, he’d tried to get the only person he cared about to fight. To live. If not for her sake, then for his. But she hadn’t wanted chemo or drugs. She’d been happy to let her body waste away into nothing.

He’d been so angry at the time. He’d hated her for a while. He still didn’t understand giving in to the disease, but she called it a letting go. A letting be. A giving way so something bigger and better could come into her life.

He knew she meant God and Heaven. He’d hated God as a child for allowing his father to be such a bastard. For letting his mother be such a victim. And for letting his childhood be so horrendous.

Now as an adult, he understood choices and victim mentality. He understood what [...]