“What evidence? There’s no evidence, because I’m innocent.” I swiped with resentment at the moisture on my cheeks.
The muscle in his jaw ticked wildly. “Thousands more are likely to be murdered before this is over, and I’m surrounded by liars and traitors—”
“Wait a minute! Let’s turn this around. The only one here who’s lied and manipulated is you! You think you’re so innocent, but you worked me over in my sleep! How long have you been watching me?”
His eyes blazed a darker shade of green as he let go of me and snagged the cuffs again, but I didn’t back down. I lifted my chin in silent challenge, daring him to bring it.
“Long enough to know that you expect to call all the shots. You don’t get to do that with me. Only one of us knows what the hell is going on, and until you convince me that you have nothing to do with this fucking war on my people, you’re a suspect, especially when I find the fucking evidence on your goddamn toe! And you have no way to explain it.”
“I don’t need to explain anything! I’m an innocent bystander in all this. I’m sorry that you’ve lost family members, but I’ve had nothing to do with this.”
“There’s only one way you could have gotten that substance legitimately, and that didn’t happen, because only a few of us have access to it, and I sure as shit know I didn’t give any of it to you! If you don’t start talking, you leave me no choice.”
“What does that mean?”
“I take you to the high-council courthouse, where you get imprisoned and possibly tortured until you start talking.”
Torture?
This was totally surreal. Just a few minutes ago, I’d been standing here practically drawing mental hearts with our initials in the middle, and now he was treating me like I was his enemy. If there was ever a time that I felt alone and ready to cry it was now, but I wouldn’t give him the satisfaction anymore. Even more frightening? From somewhere deep in my soul came the wish that he would suddenly give me a tender look and that this was all some sort of misunderstanding. But it wasn’t.
I knew how to cut off my heart. It was one of the first lessons I’d learned in life.
Casually, I offered, “Of course there was a legitimate way I got this, but you don’t get to hear about it. And here I was actually starting to like you. I thought you were one of the good guys, saving me from murderers and all.”
It would be worth it to go to prison. I was fully willing to shed some light on this tangled situation, but not to him. I opened my mind and blasted him with the fierceness of my anger and the pain of my own hurt feelings. I wanted him to know exactly how I was feeling.
The rush of emotion hitting him made him pause. He scowled, and a brief look of confusion creased his features, but I wasn’t going to wait around for the outcome. I wanted out. I spun to make a run for it.
He dove at me, wrapped his arms around my torso and lifted me off the ground effortlessly. The handcuffs clanked to the floor as I battled his imposing strength. I kicked my legs back at him and tried to whip my head up to catch him in the chin, which didn’t seem to faze him. I silently cursed those muscles I’d previously drooled over.
“Settle down!”
“Fuck off!”
“Where did you get it? Just tell me that. Who gave it to you?”
“I’m not a criminal! And I don’t have to talk to you at all! You can just go suck balls for all I care!”
“Not my style” was his grim reply as he set my feet back on the ground. “I’m trying to work with you here!”
“Is that what you call this?”
“I just want to talk!”
“Do you usually manhandle women? You’re really good at it!” I resumed trying to work my arms free and was furious that three times now in two days I’d had men restrain me. For the love of God! Really?
“Stop fighting! Hear me out,” he growled next to my ear.
“I haven’t heard anything worth listening to yet. According to you, I’m a lying, murdering criminal of some sort. I don’t even know what crime I’ve committed, but in your mind, you have me tried, convicted and going to jail.”
“I want to believe you,” he said through clenched teeth. “You don’t understand—”
“I’m done. I don’t need to understand. I need to go home.” I paused in my struggles, breathing heavily from exertion. My head fell forward as I took a deep breath and closed my eyes, not wanting him to get the best of me, yet I couldn’t free myself. I could feel a personal sense of failure taunting me. Helplessness. I hated it. I was at the fair again, and my mom was gone, and I was all on my own the way I’ve always been on my own.
When was I going to learn? People like me never caught a break. No matter how hard I worked to better myself, no matter how hard I tried to pull myself out of poverty, I was always going to be the dirty little girl who didn’t have a mother, who rarely had enough food, and whom no one cared about.
“Taylor, I didn’t...didn’t want it to go like this.” His voice had softened marginally, turned gruff. “It doesn’t have to be this way. I just want to talk.” I sensed that was true, but couldn’t get past my feelings of hurt.
“Screw you, buddy,” I muttered tiredly. What a way to wake up in the morning. Personally, I would have preferred coffee and maybe some eggs or toast or something. It might have been fun to see...I don’t know...how much fun we could have together. He smelled so good. My arms were pinned to my sides. His forearms were wrapped around my abdomen, with one hand splayed high enough that my breast rested on it. I had to admit that all this body touching and being overpowered by him was maybe a little arousing, and that was more shaming than anything, because what did it say about me? That stupid compulsion to soothe him in his upset—to comfort him, to open up to him and solve this—was still fighting within me, and I worked ruthlessly to suppress it.
He was silent a moment, his own breath coming out in puffs.
“Dammit, Taylor. We need to figure this out.” He released his pent-up breath with a defeated utterance. He nuzzled my neck with his prickly whiskers as though he couldn’t help himself, which gave me a quick twinge of heat and shivers mixed together. A panting breath that had nothing to do with exertion pushed through my lips.
“Ryder,” I whispered painfully, his sudden tenderness bittersweet.
“Work with me,” he whispered against my ear. He bit my lobe gently.
“No.” I strained away from him, feeling panicked by my own reaction and not wanting to capitulate.
He sighed heavily, lifting his lips from my neck and letting his forehead rest on the top of my head. “There’s a lot you don’t know. I need your information.”
“You aren’t acting like it. You could start by asking nicely.” The fight had left me momentarily, but I wiggled once more out of sheer stubbornness, trying to get free. That’s when I came to realize that the more I wiggled my backside trying to get loose, the more I became aware of a growing hardness behind me, which made me stop struggling immediately. I didn’t need any more stimuli. I was already riding a sexual edge that was brand new to me.
“Let me go.” I stepped away from him, recognizing that he let me do so likely because he didn’t want the sexual distraction either.
“Talk to me,” he said in a quiet, steady voice.
Just as calmly, I restated, “You don’t get a free pass to act like a jerk when you feel like it. In fact, this trailer-park girl might just decide she doesn’t want your help.”
“You don’t get a choice,” he replied firmly.
“You think not?”