Held Page 7

  The boss hadn't been back to torment her in a few days. At least, she assumed he was the boss. The others did what he said, even though they didn’t always look happy to do it. And while she was glad not to see his smug face, it worried her. Was Nick okay? He had to be, right? If he couldn’t keep doing hits, they'd probably just kill her. So, since she was still alive . . .

  Her stomach defied her direct standing order not to growl, and she groaned as she covered it with her arms. Two days this time. She didn’t know the exact amount of time since she didn’t have a watch. What teenager did, anyway?

  The big guy they called ‘Butch’ had brought her a greasy ‘hog-dog’ last time, and she managed to get most of it down despite her desire to hurl it back up. Who purposely put barbecue on a hot dog? And then ate it? She shuddered, but her stomach made a convincing argument that it sounded delicious.

  Who would it be this time? God, if she even got to eat today. Her stomach rumbled again, and she scrunched her nose.

  The door creaked open, scraped closed, and her breath froze in her throat. Please let it be—

  “Morning! Didja sleep well?”

  She exhaled in relief and her stomach flipped on end. Thomas. Resident mob hottie and, initially, her fool-proof plan for escape. Though, things had changed a fair bit over the last couple of weeks.

  He was the nicest one here, and they'd grown pretty close. It was obvious from day one that he couldn't stand being there and hated how they were treating her, which is why she thought he’d be the best bet. He was the youngest too, which probably had something to do with it.

  He looked so surprised when he saw her the first time like he'd been shocked with a low current cattle prod. She still smiled in the dark when she thought about it. Then he started paying her compliments whenever he could sneak one in. Her hair was pretty. He liked her eyes. Her hands were nice. Her voice was beautiful. She should be a model. Stuff like that. The plan was kind of over at that point. She grinned and rolled her eyes.

  The problem with being a snarky eighteen-year-old was that mouthing off came pretty easy, even when she didn’t want it to. Even though she was generally scared out of her mind.

  “Would have been better in my own bed.”

  But in this case, it was perfectly fine. Thomas strolled in with a hand in his pocket, a sack of food in the other, and a smile so wide she could fall right in. She couldn't help but smile back.

  “I bet you’d sleep like a champ in my bed, Anna.” He winked, and her stomach flipped again. “I have like, thirty pillows.” He snorted, and she rolled her eyes with a smile.

  She had let him call her Anna at first because she thought it would make him happier to help, which, in retrospect, was pretty stupid. But now . . . it kinda made her feel special. And she liked how it sounded in his funny accent. She didn't even let Nick call her that, so it made Thomas special, too.

  He dropped down on the bed beside her and set the bag between them like he was presenting the queen with crown jewels. Her cheeks warmed. He was hot. Like, hot hot. He carried himself like he knew it too, which only made it hotter. That swagger made her melt.

  With his trademark sexy-as-hell grin in place, he dove into the bag and popped out with three sausage, egg and cheese biscuits, then blanked his expression.

  “Aw man . . . they didn’t put yours in here!”

  Annalise smiled and sighed in mock exasperation as she held out her hands. Thomas chuckled and set the food on the bed, then dug a key out of his pocket. When the cuffs fell away, he let his fingers smooth across her skin before he released her and smiled. He always went out of his way to check her wrists himself, brushing his fingers across the skin, 'just to make sure she was ok.' She knew that he just wanted to touch her. And she liked it.

  She rubbed her bruised wrists, returning his smile. Thomas then hovered his hand over the pile of biscuits and chose the middle one, weighing it to make double sure. He winked, then plopped the fantastic smelling, delicious bundle in her palm. Her mouth watered at the same time her stomach attacked itself. Maybe he didn’t hear it.

  He frowned. “They didn’t bring you anything yesterday?”

  Well, so much for that. Her mouth already stuffed with a massive bite, she just shrugged. Thomas ran a hand over his head and exhaled.

  She liked how he kept his hair shaved short on the sides and longer on the top, which he wore styled back and to the side.

  Thomas frowned and reached out to touch her face. Annalise winced and jerked back in reactive fear before she straightened back up again. He wasn't the one that hit her.

  “Damn, I'm sorry Anna. You gotta stop makin' him so mad.”

  He ran his thumb below the broken skin on her cheek. She liked when he did that. Well, it would have been better without the cut, but beggars can't be choosers. She shrugged and smiled with the non-hurt side of her face.

  “It's a skill I have, apparently.” She cleared her throat and found a spot on the floor to study. “According to the oh so special treatment I got from my mom every day, I’m fantastic at it.”

  His hand still in place he glanced down at her mouth, then back to her eyes. His own eyes dulled as he eased his hand away.

  “I know just what you mean. Though, mine ain’t my ma. She died when I was seven.” His gaze grew distant as he glanced at the window.

  “Well, at least it’s all over for both of us, right?”

  “Sure,” he said as he blinked, then focused a hard, angry look on his food.

  “So,” she raised her brows. “You gonna let me out today?”

  She knew the answer. It was the same every time. Honestly, at this point, she just enjoyed seeing his compassion. He furrowed his brow as he unwrapped his biscuit. She liked to watch his fingers move; they made the tendons in his hands dance.

  “You know I wanna. I think about it all the time. Wish I could.”

  The honesty in that statement radiated from his eyes. And it meant a lot to her that he would if he could.

  She took another bite and sighed inwardly. For some reason, the biscuits he brought her tasted better than any others. It probably had something to do with the fact that he actually gave a damn enough to ask what kind she liked. And the fact they were from him.

  She struggled to swallow, the bite apparently too big for her sore throat, which still hadn't fully healed from being choked several days ago. Thomas popped up and trotted to the cooler, then came back, water bottle in hand. She gratefully took it and chugged until the demon bite was gone.

  “Thanks,” she eventually managed.

  He flopped back down on the bed and crossed his arms, sighing as he leaned back against the cold, gray warehouse wall. She glanced over at him and smiled. She looked forward to the days like today when he could stay longer; it meant they could just chat. Like normal people.

  “Did I miss anything life-changing last night?” She grinned and took another small bite.

  He barked out a laugh and cut his eyes to her. Her heart hiccupped; just like every other time she got caught off guard and fell right into them. They were just so mesmerizing. Like copper set against honey. And sometimes, when the sun from the window hit them just right, they glowed. They were fascinating to look at, and she could do it all day. Only that would be incredibly weird. She blinked and dropped her gaze.

  “Only me in the shower.” He winked, and she laughed. “Nah, I was . . . working late.”

  He frowned. She mirrored his expression. She wished there was something she could do, but of course, there wasn’t.

  “Why do you work for him?”

  He raised his eyebrows and blew out a breath.

  “Well. 'Work' implies I get paid. Though I s'pose, not being killed's a pretty good payment.” He shrugged and smiled. “Pretty crummy dental, though.”

  He flashed his ironically perfect, white teeth, and she laughed before nodding and taking another small bite. He locked his fingers behind his head and looked up
again through the large window above her bed again.

  “I hate it, Anna. Always have.” He sighed with more weight than she thought possible. “Wish I could get out.” He slanted his eyes to her face and frowned. “Wish I could get you out.”

  She glanced at the window and spotted one of the infuriating gulls swooping out of frame as she swallowed.

  “What would you do?”

  He met her eyes and lifted his crooked brow that time.

  “You mean if I got out? Wow. Nobody’s ever asked me that. Well, it's kinda stupid but . . .”

  He pulled his hands down and rubbed the back of his neck bashfully as he scrunched up his face. Her stomach fluttered, and she shook her head. He was so adorable.

  “I’m sure it’s not stupid! Come on, tell me,” she urged, grinning as she leaned in.

  Dreams were a good thing to have. She used to have them too. Now she wasn't sure she'd ever get to do any of them.

  “I'd open a coffee shop,” he said, peeking one eye open.

  She raised her eyebrows and licked a crumb off her lip. What a cute, benign thing for someone like this to want. Of course, he was obviously different. He didn't want any of this. Seemed like he was almost as much of a prisoner as she was. The only difference being he wasn't literally a prisoner. And it didn't look like he got beat up on, at least, not recently.

  He chuckled and shrugged. “Yeah, I know. Told you it was stupid.”

  “That’s not stupid at all! I’d go there all the time.” She grinned at him, and he smiled back. “What would you call it?”

  He eyed her as he adjusted his arms and cleared his throat.

  “I, eh, can’t tell you yet,” he mumbled and shot a quick look at the blank wall. “It’s a beautiful name, though.” She had no idea why, but his ears were turning pink just on the edges. He rubbed the back of his neck again and shrugged.

  “But I know there’s ten million of those 'round here. Probably wouldn’t get any customers. I love coffee, though. Lots of people do. But I'd serve some food too. Just breakfasty stuff, y‘know?”

  She adored the way he talked. Kind of a wide northern or Yankee accent, mixed with some sort of Midwestern flair, even a few random southern twangs. He definitely wasn't from around here, and if she could pay him to read to her, she totally would.

  He sat up, smile wide and dreamy. He was lost in his thoughts, and her heart warmed at the little spark in his eyes.

  “I'd wanna do different stuff at night eventually, too. Draw in a bigger crowd somehow on the weekend. Maybe have like, bands or somethin’ . . . I dunno. But see, good coffee and good food make people happy. And if I could be in charge of a place that makes people happy, that'd almost be like . . .” His excited expression fell, and he swallowed. “Well. It'd make me feel good.” He glanced at her sideways. “Like, how I feel when I bring you food, y’know?” He leaned back again. “Don't matter, though. I don't have a choice.”

  His tortured expression hurt her heart and made her want to rescue him.

  “Everyone has a choice, Thomas. Take me for example. I could kill myself.”

  His jaw dropped open, and his eyes went wide.

  “No way! You can't do that!”

  She shrugged. Wouldn't be that hard. She'd wished she were dead many times in her life.

  “I could. Then Nick wouldn't have to suffer any more for my sake. He’s already sacrificed the last ten years of his life for me. Quit college, worked his ass off in two jobs, supported me, carted me to and from school . . .” She brushed a crumb off the mattress. “Now he's literally killing people just to keep me alive. That feels pretty awful. So . . . I'm making a choice for him to be tormented by not killing myself. Pretty selfish, if you ask me. See what I mean?”

  Thomas slid across the bed, positioning himself right beside her, and she took another bite. She liked when he sat close to her. She loved the way he smelled. Plus, it was nice to have a warm body nearby. It got cold there at night. And lonely.

  “Anna, that ain’t your fault. None of this is your or Nick's fault. Don't think like that. Please. Maybe he'll find you soon and save you. I just wish I could help!”

  He folded his arms, and she glanced up at him.

  “You do help.”

  “Pfff. Not enough.” He shook his head.

  She glanced at the open framework ceiling and smiled. It was so nice he was concerned about her. This place was filled with so much hate and evil. So cold. So empty. Maybe it was just the pain. Or the loneliness. Or the fear. But why not? What else did she have to lose?

  “You're the only thing I have to look forward to . . ." She felt his gaze, even though she didn’t look at him. “I wish you could come every day, though. Then I'd have more to think about when . . . well, the pain wouldn't be as bad. I don't think.”

  She swallowed and lowered her head. So much for her appetite. She wrapped the biscuit back up and set it on the concrete floor. He picked it back up, lost in thought.

  “I asked Stick yesterday if I could be the one to bring you food more often and he stared at me like I was up to something.” He unwrapped the biscuit and handed it back to her, absentmindedly. “So, that fuckin' sucked but . . . I tried.”

  She smiled and took another nibble before setting it on the bed beside her. Did he even realize he’d done that?

  Thomas shrugged, then cleared his throat as he slowly held out his hand over her lap and turned his palm up. She bit her lip and let out a short laugh as nerves shot through her. They hadn't done that yet.

  She hovered her hand above his for a second before she rested it gently on his palm. Their eyes met, and he smiled as he laced their fingers together. She let out another embarrassed laugh and bumped her shoulder against his. His hand was so warm. And strong. He cleared his throat again and ran his free hand through his hair, still smiling.

  “This is exactly the wrong place to say this. And exactly the wrong time. And exactly the wrong situation, but . . .I like you. Kinda more than a little. Okay, exactly more than a little. Exactly a lot, actually. You're crazy strong. I think you're funny. You're drop-dead gorgeous. Ya lemme ramble about food. I can tell you're smart . . .”

  He scratched the back of his head and grinned like a little boy that won a goldfish at the fair. She chuckled and raised her brows as a whole kaleidoscope of butterflies moved into her stomach. The man could seriously make her feel special, no doubt about that. He sobered his expression and reached out to caress her cheek again. She didn't pull away that time.

  “So, every time I come in here and see you're hurt worse, it tears me apart.” He smoothed his thumb across her cheek and frowned.

  “I just—” He exhaled sharply then grunted in frustration. He glared at the floor in front of them as he let his hand slide down. “Just wish I could help more.”

  She turned her body on the bed to face him and chewed the inside of her lip. He smiled at her and sat the same way, their knees resting against one another. He slowly reached out and took her hand again, eyes cast down as he fiddled with one of her knuckles. She liked the way his crooked eyebrow looked up close. Probably happened during a fight, but whatever. She liked it.

  He shifted on the bed and laughed quietly to himself. “Ya know,” he murmured, moving to a different knuckle which sent a bolt through her. “If this was one of those movies where the John's all smooth and shit, mackin' with that whole 'act first, ask last' play," his cheeks tinged, "I'd lean over and kiss you. But . . . I’d never do anything you didn't want. So. There you have it.”

  He sighed and let her hand go, clasping his together in his lap.

  God, he couldn't be any more adorable. And why not? She smiled and cleared her throat. He was probably a good kisser. Even with the scar cutting into the side of his upper lip. Maybe some other type of human interaction would be good for her. Make her feel less like a caged animal.

  “Well, since you asked . . . sure,” she shrugged and smiled. “I'd like tha
t.”

  He laughed, eyebrows lifting, the crooked one slightly lower than the other. Annalise smiled wider as she watched the corners of his eyes crinkle.

  “Yeah?” He puffed up. “Doesn't surprise me. I am pretty awesome.”

  She laughed and nodded. He eyed her face as he slowly leaned in, careful to avoid her bruises, then gently pressed his lips to hers.

  A quiet gasp escaped her.

  It . . . was perfect. The intense spark made her heart skip and her mind fuzz at the edges.

  But it scared her. Terrified her, in fact. It was something else that could be taken away. He pulled back an inch and searched her face.

  “You alright?”

  She nodded, then tugged him back in cautiously by the buttons on his shirt. They kissed again, and she pinched her brows together, fighting the tears that formed.

  His mouth was so soft. She could feel the scar, and she liked that too. The swarm of butterflies circled, and her heart raced as they kissed, making the room spin.

  But it hurt.

  It hurt inside. It reminded her that she was, in fact, a caged animal. A caged and abused animal. And nothing could ever come from this. And if she liked it too much, she'd be even sadder if they told him he couldn't come back again.

  Kissing him only made her want to be free that much more, which she wasn’t sure she’d ever be again. He leaned back and touched her jaw with his warm thumb.

  “Hey. Don't push yourself.”

  She chewed on her bottom lip as a tear slid down her cheek.

  “Could you just . . .?”

  She didn't want him to leave. She needed contact. For as long as he could give it. She didn't know from one day to the next when she'd see him or for how long. They didn't let him come on any set schedule. But while he was here, she just wanted to be with him. She crossed her arms tightly as another tear fell.

  “Could you just hold me . . . like you love me?”