Wolf's Capture (11 page)

It wouldn’t hurt to tell him. “Out in the hall, turn left, through the door into the screened porch and then left again. But I don’t know what you think you can do with that information.”

“Watch a master escape artist at work, sweetheart.” He winked as he shifted his shoulders and drew his legs up in a tuck that allowed him to bring his cuffed hands forward. Brody then unlinked his chains—one for each manacled wrist—from the eyebolt in the floor.

She sighed. So he’d figured out the weakness in chains, not something she’d played with yet, as she hadn’t wanted to attempt escape fifty-seven until she thought of a way to avoid the dilemma she’d run into with escape forty-nine.

Namely—

Too late to warn Brody as he was dashing through the door. She sat there and counted. One. Two. Three.

Thud
.

A moment later, a pair of guards passed by the archway to the living room where she sat, dragging Brody’s limp carcass down the hall. Another pair arrived shortly after to fetch her.

But it seemed they weren’t returning to their cell quite yet.

They both got dumped in the bathroom with its large shower stall, lined in cracked pink and black tile, and its clawed tub. Once again familiar with this part of the routine, she presented her back to the guards so they could remove the cuffs she still wore.

The master had learned early on that a slippery shower and no hands for balance didn’t make a good combination. Her subsequent concussion and stitches made him revise her bathing ritual.

This was one place she never tried to escape from. For one thing, the window was nailed shut and too small. Secondly, the guards were right outside the door with the trigger for her collar. Since she appreciated the chance to get clean, especially given how randomly it happened, she behaved.

And she usually bathed alone.

She eyed Brody’s limp body on the floor and wondered if she had time to shower quickly before he awoke.

Nope.

A groan rocked him first. He shook his head and slurred. “What the fuck happened?”

“You didn’t listen.”

“Listen to what?”

“Sometime after escape forty-eight, they put a collar trigger on all the doors exiting the house.”

“And you couldn’t tell me this before I ran right into it?”

She shrugged. “I told you it was impossible, and you never gave me a chance to explain why. You just bolted out of there. If you ask me, I think you deserved it.”

“Deserved getting zapped like a mosquito?”

“Yes, because you left me behind. So much for taking me with you when you left.” A little miffed that he’d bolted without looking back? Damned straight.

“I was going to come back for you.”

“Sure you were.” She didn’t bother to mask her sarcasm. Reaching out, she spun the levers for the water. She knew from experience she wouldn’t get much time to cleanse herself.

“Don’t you try and guilt me, sweetheart. What other nasty surprises did you neglect to tell me about?”

“I didn’t neglect. I just didn’t bother. I told you escape hadn’t worked.” Turning her back on him, she pretended he wasn’t there as she shed her gown and stepped into the tepid water shooting in bursts from the showerhead.

“Not for you maybe, but I…” His voice tapered as he finally noted her actions. “What are you doing?”

Keeping her back to him, she focused on the bar of soap in her hands, lathering it soundly and rinsing it before daring to lay it on her skin. Who knew what grubby hands touched it before?

“I’m showering.”

“Now?”

“Yup. I don’t often get a chance so excuse me if I jump on it.”

“Haven’t you ever watched a horror movie?”

“What’s that got to do with me showering?”

“Judging by that reply, I’m going to guess the answer is no.”

“No. I haven’t.” She’d missed out on a lot of things other people took for granted. If it wasn’t in a book, or part of the master’s plan, then chances were she’d never experienced it.

“Well, in horror movies, only the stupid girl showers when in the psycho’s house. Usually only minutes before she dies. Horribly. Screaming.”

Layla soaked her hair before replying. “But at least she’s clean.”

“You are seriously demented.”

“A product of my environment. If you don’t like it, leave. Oh wait. You can’t.” She still wore her smirk when he spun her around and glared at her.

“This isn’t amusing.”

Her lips stretched wider. “Depends on your perspective. From where I’m standing, it’s hilarious, Thud.”

“Thud?” His brow crinkled.

“I think that should be your new nickname because that’s the sound you make every time they juice your collar and you hit the floor.”

“I do not.”

“Sure you don’t…Thud.” She snickered. How could she help it when he tried to hold his glare, which really wasn’t all that effective with his mouth hanging open in slack-jawed amazement. “Do you mind if I finish showering? There’s probably not much time left.” She turned her back and resumed soaping, only to squeak as a distinctly naked body pressed in against her from behind.

“What are you doing?” she demanded, unable to turn as he snaked an arm around her middle and kept her firmly in place.

“As you keep pointing out, we won’t get much time to shower. I think it’s best if we make the most of the time we have by sharing.”

“This isn’t sharing. This is you hogging my water. How am I supposed to wash myself like this?”

“Let me.” Masculine fingers plucked the soap and lathered it. One-handed, he then stroked the suds down her arms.

“So tell me, Layla. What other surprises have you neglected to share?”

Perhaps if she concentrated on past failures she could ignore the present, namely the erotic sensation his hand caused as it rubbed soap against her skin. His bare skin against her. His body pressed—

She swallowed hard. “You met the zap trigger at the front door. There’s one at the back, too. But that door’s also locked, deadbolted with a key on the inside, so not a feasible exit.”

“And he’s got the windows nailed shut.”

“Nailed and, in some cases, plywood covering them.”

“Have you ever made it outside?”

She nodded, her breath quickening as his hand stroked soapy circles on her belly. It was so hard to think with him touching her like this. “Yeah. I’ve made it outside a few times before he put the collar trigger on the doors. If you get past the screen porch, then you’ve got to watch out for a couple of huskies he keeps,” she confessed in a rush. His languorous rubs over her skin, even something as innocuous as her belly, had the oddest effect. She tried to ignore the heated liquid pooling between her thighs, the warmth of it much more scorching than this shower.

“Dogs, eh? I can handle those.”

“But they’re just a distraction from the men with the tranquilizer guns who guard the perimeter of the yard.” She’d learned about those in escape fifty-three. According to the master, they were placed there after her botched escape number forty-five.

Each time she failed, the master plugged the weakness she’d exploited.

Brody brushed a hand over her breasts, teasing the taut buds and making her breath catch.

“Tell me more,” he practically purred in her ear.

The whisper of his breath weakened her knees. “We’re about fifteen miles from the nearest small town.”

“Only fifteen?”

“Yes, and it’s not much of a place. Just a few houses, one general store.”

“Anything closer?”

“There is a cabin, about eight miles west. It means diverting from a straight beeline to town, but it’s good for supplies.” Escape number thirty-nine. She’d never returned. Food and clothes didn’t get her far on foot.

“More. I
need
”—his hand glided down the slope of her body and he tickled the top of her pubes—“more. What about phones? Do the guards carry any?”

She swallowed and closed her eyes. She didn’t want to react to his touch. Didn’t want to feel anything for him. Didn’t want to sleep with him. Damn him for making this so hard.

“The cellphones they have are programmed to call only one number, and it’s not the police.”

Nothing like dialing 911 and having the master’s robotic voice greet her with a chiding, “Bad, pet.”

As Brody cupped her sex, a shudder rocked her body. His lips practically caressed her earlobe as he said, “I want more, sweetheart. Give it to me. Give it all.”

As his finger stroked, seesawing back and forth against her flesh, she couldn’t help but lean her head back. “There’s a sniper on the roof. He’s a pretty good shot.”

“More.”

Yes, more.
“There’s a ravine to the northeast. It drops into a deep river with a pretty fast current.”

She found that one by accident during escape thirty-eight.

The finger stroking her concentrated on one stimulating spot, and she couldn’t help but moan and rock her hips.

“That’s it, sweetheart. Just a little bit more.”

“He…He…” The delightful torture kept wiping the words from her tongue.

He stopped rubbing. She could have cried.

“He what, Layla?”

“He has a few trucks in the garage, and I think the guards also have some dirt bikes.” Which she didn’t know how to drive so they were useless to her.

Apparently that information pleased Brody because his finger resumed its torturous play, rubbing against her pleasure button, his throbbing shaft pressing against her backside. His lips tugged and sucked at her ear lobe. But when his second hand left her waist and took up a new position, the fingers sliding into her slick heat…

An orgasm rocked her. It had to be an orgasm because she’d never had such absolute bliss shoot through her body. Her whole body tensed and flexed, pulsed in time with her shuddering waves of pleasure, leaving her whimpering and weak.

Yet not alone because Brody was there to hold her.

His arms wrapped around her wet frame, his lips brushing her temple as he murmured soft words to her. She relaxed against him because, for some reason, she just knew he wouldn’t let her fall.

For a moment she dared to imagine him never letting her go. If only.

The problem with playing dirty for answers was it left Brody even worse off than before.

Can blue balls explode?

He’d probably soon find out if he didn’t get relief soon.

And why wasn’t he taking care of his rigid problem? After all, here Brody was, holding a limp Layla, who’d just come on his hand, her sex squeezing his fingers so deliciously. She was ripe for fucking. Willing and so responsive. A less noble man might have taken the moment to give her something a little thicker to grip.

But Brody had two problems with that.

One. While pleasuring her for Intel barely squeaked under his moral radar, fucking her to relieve himself crossed a line. Especially since he’d come to the conclusion she truly was an innocent in this affair, which meant he couldn’t treat her like an enemy. In other words, no seduction. But not being the enemy didn’t mean she trusted him, hence his less-than-honorable methods in getting her to talk—and come.

Cupping her still pulsing mound, Brody couldn’t bring himself to move away. Nor did she seem in a hurry. She moaned and even wiggled her hips. An invitation to proceed, which might have canceled out problem number one if not for problem number two.

Their unexpected interruption.

“Time’s up,” barked Caveman as he slammed the bathroom door open.

A protective instinct—tinged with a hint of jealousy—saw Brody tucking Layla behind him as he turned to face the guard who stood belligerently in the doorway.

“Do you mind?” Brody said. “The lady and I aren’t done.”

“But I says you are,” drawled the fat-faced idiot.

“Leave now before you force me to hurt you.”

“Bring it, dog boy.”

Brody sighed. “You bloody seal shifters and your pea-sized brains. I should have known you wouldn’t listen.”

His fist shot out and connected with a solid thwack on the asshat’s temple. Satisfying, but it didn’t go unpunished. Here came the getting familiar sizzle. Brody relaxed his muscles and let the current take over. He’d master it this time. He’d—

Thud
.

He hit the floor and jiggled, more aware than he let on, peeking at the situation through slitted eyes, which in turn gave him an interesting view of Layla’s private parts.

Mmm tasty.

Not now. But maybe later if he needed to, he’d indulge in a snack, for the mission of course.

Layla apparently wasn’t into exhibitionism, as she quickly whipped a towel from a bar and wrapped it around her body. Then she straddled him, hands on her hips. “Stop that right now.”

“You’re not the one giving orders,” Jackass replied, his thumb holding down the button on a remote.

“But I am the one expected to bed him, and he’s useless to me if you turn him in to a vegetable.”

“I’ll bed you if you’re so desperate for a man.” Caveman had recovered from the punch to his face, as crude as ever. He grabbed his crotch lewdly, and Brody really had to restrain himself from lunging and removing the guy’s dick permanently.

Make rude advances on his woman, would he? Brody would show him.

We’ll kill him.

His wolf totally thought it was a fine plan, but rashness never paid off. Brody stayed his initial murderous impulse. The situation wasn’t ripe yet for attack or escape. He needed to exercise patience.

His wolf pouted.

Hell, Brody pouted. He really wanted to hit Caveman again.

A moue of distaste twisted Layla’s next words. “Why do men think that’s attractive? I mean, really, grabbing your crotch? How is that sexy? What would you think if I grabbed myself?”

Oh, please do.

“I can grab it for you,” said Caveman with a leer.

“You aren’t touching me. Ever. I despise you. I hate you so much I wouldn’t spit on you if you were on fire, and I most certainly would never have sex with you.”

“I never said you had to be willing.”

Pretending comatose or not, Brody almost didn’t let that threat fly. But Layla was proving herself capable when it came to sticking up for herself.

“I dare you to try. Come on. Let’s see how brave you are because you can’t tell me no one told you what happened to the last guy who thought he could force me. Who knew testicles were such a delicacy for the rats?”