No Escape
Page 17

Everett struggled to move. If he could just push Keith away, he might be able to make a run for it. “Please. You don’t have to do this.”
His arm twitched, but that was all he could coax from it.
“Yes, I do. If you were sane, you’d see that.”
“You’re the one who’s insane.”
A bright, cold light spilled from Keith’s eyes. “I’m saving you, and you thank me by insulting me? How dare you?”
Keith looped the fabric belt around Everett’s neck and tied it. “You’re ungrateful. Just like the rest.”
Tears slid down Everett’s face. “I want to live.”
Keith jerked the belt tight, cutting off Everett’s air. Through the thin mask, he could see the determination harden Keith’s features. “No, you don’t. You’re just afraid to die. You’re a coward.”
Keith lifted his hand and sprayed another dose of that stuff in Everett’s face. His body went limp. Numb. He couldn’t seem to pull in enough air.
“But don’t worry. I’ll help you. You’re my brother. I love you too much not to.”
CHAPTER TEN
Isabelle shifted uncomfortably in the bucket seat, trying not to abrade her raw back. It had taken two hours for the police to finish their questions and let them go, and she was barely holding herself upright against the heavy fatigue that weighed down on her.
Since he’d gotten in the car, Grant had been silent. He gripped the steering wheel until his knuckles turned bone white. Tension radiated from his body until she was sure the air around him was vibrating with it.
He wasn’t just angry. He was furious.
Isabelle had seen him like this only once before. On the night he’d killed Edgar Lavine.
He navigated the nearly empty highway, putting all his focus on the road.
Grant pulled in behind Dale’s car. The light in his room was off, so he was probably already asleep. At least he wouldn’t miss the takeout that was now splattered somewhere on the restaurant’s parking lot.
Isabelle stifled a sigh. Dale had been working too hard lately, but until his SATs were conquered, she didn’t see any hope of him relaxing. Then again, until the police caught whoever was killing people in her life, she wasn’t going to find much downtime, either.
Grant got out of the car without a word.
Isabelle rubbed her eyes with the heels of her hands. Things were getting too big and heavy, and something was going to have to give. What she wouldn’t have given for the time to take a vacation—get her and Dale away from everything for a while.
Grant opened her car door and stared down at her with a hard, almost fierce frown. He reached out and offered her his hand up.
Isabelle took it, not because she needed the help, but because she thought it might make him feel better to give it.
As she moved, the skin on her back stretched and she barely hid a wince of pain.
They went in through the back door, and Isabelle tossed her purse on the counter. Grant didn’t seem to be in the mood for company or conversation, so she told him, “I’m going to check on Dale and hit the sack.”
He gave her a silent nod and watched as she went up the stairs. She knocked lightly on Dale’s door, and when he didn’t answer, she peeked in. He was sprawled in bed, asleep with one long arm hanging off the side.
She had a sudden flashback to last night when she found him missing and stood there for a moment, watching him, thankful he was safe and sound.
His radio switched songs and started playing a new alternative rock song quietly in the background. A deep bass rhythm thrummed out of the speakers, but Dale didn’t even shift.
Isabelle never would have been able to sleep with the noise, but Dale said it helped him sleep, so she let it go. She figured he’d probably used the sound to mask the noise of his parents fighting when he was younger.
When she came back downstairs, Grant was waiting for her in the living room. The cut on his cheek had been taped closed by the paramedic, and a bruise was already starting to form around it. His feet were braced apart and he had the strangest look on his face—like he was preparing to do battle with her.
A sliver of worry wormed its way into her, because this was not right. This was not the Grant she knew.
Grant watched as fear made Isabelle’s face go pale.
Guilt twisted inside him at the thought that he was scaring her, and he tried to say something reassuring, something light, but nothing came out. The frenetic rage that had threatened to engulf him since the moment he’d heard her pained cry tonight was still rampaging through him. It took every ounce of concentration he had just to appear civilized.
Not killing the bastard who’d touched her had burned off all of his reserves of willpower and goodwill, and there was simply none left in him.
He hadn’t felt this way since the night he’d caught Lavine in her bed, holding her down as she fought against him. She’d been small for her age, weak. If Grant hadn’t been trying to sneak out of the house that night, he never would have passed by her door and heard her muffled, panicked cries. He never would have seen Lavine on top of her and gone into a blinding rage that ended only when the last breath had been choked from that bastard’s lungs.
Grant had always hoped the uncontrollable need for violence that had led him to kill Lavine that night had simply been a case of excess teenage hormones flooding his system. He’d killed since then out of duty or self-defense, but it had never once felt the same. It had never felt quite as personal. Or satisfying.
But after tonight, he knew teenage hormones weren’t to blame. The sound of Isabelle crying out in pain had brought all of that rage back, though he had no idea why.
He couldn’t let anything happen to her. Not then, and certainly not now.
“Grant?” she said with more than a hint of worry in her voice.
He took a step forward, then jerked to a halt, knowing he couldn’t touch her now, not while his instincts were running the show.
“Are you okay?” she asked.
He stood rigid, nearly shaking with the force of keeping himself away from her. He wanted to hold her, reassure himself she was okay, but he didn’t dare touch her until he was calmer. And he wouldn’t be calmer until he saw for himself that she was safe.
“You’re going to let me see,” he told her in a thick, ragged voice.
Isabelle’s exotic eyes narrowed in confusion. “See what?”
“You.” He swallowed hard, and his breathing sped as he struggled to hold himself back. He wanted to strip her naked and check every smooth patch of skin for injury, and if he moved so much as an inch, his instincts would take over and that’s exactly what he’d do. “I need to see you’re safe,” he tried to explain.
She closed the distance between them, apparently not realizing how close he was to the edge. She reached up and put her hand on his chest as if to calm him. “I’m perfectly safe.”
Grant shuddered at her touch and closed his eyes in an effort to regain control.
“Show me.” His voice shook, cracking with tension that made his whole body feel brittle.
“Are you talking about my back?”
Grant nodded.
“Okay.” She slipped off her jacket and turned around, lifting up the hem of her shirt. “See. It’s just a scrape.”
Grant bent to look at her back. It was a hell of a lot worse than just a scrape. The skin was rubbed bloody over a patch the size of his hand, and she was already bruising.
That killing rage bubbled up inside him, and he had to take several deep breaths to keep from losing control. He’d already done that once tonight, and two young men were going to be hospitalized for a long time because of it.
Too bad he couldn’t have made it three.
Grant reached out with trembling hands and lifted the back of her shirt higher. Slight bruises marred her skin all the way up to her bra. With a light tough, he ran his fingertip over the marks.
Isabelle tensed and froze in place.
“Did I hurt you?”
“Uh, no.” Her voice held a strange, thready quality that Grant had never heard before.
The scrapes disappeared below the waistband of her jeans, so without thinking how she’d react, only needing to see the damage for himself, Grant reached around her and unfastened her jeans.
“Grant?” she squeaked. “I don’t really think you should—”
“I won’t hurt you,” he reassured her as he eased the top of her jeans down two inches, where her injury stopped.
“I know you’re not going to hurt me.”
The way she’d said it simply, as if stating a fact, helped ease the tension that stretched his control thin. If she could trust him, then he couldn’t be some kind of monster.
Grant ran his finger along her smooth skin, being careful to avoid the abraded area. She was so soft and warm, so smooth and sweetly curved. He hadn’t intended to turn himself on by inspecting her injuries, but a low hum of arousal buzzed along his spine as his fingers soaked up her heat.
He leaned forward and pressed a gentle kiss over one of the bruises.
Isabelle let out a soft whoosh of air. Grant wasn’t sure if the noise was due to shock, dismay, or pleasure, but he couldn’t stop himself from finding another spot he needed to kiss.
Beneath the warm woman scent of her skin was the faint smell of flowers. He wasn’t sure what kind, but it hardly mattered. She didn’t need any additional perfume to entice him. Everything about her tugged at his senses, making him want more.
He wanted to see the smooth curve of her shoulder, the gentle swell of her hips, and the sleek length of her legs. He wanted to run his hands over her skin, learn where she liked to be touched. But most of all, he was dying to know what she tasted like and how she’d sound if he was ever given the chance to make her come.
Grant closed his eyes and breathed her in, trying to memorize her scent. His lips slid away from her wound, down to where her lovely bottom started to flare into maddening curves.
Isabelle swayed a little, but Grant held her steady as his mouth opened and his tongue met her skin. Salt and woman, such an intoxicating flavor, but never before had it gone to his head quite like it did with Isabelle.
Feeling her under his hands, tasting her on his tongue, helped to calm his anger, but it was replaced by something just as intense. He wanted her. Needed her.
His dick hardened, straining uncomfortably against the front of his jeans, but he ignored it. He didn’t want anything distracting him from this moment, from this chance to touch and taste Isabelle and know for a fact that she was going to be okay.
He allowed himself one more kiss, one more taste, before letting her go.
Grant cleared his throat and stood, but couldn’t find the strength to step back. He peered down at her glossy black hair, trying to pull himself together. Against his will, his hands reached around her and found the zipper of her jeans. Leaving them open was too much of a temptation.
Isabelle sucked in a breath and covered his hands with hers. “I can do it.”
Grant slid his hands up to her bare waist. They fit perfectly in the womanly hollow above her hips, and felt even better. He rubbed his thumbs over her skin, just under the hem of her shirt.