Page 87 of Speechless
Connor pulled his girl closer, more for himself than Jenna. She might not even know he was there, but he needed to feel her against him. Wanted to feel the warmth of her skin, the lift of her chest, hear the soft rasp of her breathing. The little things that assured him she was still alive.
Sire had a lot to fucking answer for. Connor’s insecurities escalated into fury. That bastard was responsible for this, should be held accountable for every moment of suffering Jenna experienced. Connor was willing to sacrifice his own freedom to ensure the fucker paiddearlyfor his cruelty.
“Go to sleep, Con.” With a bundle of dripping towels in her arms, Sarah paused at the foot of the bed.
“I can’t. What if...”
“You can. I’m going to put this lot in the washing machine, then I’m going to sit in the chair in the corner and keep an eye on both of you.”
“I can’t ask you to do that, Sarah.”
“You don’t have a choice, lucky you. So shut up and get some rest.” His friend turned on her heel and disappeared, her soggy burden leaving a trail of wet droplets.
God, luck didn’t come into the equation. Having a strong and dependable family at his back, at Jenna’s back, meant more to him than any four leaf clover or rabbit’s foot. Luck was fickle; what he had was the absolute opposite.
For that, for having Jenna in his life, he couldn’t thank God enough.
*
He knew it wasn’t the smartest idea to be watching the doctor’s house, especially with the FBI in residence in Howler’s Creek, but he couldn’t resist the temptation. An intelligent man—particularly one with his extracurricular activities—performed better with maximum data.
For almost a week now, he’d had his eye on the doctor’s cushy digs, keeping track of who came and went. He had yet to catch a glimpse of the elusive Twenty-Two.
Dressed for the downright freezing conditions in thick padded ski trousers and a red plaid lumberjack jacket, he was warmer than if he’d been stood beside a fire. The thermals beneath his outer gear helped.
Lurking between the two houses opposite O’Malley’s happy home, his gaze flicked from window to window. It was only late afternoon, but he’d seen the FBI agent, Hadley, arrive and leave earlier in the day, and then nothing between then and now, when the nurse came hurrying to work.
His main obstacles to snatching the girl were the doctor and his sidekick. One or both were in close vicinity at all times, and that made reacquiring her tricky. It made him think they were aware Sire wanted her back in his possession, but that wouldn’t deter him from the plan.
Glancing up at the sky, he smiled darkly. By nightfall, the first snow of winter should be on the ground. The forecast was dire—ten days of heavy fall, with an estimated thirty-six inches due to land—giving him a beautiful window of time in which to bring Twenty-Two back to her master.
Ten days to finish the last touches on his plan, execute it, and disappear with a certain blonde cunt into the wilderness, where not even Doctor Do-Good or his merry team of agents from the Federal Bureau of Inadequacy could find them.
Melting back into the shadows, he gave the house a cocky salute.
When he made his move, the sleepy town of Howler’s Creek would be in an uproar. It seemed a shame to miss the fireworks, but he had much bigger, much bloodier displays to take part in.
Twelve’s demise was foreplay compared to what he had in mind for Twenty-Two’s last hours, and Twelve hadn’t been an insubordinate, traitorous rat.
As his breath curled from his nostrils like twin streams of smoke, he walked away from his future mission, and decided it might be good to pass some time catching up with friends in the bar for an hour before heading home. Might be he’d come across a snippet or two of gossip he could use to his advantage.
He usedeverythingto his advantage.
*
Jenna still felt Sire’s hands around her throat.
Beside her, around her, Connor slept uneasily as though plagued by bad dreams of his own, but she couldn’t sleep. Wouldn’t ever sleep again after the nightmare showed her in its full glory just what she could expect from Sire’s lack of mercy.
The nightmare played over and over in her head, on fast-forward, in slow motion. Black and white, and full color. Surround sound and silence.
Making love with Connor. The sweetness of it, the humming sighs and murmured words, slick skin and motion of bodies joining together in gentle appreciation of the act and everything it stood for.
Entwined with each other on a bed of lush grass beneath a canopy of summer foliage, the sun beaming warm through the leaves. Until the sky turned black and a wicked wind stirred the trees into a frenzy of whipping branches and bent boughs.
Until Sire came, dragging another Jenna along the path to his killing hole. He stood in all his monstrous glory, studying the woman whose throat was collared to the chain in his hand, then her as she arched beneath Connor with a stunned cry.
Picking his replacement, sentencing one to die.