Page 33 of Redemption
“Come.”
A part of me wants to trust him in some weird way, wants to think the connection I felt was mutual. I want to believe it’ll be all right. He’ll tell me to be quiet and then let me go. I put a trembling hand in his and let him help me out of the car. I stop right outside, nauseous, my knees weak. He’s towering over me, standing much too close. I bend my neck and look up. His scent is so painfully familiar, his face, the dark stubble on his cheeks. My chin is still chafed after a whole night of kissing those lips. The memory of his touch makes goosebumps chase each other along my thighs. His tense eyes soften slightly.
“What are you?” I whisper. “What do you want with me?”
He swallows visibly, his Adam’s apple moving up and then down again, then he sighs and grabs my upper arm in a firm, but not hurting grip.
“Just come with me, please.”
He pulls me toward some large buildings. I see now we’re in the harbor. My muscles go slack, and I stumble. I can’t do this, I can’t! I begin to hyperventilate, and black dots cloud my vision.
“Ker!”
I come to a little, his hands cradle my cheeks, his eyes search mine.
“It won’t hurt, sweetie. I’m sorry for all this. I wish we’d met under other circumstances.”
I scream then. It sounds like a wounded animal and I can’t even believe it comes from my own throat. I dig my heels in the asphalt and try to stop the onward movement. Christian presses a hand over my mouth and lifts me. I kick and flail, but he keeps carrying me, seemingly unaffected by my efforts to break free.
“Please!” I cry in his palm. “Please! I don’t want to die!”
In the dark shadows behind an abandoned warehouse, next to a rusty old dumpster, with the sound of the waves lapping away at the concrete surrounding us, he lets me down. The scent of salt and rotten seaweed is strong. I hit him, try to reach his face, try to claw myself free. He pushes me up against the wall and I freeze when I feel the hard, cold metal of the barrel of a gun pressed against the softness under my chin.
I whimper and try to pull away, but I’m getting nowhere. My mind reels. I catch his gaze. There’s a desolate expression in them, and I can only pray I’m interpreting it correctly. With my heart thrashing in my chest, I cup his cheeks. He flinches as I touch him.
My lower lip trembles and new tears trickle along my cheeks, but I’m fighting for my survival. I have to be strong now. “You don’t want to do this,” I whisper.
A muscle in his jaw moves, his eyes dart between mine. Back and forth. I hold my breath. Wait.
His lips twist as he shakes his head. “No. I really don’t.”
“Why?”
“I find you… Your passion for the children. Your light. You’re so different.” His gloved hand moves up to my face and he strokes my cheek, touching the wetness there.
“I liked talking to you,” I say softly. “Can we… can we just talk? Please? I… I liked you. A lot.” I chew on my lip. I have no idea how he’ll react. I hope to God he did like me enough. “I’m sorry I’ve been a mess, but— The night we had… I’ve never experienced anything like it. I— I’d love to feel you again.” My hand slides down his chest, along his ripped abdomen. He tenses under my touch. I slide lower. My insides scream, but an eerie calm has washed over me in the face of death, a strength I didn’t know I possessed. My hand trails lower, below his belt. My eyes dart up to meet his, and his cock grows under my caresses.
“You can protect me,” I whisper. “I’ll be yours, Christian. I’ve never wanted anyone more in my life.”
He lowers the gun as his eyes dart over my face, then he moves even closer, his chest to mine. His rapidly thudding heart, and his erratic breaths reverberate through me.
“My God, Kerry. What are you doing to me?” he whispers. “You’re not making this easy.”
“It’s not supposed to be easy,” I rasp, my voice barely carrying. “Please take me with you.”
My stomach clenches and my heart pounds like mad. His breath on my face, his lips moving in on mine. He’s so beautiful it hurts. Knowing he’s here to kill me hurts even more.
I really hopethishurtshim.
As he presses his mouth to mine, I jerk my knee up with all the strength I can muster, right up between his legs. Our teeth collide as he bends over with a roar. I shove him to the side to try to get him off me. His hand strikes out and grabs a fistful of hair, pushing me face first into the wall. I scream and try to reach the hand in my hair but lose my bearings when he throws me to the ground. The pain when my hands and knees scrape against the uneven concrete makes me cry out. He rips me over on my back with a crushing grip on my shoulder, bending over me, pulling me to him. I slam up my head, my forehead crashing against his nose. My mouth tastes of blood and I think a tooth is loose. He staggers. Clutching his face, he loses his hold on me, almost dropping the gun.
“You’re fucking dead,” he growls. A sound that makes the blood in my veins freeze.
I shuffle back, trying to escape from between his feet, but he puts a foot on my chest, pushing hard, making me lose my breath.
“Not. So. Fast,” he grits out.
He sinks down, straddling me, putting his hands around my throat. I widen my eyes and clutch at his hands, trying to grab around his thumbs, to bend them off me. His face is a mask of frightening rage and the grip tightens. Getting nowhere, the pain where he holds me increasing, my airway tightening, I abandon his thumbs and aim for his face. Slamming the heel of my hands against his throat makes him choke out a gasp and loosen his hold. I hit him again, and then I claw his face, trying to reach his eyes.