Jeremiah (Stud Ranch 5)

I didn’t bother wasting the energy to nod, I just got to work heaving my million-pound arms around to tug at the tape binding her. It took longer than I would have preferred, but finally I’d gotten her wrists free and together, we pulled her hands and arms free of the tape.

I fell back and rested, breathing hard as she made quick work of the tape around her ankles and then mine.

“Okay, that was badass,” she said. “And now it’s time to get the hell out of here. Come on.”

She held a hand down to me, and then, quickly realizing that wasn’t enough, she leaned down and put her shoulder underneath my arm. Which was a ridiculous idea considering how small she was.

I wasn’t a skinny street kid anymore. I’d bulked up to be twice the size I was as an eighteen-year-old, and there was no way Ruth was dragging me out of here without assistance.

So, as exhausted as I was, I pushed for a little bit more adrenaline and got to my knees, then stumbled to my feet, Ruth attempting in vain to steady me.

I’d just reached out for the wall when we heard the sound of a truck engine pulling to a stop nearby.

Ruth’s head snapped my way, eyes wide and terrified. “It’s him. He’s back.”

Well, shit.

21

Ruth

“Get behind me,” Jeremiah whispered fervently.

Hilarious. He could barely stand on his own two feet.

But there was no time to argue. Or make a plan. Or do much of anything. I looked around the shed that was frustratingly empty other than the chair.

Buck had a gun. And he was crazy.

All we had on our side was surprise. If only Jer had woken fifteen minutes earlier we might have gotten the hell out of here.

But I knew well enough that wishes never did anyone good. And my heart raced as I gave another panicked look up at Jer when we heard footsteps approaching.

Fuck.

So I didn’t stop to think.

I separated myself from Jeremiah and he tried to move between me and the door, as if he thought I was actually giving into his suggestion of letting him take on Buck by himself.

Men.

I shook my head and hurried to grab the chair from the floor, quietly so as to not ruin our one advantage.

And then when the door rattled and finally opened, I flipped the chair so that I held the legs, the back out like a battering ram. And then I screamed like a banshee, surprising the hell out of both Jeremiah and Buck, and ran straight at Buck, straight through the door, ramming the chair into him and plowing into him just as he reached for his gun.

The ringing of a gunshot exploded through the air.

22

Jeremiah

I wasn’t quick enough to save her. Oh God. Oh God oh God.

I’ve failed her just like I was always so terrified I’d fail my little brother. We were always so cold and wet, huddling against buildings and over vents in the sidewalks where hot air would pipe out of the San Francisco streets. But you had to fight for those spots and it didn’t matter anyway during the long, interminably rainy days some winters, temperatures just above freezing.

And here I was in the dark and the cold again.

And Ruth—

Ruth!

I struggled to get up, to go to her—

But it was dark. So dark. And I couldn’t move. Why couldn’t I move?

I tried to call out to her. I tried to scream. But the darkness only closed in deeper, taking me back.

Swallowing me down the throat of the night and into its belly. I choked and screamed as I tried to open my eyes, to claw my way out. But I couldn’t move. Couldn’t move because she had me trapped.

And then I was afraid that I’d never left. I’d never left that fifteen by fifteen foot room dungeon. I’d never escaped to Texas with my brother. I’d never met Xavier, or made it to Mel’s ranch.

I’d never met Ruth, who challenged me and frustrated me and made me feel more alive than I’d ever known was possible.

That had all been the mirage. The dream.

I’d been in the dungeon all this time, only escaping where my mind would take me. Dreaming up a whole life.

And now it had come to an end.

Ruth was gone. The ranch I’d fought so hard to make solvent with my brother—gone. None of it had ever been real.

And now I didn’t want to open my eyes because I knew I’d only see her horrible, taunting face, and she’d break me down until I begged, and beg I would. I’d beg and snivel and be less than a man, less than a beast under her whip—

Are you going to be a good dog today? Victoria would always ask when she came in. And I would hurriedly crawl as far as my leash would allow so I could lick her boots and show that yes, yes I would be very a good dog that day. So that maybe, just maybe, I would get fed.