I am actually surprised; I would have figured they would have been on our heels by now. There’s a part of me that is disappointed they aren’t. I may not be letting Tess go for some reason, but I know she needs to. I guide her to the left of our path, and we start walking in that direction.
“I thought you said we shouldn’t go off the path?” She asks, exhausted.
“I needed a breather,” I lie.
“Oh, thank God,” she says.
“Don’t get excited. It will be a quick break.”
She doesn’t reply. Eventually, I weave around to the small area that I used to hunt in when I was younger. It’s a small spring of water under a large tree. I used to love this spot, once long ago, in a different life. I guide her over to the ground, applying pressure so she’ll sit down. “If you run off, you’ll regret it,” I inform her coldly. It should scare her. I don’t think it does.
“Sadly, I can’t right now,” she sighs morosely, hissing as she takes her shoes off. Her feet do look nasty. They’re covered in blood and red swollen blisters. I can’t stop myself from bending down on the ground and helping to take her shoes off. Then I shift her and ease her closer to the water, letting her feet fall into the cool water. “Am I going to get some kind of infection and lose my toes because I’m soaking them in swamp water?” she asks, but her eyes are closed, and she seems relaxed. I shake my head because she is a strange combination of a woman. I don’t think I’ve encountered anyone like her before.
“It’s a spring, probably more purified than the water that runs out of your faucet at home,” I tell her, getting up to go in search of the real reason I decided to stop here.
“I wouldn’t drink water that had my feet in it,” she calls out from behind me.
“You will if you’re thirsty. This might be the last water we have for a long time.”
“Couldn’t you have told me that before you put my feet in it? Besides, on TV, they always have to prepare the water. Shouldn’t we boil it or something?”
“You got matches?” I question sarcastically.
“I’m suddenly not thirsty.”
I leave with a smile on my face. I don’t stay away long. I don’t trust her to run off. Even if part of me is wishing she would. The constant war inside of me, over this woman, is driving me batty. Would it all change if I let myself have her, just once? I come back to the spring with some fruit I collected. I give her one handful and keep the other for myself.
“What are these?”
“Sea grapes.”
“Sea grapes?” She asks like it’s something from Mars. She holds one up to her face and turns it around inspecting it. She brings it up to her nose and sniffs. “Should we wash it off or something?”
“Sure, you have the water your feet are in.”
“I could hate you,” she grumbles, and it’s cute and all, but she should hate me. I kidnapped her. I don’t understand the dynamic we have going on between us. I need to get her out of my head. I need to make sure there is a wall between us.
“I’m sure you say that to all the men who kidnap you,” I say mainly to remind her of our situation. I think it does because, for a second, she gets a strange look on her face. Then she delicately bites into the grape. Her face is full of concentration, and she must decide she likes it because she plops what remains of the small morsel in her mouth and goes for the next one.
“I’ve read your file,” she begins, and I ignore her. “Why don’t you ever tell the parole board you’re sorry for your crime?”
Her question angers me. How many people have asked me that? I have fucking lost count. “I’m not sorry, my only regret is that I only got to kill him once.”
“Saying things like that is why you’re on your fourth parole hearing, can’t you even feign remorse?”
“Why? I’m glad the son of a bitch isn’t breathing. I’m thrilled the last face he saw was mine. No point in lying about it.”
“Don’t you want to be free? To have a life again, Max?”
I like the way she says my name. It makes me react, and I’m not just talking my dick, though that is definitely alert. Hearing her say my name causes something in my chest to hurt. Maybe it’s just the sea grapes.
“There’s nothing for me out here,” I tell her, dusting off my hands. I go and sit beside her and rip off one of the sleeves on my jumpsuit. Once I get that done, I do the other and carefully dry her foot off. Then I take part of one of the torn sleeves and wrap it around her foot, before putting it back in her shoe. I repeat my actions with the other foot.
“There could be,” she says while I’m tending to her, and I ignore those words. She’s wrong. I did what I did, and there’s no going back.
“Time to get a move on,” I say, helping her up and effectively shutting her down. I haven’t got time for her questions or the thoughts that having her around put in my head.
This time, I stay off the path. I know where I’m going, I just don’t know why. I should wait to be found and let Tess get back to her world, which is far, far away from my own. I know that logically, I just can’t manage to do that. Not yet, not right now. Maybe all the time without having a woman around has bothered me. I just can’t let her go, even if it would be better for both of us if I did.
It feels like we’ve been walking for days. In reality, it has probably only been hours. Max hasn’t said anything else, and it has been radio silence except for heavy breathing, which is all mine. Apparently, I’m out of shape, and Mad Max is a freaking machine.
I thought Florida was all flat land, but Max has somehow managed to find an actual hill. When we come over the top of it, he stops abruptly and jerks me so that I crash into the back of him.
“Umpf,” I grunt.
Silence.
“Yeah I didn’t expect an apology,” I mutter. There’s nothing around us, and I’m not sure what he finds so captivating. “Um…Max?”
Silence.
“Fine, don’t mind me. I just came here to try and save your ass and help you get out of jail today—which, by the way, I totally would have, had you cooperated. But, no…you had to get pissy and now I find myself kidnapped, threatened, spanked like a two-year-old child…”
“Don’t fucking lie,” he growls, and I stop my tirade to look up at him.
“Nothing about what we did resembles punishing a child. I can show you the difference if you want. I’d be happy to.”
I see the threat in his eyes and decide silence from me might be my best recourse. He stands there for another minute, watching me and then he goes over to a weeping willow that is covered in Spanish moss. He stands with his back against the trunk and walks straight ahead, heel to toe, almost if he is counting off paces. While he is distracted, I look around for something to defend myself with, and find a rock a few feet in front of me. I bend down to pick it up, being as slow and quiet as I can. I keep my eyes on Max the entire time, not wanting him to see me.
I finally manage to grasp it, and feel like I’ve won a war. With the rock in hand, and sadly it is small enough to clench my hand around, I start backing up. Once I put at least three hundred feet between Max and me, I turn to take off running.
“If you run Tess, you will not like what happens next,” he yells out. That makes me hesitate. His deep voice shortening my name and the way it rolls off his tongue nearly makes me groan aloud. For that reason alone, I take off running. He’s just too dangerous to me.
I run back the way we came, my heart pounding as hard as my feet on the ground. I can hear Max behind me. He’s back there somewhere and fear floods my system. If he catches me I’m in trouble, I’m just not quite sure how deep that trouble will go. I have no willpower around him.
I’m starting down the small incline he led us up when I hear him. He’s much closer than I thought he would be. I try to speed up, but I know it’s useless. Max wrapped my feet earlier, but they hurt like hell and my shoes, even without my much-adored heels, aren’t made for running, especially in Florida swam
pland with an escaped convict on my tail.
Max grabs me by the upper arm, and I scream. I don’t think, I just react. I turn into him, still screaming as loud as I can. I take the hand with the rock and slam the side of his face. It’s not big enough to do a lot of damage. It is, however, forceful enough that surprise works to my advantage and I’m free. Max stumbles back and again I take off. I don’t get ten feet before he pulls me down by the backs of my legs. I sail forward on the hard ground and crash hard, falling face first. I try to catch myself, but I do a poor job of it. He roughly turns me around. I try to bring the rock up to hit him again. Max holds my hand and applies so much pressure, I think he might break it. No matter what I do, I can’t move it. Then, I see his face. His hair is rumpled, his dark eyes so intense and his face is as cold as steel. He’s mad and not just a little. He’s furious.
On the side of his face, there is dirt and red, angry scrapes. Blood. Yeah, there’s blood. He’s bleeding on his beautiful face, and that’s my fault. It hurts me, and my reaction upsets me. It shouldn’t bother me that I hurt Max. I should want to hurt him over and over. He kidnapped me. He started this! I growl; frustrated with him, with me, with the situation, and more than anything else my own stupid inability to escape.
“You’re going to pay for that one, Kitten.”
His dark voice is meant to be a threat, I know, but something about the way he says it sends shivers of awareness down my body. He pulls my hands up roughly over my head and imprisons them at the wrist with one of his. His mouth comes down hard on mine. I try to hold onto my resistance and not open my mouth to him. His free hand encircles my breast and kneads it hard. My brain ceases to function, and instead I count each time he clenches and releases. My nipples go hard, craving attention and I try to recall all the reasons I should respond to him. Then he grasps my hard, pebbled nipple between his fingers and even through the layer of my clothes it feels so good that I moan. He pulls hard, and there’s a sting of pain that feels divine, and I gasp.
Max takes advantage, and his tongue pushes into my mouth and I can’t even begin to stop the way my hips thrust up against him, seeking and needing more. Our tongues go to war with each other, each trying to conquer the other. My hands strain against his hold, as he continues his sweet torture on my nipples. Soon I become mindless, craving anything he will give me.
“You’re wet for me, aren’t you Tess? I bet that greedy little pussy is drenched,” he growls in my ear. My legs spread farther apart wanting him there. His hand slides against my stomach and under my clothes. I whimper when I feel those callused fingers brush against my center. “God, you’re fucking soaked,” he mumbles against my neck as I feel his fingers thrust inside of me.
“Max!” I call out as his teeth bite into my neck and his fingers push into me, yet again. My ass raises off the ground straining for more, desperate to keep his hand inside of me. His tongue lashes against his bite, and he plants small kisses there, before sucking the skin into his mouth and pumping me with his fingers again. My climax comes on so suddenly, so quickly; I don’t expect it, I’ve never come that quickly before in my life, and I’m totally unprepared for it now. I try to pull away, afraid even while I’m craving it.
“Come, Tess. Ride my fingers and come for me,” He commands and he bites me again, just as his fingers forge their way back inside of me and his thumb presses down on my clit.
I splinter into a million pieces. The sensations overwhelm me, and I can’t hold back any longer. I turn myself over to it, throwing my head back against the cold, hard, unforgiving ground and calling out Max’s name while his fingers fuck me through my orgasm.
Slowly I recover, the air is heavy with the smell of sex and earth. I open my eyes carefully and find myself staring into the dark, black depths of Max’s.
“Feel better now that you spread your legs and let the convict finger fuck you in the mud, Kitten?” he growls, and the anger in his eyes hurts me more than his words. He shoves himself away from me, as if I disgust him. I have to lay there for a minute to recover from the blow. Maybe I do disgust him. I’m not sure what I just did. Worse, I already want to do it again.
I pull myself up off the ground, right my clothes and try and rake the leaves and twigs out of my hair. I’d give anything for hairbrush right now. Max doesn’t talk but when I look up, he’s reaching out his hand. The very hand he just had inside of me. I don’t want to take it. I try not to; he doesn’t really give me a choice.
He drags me back the way we came and his hold on me is cold and impersonal. Suddenly, now I feel like a hostage. He leads me beyond the tree, and I’m preparing myself for more hours of trekking uselessly through parts of Florida I’ve never wanted to see and never want to see again. Suddenly, he yanks me to a stop. I look around like he’s crazy. Then he bends down, and there’s an opening beneath us. A door to a bunker. They’re all over Florida, I know. Old deserted bunkers the military once used and no longer do. I’ve never seen one before though.
“In you go!” he orders.
I want to argue, but the change in him worries me, and I’m afraid. I do as he orders and go down into the dark bunker. I look at him as I go down every rung. I want to beg him not to close me up in here. I’m scared to death, and I can’t find my voice. His face looks pretty unforgiving. When I get to the bottom, I cough from the stale smell of dust that assaults me. I can’t see a lot. The opened door above is the only light, and I can’t see much. The light starts flickering, and I look up to see Max coming down the ladder. I guess he’s not going to leave me here alone. That’s something at least.
He practically pushes me out of the way to get to an old metal wardrobe. I watch as he opens the door and brings out a lantern. He attaches a can to the base and sits it on a cheap, card table that’s across from it and has two chairs. He rummages around in the cabinet for a few more minutes and goes back to the table. I watch him strike a match and hold it into the lantern. In seconds, pale light floods the room. I look again, and once I take it all in, suddenly wish for darkness again.
In the corner, there are a couple of small beds, which ironically enough look like beds in a jail cell, complete with army cot mattresses. Max goes over and flips the thin pads over.
“Come here,” he grunts like a he-man, as if using words at all pains him. I go, because let’s face it, discretion is the better part of valor at this point.
“Sit on the bed.”
“Me Tarzan, you Jane,” I mutter but do it. He squats down in front of me and reaches under the bed. I let my gaze move over the small room, trying to ignore him. That is a mistake, because I hear a clicking noise and feel cold metal circle my wrist. I look back to Max, and he has me handcuffed! He attaches the other end to a metal bar that runs across the base of the small headboard. He doesn’t say a word to me. He leaves me like that and starts going back up the ladder.
I thought I was scared before, but now I am petrified.
“Max! Stop! I won’t tell anyone which way you go. I could die here! No one will find me! Please don’t do this!” I beg, choking on the fear that’s so real and intense, my heart is hurting. He ignores me. “Max, please! You don’t have to do this!”
He stops at the top rung and turns back to look at me. Our eyes lock, and his cold gaze gives away nothing. Then, he goes the rest of the way out and shuts the entrance door with a heavy thud.
I look around the room and try to still the runaway beating of my heart. Tears are stinging my eyes, and I try not to give into them. He wouldn’t leave me here? He killed a man because of his wife and baby. Right? Someone like that doesn’t have it in him to hurt a woman. I try to justify all these things over and over in my head.
I know so much more about Max Kincaid than I should. I’ve spent months reading his file and being fascinated by the man. I’ve read everything I could get on him. He owns a tattoo shop on the outskirts of Ormond that caters to bikers, truckers and is known for being a no-nonsense shop. He spent years in the army and even had a
purple heart for saving his platoon in an attack somewhere in Syria. Everything about him screams that he is a good man. All reports indicated that his estranged wife fell in with the wrong crowd and hooked herself up with a drug dealer who got his kicks out of beating women and selling them for money. Max found her lying in a pool of blood. She was six months pregnant at the time. Max hunted the man down that killed her and returned the favor. I can’t find what he did horrible, and I don’t know what that says about me. When I read in detail the state of his wife’s body, I even cheered for Max. I think my heart broke for him. Can you fall in love with someone from reading about his life? I think I kind of did, and maybe that explains my reaction to him and why I let him touch me. Why I wanted it. Yet, everything I have read didn’t prepare me for a man who would leave me to die in the bottom of an abandoned bunker. So he’ll come back, right? He has to.
I’m a bastard for letting Tess think I’m leaving her to die. I’m so mad right now. I’m mad at her, and I’m mad at myself. Why did she let me touch her? Why did she let me make her come? God, why did she have to call out my name when she orgasmed? Before the woman was getting under my skin, and now; fuck, now she’s imbedded so deep I have a feeling I’ll never be free of her and if I’m honest that is what’s bothering me the most.
I had an uncle that I refer to as Crazy Uncle Raymond. He is the one that had that old bomb shelter installed underground. He believed the Zombie Apocalypse was close and wanted to hide out safely, while the government developed a cure. Too bad the old bastard didn’t put all that energy into giving up the bottle instead. He died driving home from a local tavern in Ormond, after wrapping his old El Camino around a tree.
Raymond also had an old hunting cabin about a mile away from here. I want to hit it before the law starts searching for me. I’ve been lucky; it’s been quiet so far. I figure they are still collecting information and trying to contain the damage from the prison break. I’ve got a good head start, but that’s going to disappear fast.