Capture (Siren Book 1) (9 page)

Eighteen

Milla

I've learned what I needed to. Roane—no,
Calder.
I've gotta practice that—isn't gonna let the camera thing go. And he's not gonna forget about it with the responsibilities of his small herd. I've got to stick close. I should have known he'd be a troublemaker. This is the only way I can think of to do it, but it introduces a new possibility.

What if he sees through me, and I have to actually kill him with my bare hands? I've got a blade hidden in my work coveralls, along with some more of the drugs. Still, I can't figure out whether I like the idea or not; it still seems too... casual... to just slit his throat in his sleep. And I never saw myself as the type to be able to kill someone with my bare hands. I'm not sure if I
can
, and I hope it doesn't come to that.

I don't think I'm a particularly strong actress, but he seems to be buying it. He seems to have written my anger at the cameras off as fear and hysteria. And when he touched me, when he told me to use his first name... I couldn't hide my revulsion. He doesn't seem to think it's anything other than a small town girl being intimidated by someone who's the closest she's really seen to a celebrity.

So so far, so good. I'm not sure how long I can keep up the act. The proprietary way he touches me, as though I'll automatically accept whatever he offers... The man's obviously never had a woman say no in his life. Even scruffy, sweaty, and unkempt, he thinks he's a prize.

We've been sitting quietly for at least a few hours. I can't think of a way to nudge them, but I'm getting impatient.

“You guys feeling up to getting the grand tour?” Calder asks, a little sarcastically. “It seems like every so often something changes. Someone leaves food, or unlocks a door.”

Denise raises apathetic eyes to him. “It doesn't matter. Surely the police are looking for us—if we just stay
put
.”

A flash of anger drifts across his face, and I can hardly contain my glee. However calm he acts, however he tries to assert himself as defiant, he
is
scared. I'm getting to him.

“They don't seem to do a good job looking, though, do they? I've been here days. We don't
know
how much longer before we're found. And do you really want to take that gamble?”

She lowers her eyes, defeated.

“So where're you guys from? All Winchester locals?” Calder shrouds his eyes with his lashes. There's something going on with him, I'm not quite sure what. My head still aches somewhat from the chloroform I inhaled, just for authenticity. He's got his own motive here, beyond small talk. Apparently his mind doesn't shut off, even for a minute, no matter the circumstances. It's something I could admire, in someone else.

“Yeah,” Alex says. It seems to be old news to Calder, who barely glances at him as the other two shake their heads. Finally, he turns toward me, and I shrug. I can't quite commit to noncommittal, but terse seems to do the job. If he thinks carefully, he already knows that much, since I was too groggy to remember my rehearsed backstory when I reacted to his name. But his attention really
should
be on other things; I need to be as close to invisible as I can.

“Hmm. So
that
's out.” He gets to his feet, and offers his hand to help me up. I shiver as I take it; his touch sends spidery touches across my spine, and I want to shove him away, and scratch his touch off my skin.

“Thanks, Calder,” I murmur, trying to make the reviled name feel natural in my mouth.

He nods, and offers Alex the next hand. He's plainly using me as a prop to get the others moving, implying to the others he has my tacit support, rather than asking whether I want to sit and wait, too.

Alex accepts the hand, as does Allen. Only after the others are on their feet does Denise get to hers, ignoring his outstretched hand.

He leads us through the rest of the space, even the room he started in, though he pales and shudders as we file out, and he's the last one in it for a second. In the main space, the smell is
horrendous,
and it's hard not to laugh. For all the frustration this has caused me, it makes me happy thinking that at least one of them was that comically miserable.

Denise scrunches her face, and Alex defensively mutters “I was
sick
.”

Calder catches my eye with a little smirk, and I
know
I must be doing a terrible job hiding my amusement.

One by one, he insists we methodically try all the doors. And then he gets creative.

“Milla? You're smallest. You think you can fit in that pipe, see if it leads through the wall? Maybe you can open something from the outside.”
Shit
, he's clever. And right. Any one of them wouldn't stand a chance; Denise is carrying a lot of extra weight, as is Alex. Allen
might
fit, but his shoulders are too broad. And Calder is
way
too muscular.

“You—you want me to
what?
” I bury my discomfort in a fearful reaction, tensing my hands so they tremble, and widening my eyes.

Denise bites her lip and rolls her eyes, likely assuming I'm being melodramatic, but as I'd hoped, the men react protectively. Calder leans close, and takes my hand. That won't exactly help his case.

“I know it's scary—but none of us can do it. If I could go in there myself, I wouldn't even be asking.” His other hand drifts to the scar on my temple, the last remnant of the head trauma that nearly killed me. “You've got the scars; you've seen damage. I
know
you have the courage in you to face this.  We've
got
to stick together, Milla, or we'll
all
fall. You
have
to believe me that I would lay down my life for yours, right now. I wouldn't request something of you that I had no plans to reciprocate.”

Never underestimate the power of charisma. If his father was half the natural leader
he
is, his old man wouldn't've needed violence and money to get his way. I had
no
idea. Guilt pangs me for letting my work go so long undone; who
knows
how long he's been behind the scenes, schmoozing, convincing others they were on the same side, no matter how evil their actions...

Allen is giving us peculiar looks—either jealousy or annoyance. Calder pulls me further to the side and turns so his shoulders block us from view. He lowers his voice. “I've been trying not to scare anyone more than they already are, but—”

He pulls a piece of shiny metal out of his pocket, and hands it to me. I stare at it, in confusion.

“Does this look like it belongs
here?
”

I shake my head mutely, turning over the tie clip and collecting my thoughts. Here I thought I'd cleaned up pretty
thoroughly
.

“I found it on the floor where I woke up. It looks new. We aren't the first.”

My eyes wide, I stare at him, playing up my terror. He meets my gaze levelly, pale eyes calm, but intense. He's waiting to see which way I'll jump. “Why wouldn't you tell us?” There's pain in my voice, but not at his secrecy like he seems to think, from the way his face falls. The pain's there because I
need
to smell their fear, and he's hidden it to deprive me.

He takes the tie clip back from me, his fingers grazing mine, and I yank my hand away like he stung it. “Like I said—I didn't want you guys to be afraid. We all need to keep our wits about us.”

He tucks the metal back in his pocket, and puts his hands on my arms, stroking me lightly. “Please? Will you explore up there?
Please
?”

It suits my purposes, for the moment, to give in. I bite my lip and look down. “Sure.”

Nineteen

Calder

“How—how d'you want to do this?” Milla asks apprehensively, her face carefully calm. She took the news surprisingly well.

“If you sit on my shoulders, do you think you could stand once I'm up?”

“Maybe?” She doesn't seem happy to have so much attention on her. But with no way they can really help, as out of shape as they are, the others have nothing to do but watch.

“Okay, then.” I kneel down, bracing myself for her weight. “Climb on.”

She blushes and obeys, looping one leg, then the other, over my shoulders. Her thighs are muscular, though there's something hard digging in to my shoulder. Some part of me wonders what she's got in her pocket, but the rest is invested in getting out of this space. “Ready?”

“Yeah,” she says, gripping my forearms to try to keep herself from slipping.

“Okay.”

I stand, momentarily shocked at how heavy she is. I exhale, and then curse myself for letting my startlement show—self-consciousness is the
last
thing she needs right now. “You're all muscle, aren't you?” I pinch her thigh affectionately, and she wiggles, her hips mussing my hair.

Maybe this wasn't a great idea. Her aroma envelopes me, womanly and musky. What I wouldn't give to have my face buried in her, instead of her hot sex on the back of my neck, separated only by thick denim.

It's an inappropriate thought to have, and one I shouldn't indulge. I need to focus; my dick's needs are the last on the list in this hellhole. I put up my hands, so she can brace herself.

“Careful.” I want to say so much more; I want to apologize for not being the one up there. I want to apologize for fantasizing about her body. I want to give her a message to give to someone, if she makes it out and I don't. I want to ask her if she wants to leave a message with me in case of the same.

But I can't force the words through. So the careful stands.

She puts her palms in mine, putting enough of her weight on them that she can shift to bend her knees. With my shoulders under her calves, she straightens and reaches. Her fingers are barely six inches shy of the pipe.
Six goddamn inches
.

“It's okay—it was worth a try,” I say, as she strains. More and more, I'm worried about overbalancing and dropping her to the sub-floor. “Let me—”

And she shifts again. “No—I can get it.”

She reaches down, and I put my hands under hers, anticipating the request. Once again, I steady her as she rearranges herself, her sturdy work boots now flat on my shoulders. I don't know why I was surprised such a rough-and-tumble woman is as muscular as her.

She keeps her grip on my hands as she straightens, until she can't hold them longer. Her weight shifts, and I brace myself to catch her. But instead, her weight pushes off me, and she catches the pipe, hauling herself up until she can get her legs in it. From here, I can see her hand shaking, but I don't comment on it, instead turning to give the others a broad grin.

For the first time, Denise registers eagerness and hope, as she approaches to look up with me, as Milla shimmies into the pipe. Every second bleeds on; it's one that she could run into our captor, or fall if the pipe isn't connected on the other side. There's a muffled rattling from her efforts, but even as it fades, nearing the walls, the apprehension grows.

Fuck
, what I'd give for it to be me up there. It's not right asking someone else to risk their life.

A muffled shriek makes its way to us, and my heart speeds up. “Milla?
Milla
? Are you okay?”

No answer. Or at least no intelligible answer. Finally, her arms appear around the edge of the pipe as she pulls herself up to the edge. “It's blocked.”

“
Shit
.”

Denise pats my shoulder. “It was worth a try.”

Probably I should take that as a victory, that she's working
with
me, and has lost some of her antagonism. But right now everything feels like defeat.

“You gonna help me down?” Milla asks, sticking halfway out of the pipe.

“Yeah sure. Let me brace myself, and I'll catch you.” No way in hell is she gonna be able to reach my shoulders without losing her balance, and knocking me off mine. Getting up's easier than coming down.

She bites her lip, and takes a deep breath. When our eyes meet and she knows I'm ready, she threads the last of her legs out of the pipe, and lets go. Her warm weight knocks the breath out of me, and when I inhale, there's nothing but that sweet feminine fragrance.

Her fall knocks me off balance, and I tip backward onto the catwalk, poky metal on one side, and soft curves on the other. I pat her on the small of the back and fight to catch my breath as she rolls off me.

She retreats, her own breath shaky.

I shouldn't have pushed her into it; it was a pointless risk. “I'm so—”

She cuts me off. “So that's what it feels like to be a circus acrobat.”

Allen and Alex help me to my feet, and Denise helps Milla brush a new coating of gunk off her clothes. Maybe this
did
serve a purpose. For the first time, we're united.