Hell Breaks Loose: A Devil's Rock Novel (7 page)

“Thanks,” he said.

Reid descended the porch. Grace stayed one step ahead of him. She looked smaller somehow on the outside. He hastened until
they were walking abreast of each other. He sent her a quick glance. She looked up at him with that damned cord around her
neck, a faint quiver in her lip.

“Sorry ’bout that,” he said as he they advanced to the vehicle.
Sorry about abducting you. Terrifying you. Feeling you up.

She shook her head and shot a glance over her shoulder as if verifying it was okay to talk now. He followed her gaze. The
porch was empty. Zane had gone back inside. ’Course, that didn’t mean they weren’t being watched from the window.

He guided her to the waiting van, some relic from the nineties that smacked of “I have a kidnapped woman in the back. ”It
would have to do. The thing that most worked to his benefit was that Grace had been taken several hundred miles east of her
abduction site. And they were only going farther west. While the state was on an overall high alert, no one had seen the van.
No one was specifically looking for
this
vehicle in relationship to Grace Reeves or him. Especially not way out in the badlands of Texas.

He yanked open the back doors, satisfied to at least see a blanket spread out on the hard metal floor.

“I can’t believe they are letting me go like this,” she whispered beside him, as though still afraid they could hear her.
“I’m actually getting out of here.”

His chest tightened. He knew what she thought. Maybe he had let her think that by promising to keep her safe. She believed
she was going home right now. He could tell her, explain it to her, but that would just be borrowing trouble before he needed
to. It could wait.

He reached for her throat. Loosening the cord, he ignored the softness of her skin and nodded toward her wrists. “You can
take those off once we get on our way. Climb in.” Right now they needed to put this place behind them.

With a grateful look at him, she turned and clambered up into the back of the van. There was that guilty feeling again.

He shut the heavy door with a slam, walked around the van and climbed up behind the wheel. He adjusted the rearview mayor
so he could see her, then drove out of the yard. The van bounced along the unpaved the road.

“How far is it to the nearest police station?”

He flitted a look to the mirror before training his gaze on the dirt road stretching in front of them. “We’re pretty far from
anything.” Not exactly an answer. Definitely not the truth. But it was enough for now. All he was going to explain.

She inferred what he intended, and he bought himself a little time. She worked her wrists free and tossed the cord aside.

Eventually he would have to explain the way things worked. She wouldn’t like it, but it wasn’t as though she had a choice. He
didn’t break out of jail to play hero. He had saved her life. That was good enough for now. She would go home eventually and
have an adventure to tell her future grandchildren. Maybe they’d even make a movie about her life.

He’d keep her safe. That was the only promise he’d made her.

He had to honor the promise he made to himself first.

He had to kill Sullivan.

The blanket offered little comfort beneath Grace. She felt every bump as she bounced against the van’s steel floor. By the
time they reached the smooth ride of paved road, she was sore and knew she would bear the bruises for it. Still, she felt
only relief to be leaving that house with all its scary, dead-eyed men behind. She had only one man to contend with now.

And he was an escaped convict.

She’d heard that as clear as day back in the house. Her life was in the hands of a man who had escaped from prison. She clung
to the memory of
Shawshank
Redemption
. Plenty of those convicts had hearts of gold . . . and honor. Great. She was holding him up to Hollywood fiction and Morgan
Freeman. That was realistic.

She scooted forward and peered at him between the two front bucket seats, wondering how long until he stopped. How far could
the nearest police station be? There had to be some type of law out here. A sheriff’s department or something. Obviously,
he might not feel comfortable walking her inside himself, but he could drop her off a block away. Even a mile. He didn’t have
to turn himself in because of her. She could assure him of that. Hell, she didn’t even have to say anything about him at all.

She waited as long as she could stand it and then asked, “How long will it take to get there?”

He shot her a quick glance and then looked back at the road, one hand draped idly over the steering wheel as though this were
just a Sunday afternoon drive. She stared at that hand for a moment, briefly recalling the feel of it on her skin before she
gave herself a hard mental shake and banished the image.

“Few hours.”

“Hours?” She frowned. “There has to be some sort of law enforcement closer than that.”

Again he glanced at her in the rearview mirror. It was a moment before he answered, “We’re not going to the authorities.”

She processed that as the van rumbled beneath and around her, vibrating up her bones to her very teeth. “I don’t understand.”
Her voice was getting shrill, and she swallowed, fighting for a normal tone. “Where are we going?”

“You’ll be safe,” he said. Again.

He’d said it to her when they were in that bed together, and she’d believed him. She believed him then because he could have
hurt her a thousand different ways and he hadn’t. Nor had he let the others hurt her. That had been enough then, but now she
wasn’t so sure. An uneasy feeling started in the pit of her belly. For all she knew, he was taking her to a grave out in the
desert.

She wet her lips. “Where?” she repeated.

He stared straight ahead, not looking at her. “It’s best you don’t know where we’re going.”

Silence so tense it crackled filled the interior of the van. Understanding sank in, followed by dread. “You’re not letting
me go,” she whispered, her skin flushing cold.

His hands flexed over the steering wheel, knuckles whitening. “I can’t do that. Not yet.”

“You mean you won’t.”

“Same difference, in this case.”

Her chest grew tight, the air sliding thickly past her lips. “You’re a liar. And a criminal.”

His deep voice crawled toward her in the tight space of the van, slithering like a serpent. “I didn’t lie to you. You heard
what you wanted to hear. But you’re right. I am a criminal. You shouldn’t forget that.”

For a moment the sight of those strong, broad hands clasping the steering wheel filled her vision. They were all she could
see. She’d let those hands touch her. She shuddered with the knowledge, feeling sick. She had made a mistake trusting him.

There was no fear. Only rage growing by the second inside her. Only a desperate need for self-preservation. She surged forward,
pushing up off the heels of her shoes. She clawed at his face with her manicured nails. A jarring cry bounced off the inside
of the van and she dimly realized it was coming from her.

He cursed, his body banging against the driver-side door. The van swerved wildly, running off the road. He slammed on the
brakes. Dirt and gravel roared outside their fishtailing vehicle. She pitched forward, landing on her knees between the bucket
seats. Pain radiated up her thighs. The van bumped and bounced before finally coming to a hard stop.

She didn’t wait. She pushed up to her feet and turned, lunging for the side door. Lifting the lock, she slid it open and was
out and running over the uneven terrain as though she had a plan. As though she knew where she was going.

She ran like she never had before, strange gasps and funny sounds escaping her that didn’t even sound human. She twisted her
neck, searching for a road, hoping to see another car.

But there was nothing. Just the bleak landscape of desert terrain. A horizon that went on forever, and she was lost in it.
All alone. With him.

The hard, swift beat of his feet sounded behind her, and she knew he was coming. Hunting her. Her pulse hammered violently,
and her panting turned into ragged sobs as she felt him closing in.

Her foot hit a rut and she staggered. She caught herself, stopping just shy of eating dirt, but it cost her. His hand snared
her hair, tangling in the long strands.

He gave a yank and she tumbled backward into him with a cry. He turned her over in his arms as they simultaneously hit the
ground. Hard. It would have been worse if he had not twisted around in the last second and took the brunt of their fall, leaving
her sprawled atop him.

“Let go of me!” She pounded on his chest.

He was indifferent to her blows. The steel bands of his arms wrapped around her waist and squeezed, pushing the air out of
her lungs.

“What are you doing?” he growled. “Trying to get us killed?”

“I’m already dead. Aren’t I?” She thrust her face close to his. “Just say it! Tell me the truth for once. For the first time.”

He glared up at her, his green and amber marbled eyes sharp as glass. Their breaths crashed between them, mingling hotly.
He shook his head once, slowly from side to side. “The truth is, you’re my prisoner for as long as you need to be.”

She held his gaze, trying to read him. For once, she suspected he was telling the truth. He wasn’t going to let her go until
he was good and ready. Keeping her safe, in his mind, did not equate to letting her go. She understood that now.

She should be better at reading between the lines, having lived among people who said one thing and meant another. Or they
outright lied. She had been watching her father do it for years.

Grace inhaled thinly, trying to dislodge herself from the top of him, but he held her fast, locked tight against him.

“You good?” he asked.

The question alone infuriated her, which was unusual in itself. She rarely lost her temper. She’d have to feel strongly in
order to do that, and for so long she had been living in a state of numbness. As though someone had pressed the mute button
on all her emotions, dulling everything.

“No. I’m not
good
.” His mouth kicked up at the corner as though she amused him, and the urge to scratch that smile off his face seized her.
She curled her fingers into her palms, nails cutting into her flesh as she held the impulse in check. Barely. “I’ve been abducted.
Hit. Manhandled. And the one guy I thought was going to get me out of this just proved himself as bad as the rest of them.”

His smile slipped. Her heart skipped a beat. Instantly, she knew. He resented being lumped into the same category as the others.

“If I was as bad as the rest of them . . .” His deep voice scratched the air between them. “ . . . I would not have left you
alone last night.” He took her hand and dragged it between them, forcing it over the sizable bulge of his erection. Her breath
caught at the hard shape of him under her fingers. “You would be well-acquainted with this.”

Their gazes clashed, his hazel eyes turning more green than gold in that moment. He released her hand and she pulled it back
as though burned. “Make no mistake. I’m nothing like them. Be glad for that.”

Be glad.
She ground her teeth, hot indignation pumping through her veins. She would not thank him for
not
abusing her. As though common decency was something one shouldn’t expect.

He clambered to his feet, taking her with him. She glanced to the idling van and shook her head fiercely. She couldn’t get
back in that van. Not with him. Not with this criminal. He wrapped one hand around her arm and started pulling her in the
direction of the vehicle. She dug in her heels.

With an impatient grunt, he bent down and flung her over his shoulder. The force knocked the wind out of her. The earth pitched
and swayed as he carried her. She recovered her breath and started struggling, feeling herself tilt sideways on his shoulder.

“Stop wiggling.” She squeaked as he smacked one big hand on her bottom, pinning her in place.

The side door to the van still yawned open. He dropped her inside. She scrambled to her knees, shoving her hair out of her
face to glare at him. “They’re going to catch you! You’re going to jail.”

His face was its usual stony mask. He gripped the edge of the door and scanned her slowly with those changeable eyes, acutely
reminding her of the hot mess she must appear. He shrugged one big shoulder indifferently. “Before this is all over that’s
exactly where I expect I’ll be.”

His gaze turned from her then, landing on the discarded cord. His mouth formed a grim line and she knew his intention. Her
pulse jackknifed against her throat as he snatched the cord. She tried to crawl away but he grabbed her ankle and dragged
her back. “Sorry. Gotta do this. Can’t have you causing me to run off the road again.” He bound her wrists and ankles, not
too tight but snug. She wouldn’t be mobile. He looked back at her. “Sorry,” he repeated, his voice flat and void of emotion.

“I’m the one tied up,” she spat. “Don’t act like this is hard for you.”

Tied up and
scared, she silently added. Her parents must be out of their mind with worry. Even as she thought that, an uncomfortable knot
formed in her throat. Would they really? Would her father be worried about her? Or more worried about how this impacted his
campaign?

Reid held her gaze as if he was going to deny the accusation, but then he nodded. “You’re right.” That said, flatly and without
remorse, he slammed the sliding door shut, the force of which reverberated on the air for several moments.

She sat on the hard floor, the knuckles of her bound hands curled against the steel bottom of the van, her heart racing, her
breaths escaping in angry pants. Her gaze darted, wildly searching for something. Some way out of this nightmare. She was
at his mercy. She hadn’t let herself think that way before, but she was no better off than when she was first grabbed outside
her hotel.

He opened the driver-side door and reclaimed his seat. She stared bleakly at the back of his seat as he turned the ignition.

Had she thought him her savior? Her head was throbbing. She curled herself into a small ball, laying on her side, nestling
her cheek against the blanket and marveling that she could be so stupid. There was no savior. No help coming. Everything was
up to her.

Tears stung the backs of her eyes. She refused to let them fall. She refused to cry in proximity to him. She wouldn’t dare
show that weakness. When she was home and free and this was all a bad memory, then she would allow herself tears.

The van rolled a steady rhythm underneath her, lulling her. Soon she was asleep.

She slept for hours. Long after he turned off the highway and onto rural roads that formed a labyrinth in the desert mountains.
Thankfully, she didn’t even stir when he stopped for gas.

He glanced at her several times through the rearview mirror. She must be exhausted. He grimaced. Or the stress of her ordeal
put her into a coma. She bumped along with the movements of the van, her face relaxed and at ease.

It was a relief. No more attacks that ran them off the road. No sound of her voice talking to him, begging, pleading. No tears.
God, that would have undone him. Only her gentle snores. She was emotionally and physically beat. Her body had shut down and
claimed the rest it needed.

It was dark by the time he pulled up in front of his grandfather’s old hunting retreat. The kind of dark you only found in
the country. The night sky stretched overhead, deep and studded with infinite stars.

He hadn’t been to the cottage in a long time. Even before he went to prison. Not since his grandfather’s death. But he remembered
the place well. Sometimes, falling asleep in his cell, he would think about it. It was one of the few places where he felt
safe . . . where any happy memories could be found. Hunting. Fishing in the creek. Roasting marshmallows over the outside
pit.

His grandfather had built the place after he returned from the war. As though living in a remote West Texas town wasn’t remote
enough for him. The old man installed a well so there was running water. A generator provided the needed electricity. The
ice chest full of food that Zane packed would last them until he hunted some game or caught fish from the creek. Assuming
they were even here that long. He grimaced. He hoped not.

Reid pulled up in front of the hunting cabin and killed the lights and engine. He sat behind the steering wheel for a moment,
staring at the dark shape of the house. He and Zane were normal boys here. Until Grandpa died, and then everything changed.

When Grandpa lived he would keep them for days, sometimes weeks at a time. After the old man died, there was no break, no
saving them from their home life. Their mother only cared about her next fix, and their father, when he decided to make an
appearance, liked to use them for punching bags. It made him feel better. Like a big man.

The old, weathered wood swing on the front porch moved in the breeze, the chains clinking softly. For a moment he could imagine
Grandpa sitting there, whittling a piece of wood into something Reid and his brother would later marvel over. Happy times
happened here, and it felt wrong bringing her here, as though doing so would taint all those memories.