Page 27 of Craving Sin

C frowns, as though he hadn’t expected that. “Daddy issues?”

I ignore him, wishing Rian would wake up again. I’d much rather spend time with him than with this man. The strange part is I know Rian can be just as cold, just as cruel. Something about him tells me he can be even worse, so I don’t know what it is about him that feels different from being with C.

“My father will be looking for me,” I lie. Chances are, it will take him too long to realize I’m gone to be helpful. “I’m all he has left after my mom died. There’s nothing he won’t do to get me home, nothing he won’t pay.”

“We don’t need money. We need nothing from you.”

“Then why did Rian take me?” I ask, trying to get the upper hand. This man doesn’t like that Rian kidnapped me. He seems like he thinks there’s more of a reason than there is, but neither of us knows what it is. Hell, I don’t even know if Rian knows what it is.

“Eat,” the man says, and I turn to do just that. When we’re finished, he grabs something out of one of his bags, then comes over, attaching what looks like a monitor to my ankle.

“This goes to an app on my phone and Rian’s. You leave this house, we’ll know. You tamper with it, and we’ll know, and then I’ll come back and kill you for no other reason than making me have to drive to fucking New Hampshire again. You won’t be able to get it off, and I promise, if you leave, if you try to escape, I’ll find you and I’ll kill you. You might think the police department is safe—it’s not. We have people there too. We even own people at the fucking hospital where you work…maybe even your father’s office. There is nowhere safe for you anymore.”

It feels like the temperature in the room drops at least twenty degrees. I can’t stop the shudder that runs through me, or the ache in my gut.

“Oh, and I almost forgot. You know how they have those invisible fences for dogs?”

My stomach drops at his question.

“That monitor you’re wearing…it’s also like that. You venture past the invisible boundary around this house, and you’ll have a whole lot of electricity jolting through your body. Glad I remembered that. I’d hate to think of what would have happened if I hadn’t.”

I swallow around the thick lump in my throat.

Nothing in my life will ever be the same again.

CHAPTER TEN

Rian

My eyelids are heavy. Every time I try to open them, they fall closed again like there are magnets holding them together.

It takes me a while of trying, of opening and closing…resting and opening again before I’m able to make any leeway.

The first thing I realize is that I have a sling on, and I don’t have an IV in my arm anymore, which makes me wonder how long I’ve been out. Small flashes of memories, bits and pieces of pictures I don’t fully remember, start flittering through my head—Abbott working on my wound again, being asked to take pills, helped to the bathroom to take a piss…a warm hand on my forehead, against my cheek, the feel of a wet washcloth against my face…my chest.

I force my eyes open now, trying to focus on the room around me. It looks like it’s early morning. There’s no way I’ve only been asleep since last night, so that leads me to believe at least two days have passed.

My eyes fall on Conan first. He’s asleep in an armchair in the corner of the room, gun on his lap, arms crossed, brows creased even in his sleep.

Where the fuck is Abbott?

My pulse jumps, an unfamiliar moment of panic hitting me, because Conan isn’t the type to have left Abbott alone. Did he kill him? No. Conan wouldn’t do that without an order from me…not unless he didn’t have another choice. Maybe Abbott tried to escape again, and Conan didn’t go easy on him like I did.

“Fuck,” I whisper softly, then feel the bed shift and realize I’m not alone in it. The second I realize it, I notice the soft breathing beside me, the scent which almost smells like fresh linen mixed with earthy undertones. I wouldn’t have missed those things on a good day, but my brain is foggy—everything a blur in my head.

I turn to see Abbott sleeping beside me. His hands are cuffed to the slats on the headboard above him, so he’s curled into what looks like an uncomfortable position. He’s wearing a T-shirt and a pair of joggers that I don’t recognize.

His face is slack, his jaw loose, lips soft, the creases around his eyes not as deep, some of them gone completely. It makes sense that he can relax in his sleep the way he can’t when he’s awake. He’s on edge, kidnapped, the threat of death constantly hanging over him. He’s with someone he hates, someone who is all the things he’s not.

Yet, he still took care of me. It was Abbott holding a straw to my lips and helping me drink, Abbott wiping down my sweaty, clammy skin, Abbott helping me to the bathroom, his hand against my face.

It makes no fucking sense to me. Is part of it self-preservation? Yes, it has to be, but I also think that’s just who he is—this man’s hands are gentle, while ours are rough. Healing while I hurt, and that thought makes something feel funny in my chest.

He twists, tries to change positions, but his hands make it difficult, so he just settles against the mattress again, a soft moan falling from his lips—quiet but deep and throaty and…what the fuck? Why did my cock just twitch? Why am I lying here thinking again that something about him is so fucking pretty?

I turn away from him, head a mess, even more than it always is, and see Conan, awake and watching me from the other side of the room.

He saw me looking at Abbott, saw me watching him. Conan doesn’t miss anything. He hasn’t liked this from the start, and all this is going to do is make him have more questions.