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“Restrain me. Force me.” He shook his head, the panic like a flash mob in his brain, shouting, crowding out everything else. “I—can’t. And I don’t want to hurt you or the guys. I . . . don’t trust myself. I want to run. I’m going to run. I’m going to fucking run.”
The words were going up in volume, the anxiety taking over.
“You want to run from me?”
He shook his head hard, but everything was spinning behind his eyelids. “No, it’s not—”
“Stay.” The door opened and shut, but he barely heard it over the sound of his beating heart. His muscles twitched, ready to bolt, to fight. Fuck. Don’t do this. Don’t do this.
But every instinct was screaming at him. GO!
He opened his eyes, reaching for the door handle.
But before he could grab it, the door on the other side opened. Warm night air rushed past him and hands gripped him. The guys were back. They dragged him out of the car. And it took everything he had not to throw a punch. They needed to restrain him. Fast. He was going to lose it.
“Put him on his knees,” Sam commanded from somewhere out of his line of sight.
The guys lowered him to the gravel, keeping hold of his arms. The smooth rocks bit into his knees, the pain like electricity through the haze of panic. He closed his eyes. “Please. Hurry. Cuff me. Do something.”
“Let him go.” Sam.
“No!” Gibson couldn’t stop the word from escaping.
The guys released him and his palms hit the gravel.
Firm fingers grasped his chin. “Open your eyes, Gibson.”
He blinked, finding Sam in front of him, the sight of her startling him out of the immediate need to bolt. His gaze raced over her, taking her in like a starved man eyeing a feast. “Sam . . .”
“You. Will. Not. Move.” Sam stepped back, giving him a full view of her outfit. She was in a black full-body catsuit and lace-up boots. Her hair was pulled into a long, curling ponytail. Nothing was exposed, but she’d never looked hotter—like some kind of twisted superhero or villainess. She’d dressed to fight. His entire body took note.
She cocked an eyebrow. “Still want to run from me?”
“It’s not about you, mistress. You’re . . . perfect.” He didn’t dare take his eyes off of her and look at either of his friends. Why weren’t they cuffing him? Doing something to keep him here? “But, Sam, please. I can’t—”
“You asked me to restrain you,” she said.
He nodded, his heart beating too fast, too hard. “I need it.”
“Last I checked, you don’t get to make demands, sugar. That’s my job.” She gave the guys behind her a look and then turned what he guessed was the vibrator remote in her hand, toying with him.
He pressed his lips together, trying not to bark out in frustration. She didn’t get it. Didn’t understand. This fear was bigger than him. His heart felt like it was going to bust through his ribs. This was why he’d asked for this, dammit. He needed the push off the board. Why were they just standing around? Fucking do something!
He finally forced himself to turn his head to send a signal to one of the guys, a plea, but when he looked, they were climbing back into their car. What the hell? No!
Sam noticed what he was doing. “Looking for someone to save you?”
Gibson took quick breaths, trying to fight off the attack. Breathe. Breathe. “Sam, I need—”
“You need to listen, is what you need to do.” She crossed her arms in front of her, locked her gaze on him. “You’re still on your knees. All you need are my words.”
He wagged his head.
“Look at me.”
He forced his gaze up.
“I can’t do this, Gib.” Her neck constricted with a hard swallow. “I won’t.”
