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Her eyes widened. She thought over his offer before answering. "And then what? I'll have to look over my shoulder every day for the rest of my life."
"Maybe, maybe not. At least you aren't signing yourself up for more abuse tonight."
He couldn't understand why she wouldn't see that leaving was her best option. "If you're worried about having to make your way on your own, don't be. I just got home from my second tour in Afghanistan. The only reason I took the job with Mitchell was to shut my brother Derek up. I have no loyalty to him," Dylan went on.
"But you do to me? Why?" Her suspicious eyes stared him down.
"Dammit, stop asking me that. I don't know why. I just do."
"I can take care of myself." The quaver in her voice wasn't convincing.
"Sure you can, but maybe you shouldn't have to."
She acted so strong, but she was trembling under the weight of her precarious position. It made him want to enclose her in bubble wrap and keep her safe. She was right about one thing. His feelings for her were irrational considering how little they knew about each other, but that didn't stop him from caring just the same.
The sight of the tears on her cheeks was the final straw. Dylan pushed to his feet, leaned in, and scooped Hannah out of her chair and into his arms. She went without a struggle, a limp noodle in his arms as he carried her to the couch, cradling her close while her tears turned into sobs.
He held her through her breakdown, whispering soft assurances in her ear, stroking her hair lightly, and patting her back while rocking her gently. The long minutes stretched on, each second solidifying his hold on her both physically and emotionally. As fucked up as this situation was, Hannah being in his arms felt right.
After she'd cried herself out of tears, she calmed. The silence, which had started amicably, was turning sexual. Her hand, which had been grabbing his shirt for support, now stroked his chest gently while she wiggled in his lap, apparently not to escape but to get closer. He knew she had to feel his growing erection under her ass and wondered if all her wriggling was intentional.
The knowledge that she had been sexually assaulted little more than forty-eight hours previously had Dylan reining in his desire. They had enough heavy shit going on without adding a sexual relationship to the mix. Still, when she pulled back enough to peer up into his eyes, their lips only inches apart, he was helpless to stop the inevitable.
His lips brushed hers softly in a chaste kiss. Her sigh urged him to deepen the embrace, lightly flicking his tongue across her lips until her own tongue tangled with his. The kiss was intimate; the kind that got his heart thumping. It had been a long time since he'd been with a woman, and it had never felt like this before.
They made out like teenagers until the sound of her cell phone ringing from the kitchen forced them apart. Hannah was out of breath as she stumbled to her feet to find her phone. Dylan watched her closely, and knew from her frantic eyes it had to be Jake Davenport calling.
She threw her phone down to the counter as if Jake had the ability to burn her fingers from afar. Dylan pushed to his feet, crossing to her with wide strides, circling her in his arms tightly. She went willingly. They held each other until the phone started ringing again. Neither looked at the display, choosing to cling to their precarious bond for as long as possible.
The ding of a text message came next.
Dylan pulled back enough to grab her phone, looking down first to shield her from the message. It was worse than he'd feared. The photo of a faceless, naked woman filled the screen. The sharp knife being held at her throat overshadowed the vicious clamps on her nipples. The accompanying message read:Answer your fucking phone or the next photo will be red.
Dylan had no trouble believing Davenport would slit an innocent person's throat. He did, however, hate his own relief at realizing that at least it wasn't Hannah's. He'd make one more attempt.
Looking into her frightened eyes, he pleaded. "Come with me. Let's pack up your stuff and grab Connor, and we can be out of here in fifteen minutes. I'll take you away from here."
He saw raw longing in her eyes. She was tempted.
The next text arrived:I thought you could use some additional incentive.
The picture filling the screen was actually less gruesome than its predecessor, which confused Dylan. A crying and pissed off looking Asian woman stared back at him. She was clothed, indicating it was not the same woman. Hannah grabbed the phone and angled it so she could see. Her strangled cry distracted him from realizing her legs had given out from under her. She fell to her knees with a muffled cry.
"What is it, Hannah? Who is it?" he asked urgently.
Through her anguished tears she cried, "He took Mia. Lucy was bad enough." She was going into shock, repeating again and again, "He took Mia." She wrapped her arms around her waist, rocking as she knelt, broken-hearted.
The jingle of her cell phone ring jarred the space, moving him into motion. "Come on, let's get out of here." He pulled Hannah to her feet, but that was as far as she would go. She held her ground, reaching for the phone.
"No. Nothing good will come from talking to him. We need to get you safe."
Her teary eyes looked up at his, so vulnerable, yet strangely resolved. "She's my best friend. Myonlyfriend. I can't leave her there."
He reluctantly let her take the cell from him, her hands visibly shaking as she accepted the call. She didn't speak. He didn't know she'd put it on speakerphone until Davenport's calculating voice bellowed into the room.
"You fucking bitch, you are going to regret messing with me. I'll be at your place in thirty minutes, and I expect you to walk out the door carrying only what you stole from me. You'll get in the front seat of my car and then we'll go somewhere private, where I can explain to you the depth of my anger at your betrayal."
"No."
