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She was deathly quiet and so still. He’d shocked her. He sighed and brought his hands to her shoulders. She was overwrought, shell-shocked, and he had no business making her feel worse.
She let him fold her close, she settled with her arms wound around his neck, and it was a long time before she spoke.
“You might’ve had trouble learning to read, Will Parker. You were dumb enough to let a fourteen year old name you after Spiderman, and you sing more off-key than I do, but you sure know how to knock a girl off her feet.”
Ropes of tension in his spine gave, softening muscles tense for weeks. He relaxed into Darcy’s cuddle. If they weren’t in hot, narrow closet, on a hard floor; if the world outside wasn’t so uncertain, he’d have tumbled her over and made love to her for as long as they could both take it.
She pushed away suddenly. “Is your name really Will?”
He laughed. “Yes. And Pete’s is Peter.”
She traced her hand lightly over his ribs and down his side where the burn scar ran. “Someone hurt you didn’t they? When you were a kid and you couldn’t fight back.”
“That was a long time ago.” And too bound up in his guilt and innocence.
“But it’s part of you today. It makes you, you.”
“Must be my turn?”
She shook her head. “Don’t dodge me. I’m not playing, and I only have one more question for now.”
She had to be traumatised and this horror was a long way from over. “I’ll get us out of here. I promise you. I’ll get you out of here safe, and I’ll stay safe till I’m released. We’re not finished with each other, you and me.”
She shook her head again. “That’s not it.”
“It’s not?” She should be curled in the corner comatose with fear. She was frowning at him as if he’d made up a word in Scrabble.
“Do you believe in forever?”
It was a question he’d asked her that first night. When he’d learnt she was single and she’d said she’d not found anyone to be with in a forever sense. Did he believe in forever? She’d said “some forevers”, that “some couples got lucky”.
He folded her back into his embrace. He’d had more than his share of lucky, not including some sticky wickets like this one. But that kind of lucky, the forever kind of lucky? It wouldn’t have seemed real before now, and the irony of thinking about luck and love while its opposites raged behind the walls wasn’t lost on him.
He held Darcy in his arms and closed his eyes. Assuming he could find a way out of this mess, forever wasn’t such a remote concept now. Didn’t seem so outlandish or out of reach. Forever was a place with sunshine and warmth, cooling breezes and stars like diamonds scattered on velvet skies. Forever smelled like a rainforest at dawn and jasmine blossom at night. Forever was the sound of Darcy’s laugh, the challenge of her wit, the swell of her curves under his hands, and the gaze of her doll eyes. He could believe in forever if she was in it.
He pressed his lips against her temple, thought about how to respond. They weren’t finished with each other yet, but their lives, the things they wanted, were very different. She didn’t want family, and he wasn’t a man for half measures.
Her eyes were closed, her body soft, he twisted his head to look at her face. She was sleeping, exhausted from stress, from the overload of fear. The floor was damn hard under his butt, and the tinny pop on the intercom was grating, it was getting hotter in here; the air-conditioning was probably off. But if forever could start here, he’d take the discomfort, the need for vigilance, and the desperate hope he could get them out of here safe—and believe.
It must have been an hour or more later when she stirred. The silence woke her. There was only a crackle now over the intercom. Something had changed. They needed to be ready. He broke out the electrolyte drinks, made sure she drank at least half a bottle, and guzzled the other.
“Darcy, gorgeous, I want you to put your suit back on. I want to be ready if we have to move quickly. I don’t want any mistakes. In those scrubs there’s a chance they might think you work here. If you look like a lawyer, well, it’s all I’ve got right now.”
She was awake instantly, scrambled to her feet making him wince as the blood flowed properly in his legs and arms again. A delicious kind of pain, made from sheltering her. He hauled himself up, using the wall for support.
They both stilled when they heard the shouting outside, several voices and thumping against the walls. They were breaking the doors in. Prisoners then, not guards. This was the nightmare awoken after a dream respite.
He’d had time to think this scenario through. Getting trapped defending Darcy in this room wasn’t an appealing option. It would leave her far more vulnerable if he was taken out. In the open where she was seen by more people there was a chance they’d fight amongst themselves, a chance he might still get her to safety, or worst case, assuming they still functioned, she’d be seen on the security cameras and the outside world would know she was here.
But before he was ready to risk leaving this sanctuary he wanted the corridor empty. As Darcy dressed he started pulling clothing off the shelves, making a pile near the door, creating a jumble that might pass for this room having already been turned over. There was a corner at the back of the aisle where the shelving didn’t meet the wall, a narrow nib of space. Enough room for the two of them to stand and not be seen if the door wasn’t pushed fully open. It meant unlocking the door, fixing it so it was wedged and hoping like hell it looked like nothing anyone would be interested in exploring further.
There was another option. He could leave her, join the raiding party and hope to steer them away. Come back for her when it was safe to. But it made him sick with the thought of leaving her exposed that way. He’d rather die defending her, and he knew without a flicker of doubt that’s how high the stakes were.
She was dressed now and there was one more thing he needed to do. She had to look like she was his prize, like he’d already raped her and would kill any man who came near.
He explained it all while outside the sounds of mayhem and looting grew closer. He was looking at her shirt and jacket. Not as easy to rip as the beaded silk dress had been; double stitching and lining, French seams. He went to his knees and tore the lining from the skirt then broke the stitching in the side seam and tore it apart till her thigh flashed. It was easy to rip the pocket from the jacket, leave it half attached. He got a slash worked in the shoulder seam as well. Then he turned to her blouse and the crystalline tears beading her lashes stopped his breath. She was terrified.
“You’re hazardous to my wardrobe, Will Parker,” she said, but her voice, a whisper, broke on his name.
