Mountain Captive by Cassie Mint
Six
Carver
The night is loud in the mountains. An endless ghostly chorus of hooting owls, of snuffling bears in the distance, of cracking twigs and the wind moaning through the trees. I stand on the deck of my cabin and breathe it all in, trying and failing to get my head on straight.
This is wrong. It’s slipping away from me. I swore not to touch her, and then…
I hang my head, gripping the wooden rail. It doesn’t matter that she wanted it. I’m losing control of the situation. How can I use her for vengeance while she consumes me, body and soul? Even now, I want her so badly it’s a sickness. I want to sink my cock deep inside her, yes, but I want to sit near her, too. Listen to her breathing. Play with the ends of her hair. The reason I took her at all, my need for revenge against her father—it’s fading away. Getting lost in the background.
No.
I straighten my shoulders. I will not be distracted from my purpose. The Volkovs destroyed my family, and they will pay. I’ll shelter Natalia from the worst of it, if I can, but I won’t be swayed from my path.
Her father will know the same horror and grief that he made us feel.
The wooden boards creak as I stride back across the deck, pushing back into the cabin. It’s warmer in here, the smell of sex lingering in the air, and Natalia watches me with cunning eyes. She’s debauched, her cheeks flushed and her hair tangled on the pillow, but still she grunts and squeezes her thighs together when she sees me. I’ve teased her too well.
“More?”
Her eyes narrow. It’s not an outright yes, so she’ll go without. I stride to the desk, bending over the monitors. There’s a reply from her father already, a senseless stream of threats, but it’s clear that he hasn’t been able to trace us.
Good. The manic edge to his messages makes me smirk.
Let him suffer.
Natalia shifts behind me on the bed, but I push it from my mind. This constant awareness of her is a weakness. It’s not the awareness of an opponent, but an endless craving to get my hands on her again. She’s the worst kind of distraction, and I force myself to ignore the creaks and huffed breaths coming from the bed.
I should have known better. I underestimated this young woman, but she is a Volkov after all. I don’t even register the long silence until she’s pressed against my back, the edge of a knife digging into my throat.
One of my knives. From the kitchen block. Has she been roaming around behind me while I forcibly ignore her? A bizarre rush of pride fills me—she’s perfect, a vicious treasure—but she digs the blade deeper into my skin. A bead of blood wells up and trickles down from the cut.
“What’s the plan, Natalia?” I murmur. “Are you going to slit my throat?”
“You deserve it,” she croaks, and it’s the first time I’ve heard her voice. Her words are rough from screaming and moaning for half the night, but I can still hear the musical tone.
God. She’s going to kill me, and I’ll die with a smile on my face. I’m wrecked.
“Let me go.”
I chuckle. “Back into the forest? Are you going to find your tent and pretend none of this happened?”
She pauses. Huffs in annoyance. Then: “Fine. I’ll kill you and use your computers to call for help.”
She could do that. It’s a solid plan, and I’m pleased that she came up with it under all this stress. When I turn around to face her, the blade slices deeper through my skin, and she gasps as she sees the line of red, but her grip doesn’t falter.
“I’m sorry, princess.” I catch her wrist and squeeze, grinding the bones, and she yelps and drops the knife. That sound of her pain is like a blow to my chest, and I cradle her poor wrist as she snuffles, tugging against my hold.
“Wait a moment. Let me check for damage.”
She chokes out a laugh. “You should look in the mirror.”
There’s the slightest accent to her voice. It’s the sexiest thing I’ve ever heard. Her wrist is fine, just pink and tender, and I guide her gently to the kitchen, placing her far from the knife block as I rummage in the chest freezer. I wrap a heavy bag of frozen peas in a dish cloth and place it on her wrist, catching her other hand to hold it there.
She watches me warily, peas pressed to her wrist as I dig through the drawers for painkillers and fill a glass in the sink.
“Here.” I hold out two aspirin, but her hands are both busy. She lifts an eyebrow and presents her tongue. My cock pulses as I place the pills on her little pink tongue, lifting the glass to her lips so she can take a sip.
“Wait,” she rasps as I turn to place it on the counter. She unwraps the dish cloth and runs it under the faucet. When she reaches up and dabs at the cut on my throat, I turn to stone under her careful hands.
Perhaps this is it. A distraction before she sinks another hidden knife deep into my gut.
It’s worth the risk.
But she swabs at me gently, grumbling when the blood doesn’t come away easily.
“Leave it. I’ll wash it off in the shower.”
She lights up at those words, her gaze darting around the cabin, and I can see the hope brewing in her tired eyes. She’s been hiking for days. Trussed up in that sleeping bag all night. Then made sticky and sweaty as I coaxed her to come twice on my fingers and tongue.
Am I really going to do this? Let the girl I kidnapped take a hot shower, like this is some hotel and not the site of my vengeance?
She blinks up at me, teeth digging into her plump bottom lip.
Fuck.
I am.
* * *“What’s your name?”
The shower spray drums against the tiles, steam curling around us. I couldn’t leave her in here unsupervised—not with the razor and the toothbrush and a dozen other things she could attack me with—but I couldn’t tell her no either.
I have a sinking feeling that I’ll never tell her no again.
“Carver.”
She hums. “Carver what?”
“Carver Ennox.” I wait, but there’s no sign of recognition. I guess the Volkovs ruin so many lives, it must be hard to keep the names straight.
“Are you going to kill me, Carver?”
I tense. “Why do you ask that?” I’ve promised not to hurt her so many times tonight.
“Why else would you risk telling me your name?”
I gust out a breath. She’s got me there. “Maybe I’m just tired. And you’re too clever for me. I keep letting my guard down.”
Natalia spins under the hot spray, sighing as it beats against her sore shoulders. From here, leaning back against the wall, I can see every scrape and cut and bruise on her body.
Did I put any of those there?
God, I hope not.
“So when I tell the FBI that a man named Carver Ennox kidnapped me…”
“I suppose they’ll come to arrest me.”
I won’t put up a fight. By then, I’ll have had my revenge, and I’ll be ready to go peacefully.
“Will you visit me in prison?” I ask suddenly.
She laughs at me, full of wicked delight. “Maybe. Will you still want to see me if I get you arrested?”
That’s an easy one. “Yes.”
Natalia grins, eyes warm, and I press my palms flat against the wall to keep from going over there and joining her. She notices, her gaze heating, then turns her back to me. She sways her hips side to side as she showers, taunting me the way I teased her. Her ripe, round ass is perfect, begging to be spanked, and her throaty laugh makes me jerk.
“Do you want to join me?”
“No.” I don’t trust myself not to touch her. Not to slam her up against the tiles and fuck her tight pussy until she screams.
Natalia pouts. “Why not?”
I shrug, noncommittal. It pisses her off even worse, and she glares over her shoulder as she places her palms on the tiles and tilts her ass up for me.
“Are you sure about that, Carver?”
I scrub a hand over my jaw, watching her with clenched teeth. Rivulets of hot water stream over her flushed skin, trickling over the curve of her ass, her hips, the jutting shoulder blades of her back. I could live off the water dripping off her body, licking it up bead by bead. I’d never drink from a glass again.
“I’m sure.”
She huffs and drops her hands, moving back under the spray. My princess is not used to being denied.
“Well, will you help me at least?”
“Help you,” I repeat flatly.
“With the shampoo.”
“… The shampoo.”
“Yes. Someone hurt my wrist.” Guilt swells in my throat, choking me, and I snatch the shampoo off the shelf without another word. I don’t bother to undress, yanking the shower door open and stepping inside in my boots, jeans and shirt. The water patters against my clothes, soaking them quickly and pasting them to my body. Natalia blinks at me in shock but she recovers quickly, turning and tilting back her head.
The shampoo spreads over my palm, cool compared to the steamy shower. Natalia hums as I massage it into her hair, scratching at her scalp before working it through to the ends. We stand in silence, the room quiet except for the drumming spray and Natalia’s quick, shallow breaths. Her bare toes scrunch against the floor.
“You could have done this yourself.”
She huffs a laugh.
“You wanted my hands on you.” I push her to admit it. To admit out loud that I can’t have hurt her too badly—not if she lured me in here just to touch her. But Natalia just smiles, her cheeks lifting as she faces away, and backs up half a step until her back brushes my wet shirt.
“I’m sorry about your throat,” she says suddenly.
I frown at her soapy head, hands still buried in her hair. “Don’t be.”
“But—”
“Don’t be,” I clip out, even firmer. She quiets down, leaning back against my chest. And when I press my nose to the side of her throat and breathe her in, a shudder wracks the length of her body, her nipples pebbling against the misty air.
Something moves by my cock. She’s moving her hips again, squirming back against me, and it takes every inch of my self control to pull my hands away and step out of the shower.
“I thought you were going to wash your cut?” She scowls at me, annoyed again. Brat. I stifle a smile, kicking off my soaked boots.
“I will. Once you’re finished.”
“What if I run while you’re in there?”
I smirk, my voice dropping lower. “Then I’ll chase you.”
Natalia sucks in a sharp breath, her pupils blowing wide, and fuck, this girl will be the death of me. I promised her—promised myself—that I’d let her go free after a few days.
I’m not so sure anymore.
I’m already damned. An irredeemable sinner.
And now I want to keep her.
