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“I don’t think that,” I replied evenly. With my free hand, I unzipped a pocket on my coat that had fallen off her legs. When I fished out the syringe, her eyes went silver-dollar huge. I ripped off the cap with my teeth.
“You can’t drug me,” she gasped. She struggled hard, but I had her in a firm grip.
I spit out the cap. “Consequences, Bunny. Have a nice nap.”
Her sharp intake of breath preceded the plunge of the short needle through her jeans and into her thigh. I pushed the plunger, shoving down my conscience along with the midazolam in the syringe.
The drug took effect almost immediately, and her shivering stopped first, followed by a fluttering of her long eyelashes. Her breath puffed out with a little gust of air, and she jerked against my hold before her eyelids fell closed. Then she went limp beneath me. Sighing, I let my fist fall to the forest floor as I sat back and released her.
I’d done a lot worse in my career. I’d tortured and killed. I’d kidnapped plenty, too.
So, why did I feel like a steaming pile of shit?
.
Ifelt like a breakfast burrito. Part of me had definitely been scrambled, and my insides were simmering with heat. I’d been wrapped up and folded tight in a fresh tortilla, unable to move and steaming from the inside-out. And actually, the more I thought about breakfast burritos, the hungrier I got, which only added to the latent crankiness that hovered around the edges of my consciousness.
I creaked one eye open to find a blurry world that swam like antique glass. Blinking hard, I forced the other eyelid to part, and the room slowly came into focus. I swallowed against a dry throat as I took in a boring bedroom from a sideways position. The walls were white and sparsely decorated with framed nature prints. The white, vintage door had been left open, and although I could lift my head with some difficulty, I couldn’t see past two of the walls. Wherever it was, it looked like a guest room.
My stomach growled loudly, and I glanced down at myself. That was when I realized I really was a burrito. A trussed up, blanket-swathed, completely immobilized burrito. Several black belts had been fastened around my body from my upper arms, down to my middle, over my hips, and then two more around my legs. My arms had been pinned to my sides, and a fluffy blanket roasted my body between the belts and my skin.
I struggled, and the old, lumpy mattress squeaked with the movement. Footsteps sounded just outside the room, and then Ghost appeared. His silver-streaked hair stood out at odd angles, and his eyelids looked barely open as he shuffled lazily to lean against the door jam. Then he folded his toned, tatted arms over his broad chest. “She lives.”
“She’s going to slaughter you,” I snarled. “You drugged me.”
“Yes, I did,” he said with one nod of his head. He looked exhausted, and I had to assume he’d been napping before I had woken him up. “And I’m fucking glad I did, because even asleep, you caused way more trouble than you’re worth.”
“I hope you mean that literally,” I glared. “Because if you don’t let me go, I’m going to take one of your fingers with me when I leave this time. Or an eyeball.”
Ghost let out a half chuckle, soft and through his nose. “You’re almost more trouble than you’re worth. Unfortunately for you, Cottontail, you’re worth a lot.”
I groaned, turning onto my stomach like a slug. I pressed my face into the mattress until my breath felt furnace hot and my head spun. Two hands rotated me back around, and Ghost scowled down at me. “Were you trying to smother yourself just now?”
“Yes,” I sniffled. My nose suddenly itched, causing my eyes to water, and with a micro-second decision to be petty, I sneezed in his face.
“Jesus, fu—for God’s sake.” Ghost pushed me away and scrubbed at his face, his handsome features pulling into a grimace. “You are feral, you know that?”
I sniffed again, this time louder. “You’re right. You should probably let me go. I might infect you.”
He let his hand fall away from his face, and his eyes went to half-mast. His gorgeous, glacier blue eyes. Ghost had an interesting look to him—strong face, straight nose, and roguish eyebrows over piercing eyes. But then, the two streaks of gray at his temples, cutting through the dark, wavy hair, gave him a steel edge. Everything about him, from his well-toned body that rippled under his white T-shirt with each movement, to the faded tattoos that peeked out from the collar of his shirt, positively screamed, “Don’t fuck with me.”
And here I was—fucking with him.
Well, regrettably, not fucking fucking with him. I had to admit, if he wasn’t my sworn enemy, he’d be a tempting one-night stand. He gave off major “Daddy” vibes. Pity.
I puffed out a breath through the side of my mouth, wafting a strand of my overgrown bangs out of my eyes. “I’m boiling in here.”
Ghost picked up a digital infrared thermometer off the side table, pointed it at me dispassionately, and when it beeped, he turned it around to show me the number. “Ninety-nine point two. You’re fine.”
“Jesus,” I glowered. “You’re checking my temperature to keep from untying me?”
“At first it was so you didn’t go hypothermic,” he admitted, setting the thermometer back down. “But then, yes, I wanted to make sure I didn’t parboil my paycheck on accident.”
I doubted my parents would care if I showed up parboiled, hardboiled, or cracked and runny. As long as they could pass off my body as living-ish, then they got what they wanted. My nose itched suddenly, and without warning, I sneezed. That time, I aimed it at the comforter, and with a sniff that felt suspiciously thick, I groaned. “I think I’m dying.”
“You’re not dying.” Ghost drawled. “You jumped in a river like a maniac. In October. I’d be surprised if you didn’t feel like shit.”
I writhed against the blanket, already starting to sweat and feel panicky in the restraints. This was really not good. If Ghost actually succeeded in dropping me off at my parents’ threshold, then there would be no escape left for me. I wasn’t sure I’d have the energy to fight anymore. “How do you plan to even get me across the country like this?” I demanded.
