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“I’m always dramatic,” I replied flippantly. But I did my best to stand normally despite my head pounding and my skeleton having apparently lost all rigidity.
He helped me into an outdated, tiny living space, passing by a kitchen to the left, and then half-carrying me to the living room any grandmother would be proud of. Hand-crocheted doilies had been draped over the tops of the red velvet armchairs, and in contrast, a black leather sofa had been set below a wide window next to the front door. I pulled an eyebrow up, glancing at Ghost.
“Everything else was rented out,” he muttered.
I snorted. Most likely, we were in an older, Bavarian-style home near Front Street, and he was getting charged out of his ass for it. Amateur. “It’s perfect for you,” I rasped. “Matches your hair.” Although, the snarky effect was ruined by a sudden coughing fit that nearly toppled me back over.
Ghost pinned me to his side, not even bothering to reply to my jab, and dragged me over to the red armchair. “Give me your wrists.”
“Oh, come on,” I groaned, letting my head roll back against the chair. “You’re not serious.”
“Are you serious?” he challenged, kneeling in front of me and snagging my gaze with his imperious eyes. “You think I’m taking chances with you?”
He’d finally gotten smart, damn him. “I have the ague. I can’t go anywhere, anyway.”
“The ague?” he asked with incredulous amusement. He pulled a zip tie out from the back pocket of his dark jeans. “Okay, Lady Thorne. Yes, I admit that you’re probably sick, but I’m sure you’ll survive.” He slapped the thick, industrial-style zip tie around my wrists and ratcheted it tight. “Anyway, aren’t you a med school drop-out?” Ghost asked, standing and folding his toned arms. “I’m sure you know what’s wrong with you.”
Fourth year med school student, actually. I’d been weeks away from graduating and starting my residency. I tsked and sat back in the chair. “‘Drop-out’ is the key word there.”
“Uh huh,” he said, his expression sharp. He didn’t miss much.
Although, over my several encounters with Ghost, I’d ascertained a few crucial facts about him. First, he was wickedly intelligent—the fact that I continued to escape him probably rankled him to no end. Second, he wasn’t actually cruel. This wasn’t the only time I had noticed him being gentle with me. Was he ruthless? Clearly. But cruel? I didn’t think so. And third, most importantly, he wasn’t hurting for money. I knew the brand of his shoes and pants. I’d seen the cars he drove and had glimpsed some of his resources. Whatever my parents were offering him, he didn’t need it to survive.
Which meant, he could be reasoned with. He could afford to take risks. And what I had in mind was certainly a risk.
He went to a duffel bag that had been set down by the front door, and after rifling through it for a moment, he returned with a pair of black leggings. I curled my lip in suspicion. “Excuse me, but why do you have clothing in my size?”
He threw them to me, not even glancing my way as he tapped out something on his phone. “It’s a long drive. It’ll take a few days.”
“You are exceptionally creepy, you know that?” I asked. But I took the leggings in my hands and managed to shuffle them over my feet with my bound hands.
Ghost looked up with one sweeping brow quirked. “If the worst you think of me is that I’m ‘creepy,’ then count yourself lucky.”
“Oh yes, you’re very scary,” I mocked, yanking the material up my bare legs. “I’m sure you’re the top… killer guy in your field. Do hitmen have like an organization where you get badges you can sew onto your sashes when you achieve stuff?” I hitched up the leggings, wiggling my hips and struggling to pull them all the way up while seated on the chair and with my hands tied together. “Maybe you can add ‘Polar Bear Plunge’ next to your ‘Lost a Captive’ collection. You’ve got like three of those.”
Ghost reached me in two strides, bent over me, and hiked my leggings up my hips with startling efficiency. The motion pulled me up close to his face before he dropped me back in the plushy chair. I gasped, sitting away from him and staring into his hard, polar ice cap eyes. The river water had nothing on Ghost’s peeved expression. His hands shifted, pinning my hips to the chair. “I’ll put it next to my ‘Astonishingly Stabby’ badge.” He paused, as if thinking. “Actually, maybe I’ll put it between my ‘Hogtie Proficient’ and ‘Taser Happy’ badges. What do you think?”
I pinched my eyes into dubious slits. “You wouldn’t tase me.”
“Nothing would make me happier than proving you wrong,” he replied with low menace.
“Testy,” I muttered.
Ghost let his hands slide down my thighs, and then they coasted down my legs, igniting a new path of fire that battled for dominance with my feverish skin. His touch zapped straight up my spine and caused a blush to creep up my neck.
Um, what? I thought with sudden alarm. Please tell me I’m not simping for this taser-happy maniac. But I was. I definitely was. Because as Ghost’s strong, square hands glided down my calves and to my ankles, my thighs pulsed together, and desire spiraled through me out of nowhere. Maybe I’d been playing games with him for way too long, because what felt like loathing was starting to morph into something dangerously close to lust.
I watched his hands cross my ankles, and I noticed, not for the first time, that despite his threats and gruff attitude, he was always careful with me. He fit my ankles together so the bony lateral and medial malleoli didn’t bump against each other, and then he zip tied around the fleshy area just above my ankles. I gave him a speculative eye squint. Ideas revved to life in my brain. Maybe all hope wasn’t lost.
Things were going too smoothly. It was making me itchy.
I had tucked Mattie into a large sweatshirt with her arms under it, which hid her bound wrists, and we’d set off after eight to drive through the night. If we traveled mainly at night, it would keep a low profile. The last thing I wanted was someone looking in my back window and seeing a girl in zip ties. It would be just my luck to have someone notice her, rescue her, and then give her the chance to slip away again. Which, the more I thought about it, did sound “exceptionally creepy.” But then again, the longer I was with Mattie, the creepier the entire situation felt. Why did her parents want her home so badly? And more importantly, why would Mattie rather jump in a frozen river than go back to them?
My Ghost-senses were slithering.
Mattie coughed in the back seat, groaning as she slumped over and lay on her side. I glared at her through the rearview mirror. “Did you take your seatbelt off?”
“No, Mom,” she intoned sarcastically. She had pulled up the hood on the sweatshirt, and she curled up like a roly-poly before coughing again. She didn’t sound great—if she gave me COVID mid-assignment, that would probably delight her to no end. “How long are we driving for?”
