Page 62 of Reclaimed

For the first time, there’s no one pursuing me, hellbent on hauling me in to be repackaged and sold. But by the time the cabin disappears from sight, the silhouette of the hill dipping down behind the canopy of trees, the rush starts to curdle into something else.

Suspicion.

Because that was too easy. Riggs doesn’t seem like the type to accidentally leave a door unlocked. Which means he did it on purpose. And if he did it on purpose….

My steps falter, rocks and sticks jutting into my feet as I grind to a halt.

This isn’t an escape.

It’s a fucking game.

… and it suddenly dawns on me how much I want to play.

A fresh surge of adrenaline courses through me as I take off running again, the brush around me thickening the further I go. I run until my breathing turns ragged and I’m forced to slow, folding forward with my hands on my knees as I struggle to drag air into my lungs

That’s when I hear it.

Crunch.

My spine goes rigid. Somewhere behind me, another branch snaps, followed by the unmistakable sound of heavy footsteps thudding through the leaves.

Not mine.

Someone’s following me.

Fear prickles over me as the realization dawns that there’s no way to know who or what is out here. The Registry could’ve found me. An Enforcer could be tracking me and closing in right now.

Or it could be the Repo man.

My heart stutters, misfiring before it hammers into a crescendo.

Is it fucked up that I want it to be Riggs?

Probably.

Definitely.

But anticipation mingles with the fear, a thrill cracking open and coiling tightly in my belly.

The footsteps grow louder, drawing in closer.

Fuck.

I swing my arms wildly as I sprint through the brush, weaving past trees and narrowly avoiding being stabbed by their branches.

The pursuing footsteps mock my own cruelly, growing faster, getting closer, gaining on my every step. My lungs scream for relief as I duck beneath a low branch and cut sharply to the left between two trees.

For one glorious second, it sounds like I might’ve gained distance and lost him. My mouth spreads into a victorious smile.

Then a solid weight slams against my back, taking me to the ground.

25

TALON

Jersey’s fingers rest limply against my chest, our mixed releases weeping from her cunt as I carry her wrung out body into my bathroom and lower her onto the curved stone bench beneath the shower. Her eyes stay shut, only the occasional flutter of her lashes or a soft sigh reminding me she’s still conscious.

I wash us both, taking special care over the brand carved on her abdomen, then dry her slowly, slipping another one of my shirts on her before moving her to my bed.