Page 99 of Pleasure & Prey: Vol. 2

“Helping.”

“This doesn’t feel like helping.”

“Then close your pretty eyes, Winnie, because that’s what I’m doing.” He doesn’t stop, even as my phone vibrates yet again in the pocket of my denim shorts. It’s suddenly colder out here than I remember it being when we went into the slaughterhouse, and Cassian feels like a furnace under me, his arm like a warm steel band locked around my thighs.

“Aren’t you supposed to carry me like, in your arms?” I ask, only half paying attention to my own words. It’s hard to get a bearing on my surroundings, and I can’t find the door to stare at it, as if my gaze alone can keep the knife-wielding stranger at bay.

“You mean bridal style?” His steps change, crunching on gravel instead of rustling through glass. “You want me to carry you bridal style, princess?”

“Well, it would certainly be preferable to hanging upside down like a sack of potatoes,” I can’t help muttering.

“A very pretty sack of potatoes. Tell you what. When I’m sure you aren’t going to puke on me, I’m willing to open up negotiations on how I carry you. Until then—” Without warning, he leans over and pulls me off his shoulder, until I slide to my feet on loose gravel. Without his arm around me I would’ve fallen, and I curl bloody fingers into his shirt.

“Until then, my lovely sack of potatoes, I decide how we travel.” With his eyes still firmly on mine, he yanks open the passenger door of a dark colored, sleek car and gently pushes me onto the seat.

“What are you doing?” The question is probably dumb, but I’m blaming it on having a hard night.

Cass grins, his blue eyes meeting mine. “Kidnapping you,” he answers sweetly, and closes the door on me before I can say another word.

17

For the first few minutes of the ride, I’m too busy looking at the cuts on my hand and arm to see where we’re going. Neither of them is deep, and the bleeding has completely stopped. Now I just look like a murderer, with sticky, drying blood smeared across my hands and forearms.

“Damn, I liked this hoodie,” I grumble, gesturing at the ruined fabric that’s marred with drying blood as well. “I’m holding a funeral for it, and I demand you attend.” With my heart still racing and my hands shaking, it’s all I can do to wrap them in the napkins I stole from the hot chocolate stand.

“I’ll find you one you like better,” Cass murmurs from the driver’s seat, eyes fixed on the road.

“To soothe my wounded heart, can we stop by the coffee place near my house so I can get a latte? A large latte?” I ask, attention on my hands as I finish wrapping the cut that had nicked my wrist. “Also, can we talk about how much my hands have gone through this October?”

His answer is a noncommittal hum. Something about it draws my attention and my suspicions.

Glancing up at him, I study his nonchalance for a few seconds, and it cements my worries that he’s hiding something from me. The hair on the back of my neck prickles, and when he still doesn’t speak, I look out the window to see just how close to my house we are, and which way he’s taking us.

But when we pass the only gas station in town with a red sign and rusted-over pumps, it hits me.

“You’re not taking me home,” I accuse, fear tingling up my spine.

“You sure about that?” There’s something like amusement in his voice, and he eyes me sidelong, surveying my face as I look at him in confusion.

“Are you…” I’m not afraid of Cassian. Definitely not scared enough of him to jump out of a moving car or anything so dramatic. I value my unbroken bones way too much.

“Am I…?” He rolls to a stop at the one intersection on this side of town and turns to look at me, eyebrows raised with interest and maybe a little bit of mockery. “Am I what, Winnie?” God, I could learn to hate that tone of voice. And the goading look in his bright blue eyes.

“Are you taking me to get coffee from the fancy place? It might be closed by now.” My phone vibrates and I pull it out of my pocket, wincing when I bend my sore hand. My heart still flutters, and as if he knows that’s not the real question I want to ask, he scoffs before accelerating again.

Even as my eyes land on the missed texts and calls from Reagan, I don’t really see them. I’m not really reading them. The car’s engine seems to purr too-loudly in my ears, and it’s hard to focus on anything else.

“I’m kidnapping you, Winnie.” Cass reaches out, his fingers hovering near my hair. I can almost feel the warmth from his skin, but I still don’t look up. “That’s what you should’ve asked me. If you had, I would’ve told you the truth.” He brushes my hair behind my ear and I still sit there, stiff as a board and still unable to really see the messages on my phone.

“I’m kidnapping you because apparently, I can’t trust you not to get attacked by some stranger in a haunted house taking things too seriously.” His fingers flex on the steering wheel and he places his other hand back on it in a perfect ten-and-two grip.

“And that’s my fault?” My brows jerk upward and I stare at him, incredulous. “How is it my fault?!”

“Because you are apparently just so murder worthy,” he replies sweetly. “So I’m kidnapping you. To Akron. Until I come up with a plan to keep my pretty sack of potatoes unbruised and unmashed.”

All I can do is stare at him, unable to even be mad when I’m so mortified at his pun. “That was dreadful.” My tone is flat and lacking anything other than disbelief. “I’m embarrassed for you. So fucking corny, dude.”

He chuckles, flashing me a sweet, puppy-like grin that almost makes my heart melt. “I live in Akron.”