Page 12 of Pleasure & Prey: Vol. 2

“No,” I admit in a whisper, trying half-heartedly to shove at him again. “But I don’t think it matters. It can’t be that complicated.”

“You don’t even look like you could pick it up,” Jed points out dryly, moving back slightly of his own free will when I push against him. “Let alone rev it. You’re more likely to cut off your own leg than hurt me with it. Look, can you just…” He catches my wrist in his long-fingered hand, prompting my heart to drop into my stomach and my breath to stutter in my throat.

I don’t miss the way his eyes flick down to my blood-streaked skin. I can’t miss it, or the way his lips part when he does. He’s so fucked up that it has me breathless, wordless, and almost mindless with fear as my heart slams against my ribs like a trapped animal.

“Just come inside,” he murmurs in a low, soft voice. “Come inside with me and have dinner. I’m not going to hurt you, or whatever else you expect of me. I can’t let you leave yet. Not until I know you understand how things are. But I won’t hurt you, Saylor. Especially not how you think I will.”

I don’t know what that means. But agreeing might mean that I’ll have another moment, another chance, to make my escape. At this point, I don’t know what else to do. Going back in the house with him feels like a trap, like I’m allowing him the space and ease to kill me the moment we get inside.

The fear of that thought closes off my throat, but with my eyes on his, I try to jerk a nod to him.

For a few terrifying moments, I don’t think he believes me. Jed searches my gaze, his blue eyes still so bright in the lengthening shadows like there’s some kind of light behind them, shining out. Under any other circumstance, I would be looking for a reason to take a picture of him.

But this is the worst circumstance imaginable, and taking photos shouldn’t even register in my brain. When I nod again, Jed’s grip on my shoulders relaxes. The heat of him pulls away, and he blinks a few times, gaze becoming just as mild as I’m used to. “Come on,” he invites, turning to pivot on one foot as he starts toward the cabin.

I don’t move. I can’t, because my eyes are back on the chainsaw and I’m already moving centimeters closer to it, hoping he won’t notice.

It really is my one chance, even though I haven’t thought past grabbing it and hoping I can rev it.

A sigh hits my ears, and it takes me a moment to realize it’s from Jed, and he isn’t moving. “You won’t make it,” he tells me without turning. “I’ll catch you before you’re even halfway there. I’ll have to drag you inside with me, instead of you walking. Even if you did reach it, this won’t end like you think. Don’t do it, Saylor. Just come inside with me.”

But I can’t.

God, I can’t bring myself to even consider another course of action. Not now.

Not here.

“I’m sorry,” I whisper, though I have no idea if I’m talking to myself or him. I take off again, nearly falling when I do, and this time I don’t even make it to the back end of the Jeep before he grabs me once more, arms around my waist.

But Jed doesn’t bother to press me against the nearest hard surface. No, in a dizzying movement he picks me up over his shoulder, the air leaving me in an oomph when my stomach hits the hardness of his body. I’m forced to stare down the length of his bloody back while he walks, trying to suck air back into my paralyzed lungs.

All too soon I hear the door opening, and with a few more steps and a small whimper of protest, it closes behind me with a click.

But Jed doesn’t put me down. Not even when I start fighting, and certainly not when I manage to deliver a particularly ear-splitting shriek. “Put me down!” I finally manage to articulate, trying to kick against his chest. For all my trouble, Jed just wraps his arm more securely around my legs, and his movement changes, steps heavier.

It takes me a moment to realize he’s going up the stairs. Somehow that makes everything more horrifying, and everything snaps into terrifying clarity around me as I fight him, to absolutely no avail whatsoever.

I don’t quite realize where we’re going until I’m dumped on my ass on the closed toilet of his upstairs bathroom. I jerk my chin up, mouth open, to find his coldly burning gaze closer than I would’ve thought.

“Let’s talk about this,” he growls, shoving me down the moment I try to get up. “A chainsaw isn’t like a knife.” Inexplicably, he turns away from me to reach into the large glass-walled shower with a built-in bench. He turns one knob, then a different one, and the sound of water makes me look up to see the rainfall feature in the ceiling come to life.

Well, that’s certainly fancy.

“You can’t just hack away with it if it isn’t on.” When he comes back to me, I shrink back, and I swear I can see a touch of regret and embarrassment on his face. But it only lasts a few seconds before he kneels down in front of me, one hand on my knee. “It’s heavy. Too heavy for most people who don’t know the weight.” He reaches down, fingers carefully unlacing my sneakers as he continues to hold my gaze hostage with his. “Even if you do manage to rev it, which I doubt you could, Saylor. No offense meant, but let’s be honest with each other.” His head twitches to the side, a small smile flickering on his lips. “You have no idea what you’re doing. But like I said. I’ll give you the benefit of the doubt and say you do rev it. Do you know what happens then?”

“The chain spins around the uh, blade?” I whisper, like this is some kind of exam that matters in the long run. “And then it’s dangerous.”

“A chainsaw is always dangerous. And it does more than spin. If you’re not holding onto it, it’s going to jerk around. It’s going to spin. It’s going to cut you.” His words are sharp as he pulls my shoes off and tosses them toward the door. They’re muddy as hell, but he doesn’t seem to notice how mud splatters on the floor from his throw.

“If you can’t hold on to it? You’re going to get hurt. This isn’t about you hurting me, Saylor. It never has been. But I’m not going to stand by and watch you probably end up killing yourself. Sorry if that hurts your feelings, or your pride. But I didn’t bring you here”—he breaks off to reach out to me, ignoring my flinch of surprise as his fingers gently tug down the zipper of my jacket—”just so you can kill yourself trying to get away from me.” Some of the cold burn leaves his gaze, and a hint of a smile comes back. “It’s also not nearly as flattering as you might think to imagine you hurting yourself like an animal willing to chew its own leg off to escape. So…” He stands up, pulling my jacket with him, and takes a step to the side.

My jacket ends up on the floor, but he reaches into the cabinet under the sink to produce three fluffy towels of varying sizes that end up on the top of the bathroom vanity. “Take a shower. Clean up. I can’t…focus when you have blood streaked on your skin.” As if to prove his point, he reaches out to run his fingers up my arm, over my throat, and to a sticky spot on my face from being pressed to his shirt. As I watch, he brings his now-bloody fingers to his mouth, sucking the blood off like it’s chocolate.

There’s no way that tastes good…right?

“I’m going to go make dinner. If you have any allergies, this would be the time to shout them out.” He pivots on one foot, heading for the door and snatching up my jacket and shoes to take with him.

“Can I ask you something?” I whisper, still unable to move from my spot on the closed toilet as steam rapidly fills the bathroom air and obscures the edges of his form like he’s not quite there.