Page 23 of Captive

I have to keep my distance from her as I bring her to the rack of dumbbells, and though I coach her on her form for a few different exercises using the smallest dumbbells we have, I attempt to keep my gaze averted off her as much as I can.

Fuck, this is hard. This is so, so hard. If I’m not careful, I’ll be sporting a hard-on for the world to see. Or Abby, since she’s the only one in the room.

By the time I’m finished showing her what she can reasonably do on her own, she’s covered in sweat. A pity, as I can think of another way we could’ve gotten her all sweaty, but again, the moment we cross that line, there’s no undoing it. I want to, and she’s clearly down for it all, but…

There shouldn’t be a but, and there’s not, not really. Not like there is with Ezra.

“That was nice,” Abby says, totally unaware of where my thoughts are. “Thank you for your wisdom when it comes to working out. Maybe someday I’ll look like you.” She giggles. “Well, then again, maybe not.”

“No problem,” I say. There’s a good ten feet between us right then, and it suddenly feels like too damn far. Too many feet. Too much distance. That scares me a little.

Even when I did date way back when, before all this, I couldn’t remember a time when I was fully in it, when I wanted nothing else. It’s not just an itch to scratch; maybe it started out that way when Abby first mentioned things off-handedly, but now? Now enough time has passed that it’d be different. It’d be more than that.

She’s more perceptive than she should be, a reason why she got away with the things she did up until we stumbled across each other, because she cocks her head at me and innocently asks, “You seem out of sorts, Royal. Something on your mind? Want to share with the class?”

I force out a chuckle, but it comes out stilted. “Nothing at all is on my mind, Abby.” I make sure to say her name, just like she said mine. The more I’m around her, the more I don’t know whether or not she’s playing a game or if this is really just who she is.

It’d be easier if this was a game to her. I could always write it off as a no-strings-attached kind of thing. If there are real feelings involved? No amount of excuses would ever be enough.

Feelings are what get you caught or killed. Feelings are something people like us need to avoid.

She moves closer to me, holds her hands behind her back, and says with a smile, “Liar.” And that’s all she says before she walks away, leaving me to my thoughts and the confusion growing deep inside.

I shouldn’t, but I turn to watch her go—and I hate to say it, but my gaze does drop to that ass of hers. And, damn it, when Abby reaches the door to the stairwell, she stops and tosses a glance back at me, as if she knew I was watching her go, and then she winks before ascending the steps.

Yeah, she fucking winks.

Oh, fuck. She’s not going to make this easy on me, huh?

Chapter Eleven – Abby

Turns out, when Hawthorne mentioned me leaving the house with Ezra and Royal on a hunt, he literally meant the actual night it would happen. The guys had been working behind the scenes so much while I was completely unaware, which just goes to show I don’t know a thing about the effort they put into this, so when another week passes and I’m told it’s time to hop in the car and get going, I’m pretty damn shocked.

Shocked, but stupidly excited.

Hawthorne walks us to the garage. While Ezra and Royal go on without me, he stops me just inside the house. “You are getting a taste of what we do tonight,” he reminds me, as if I need him to say it aloud. Please. “They’ll be watching you, and in case you forgot—” He points at his own wrist to remind me of the tracking device.

Yeah, yeah. Don’t need that reminder, either.

“Don’t worry,” I say. “I won’t go running off. I’ll be a fly on the wall. Everything will be hunky dory, okay?” Even as I try to assure him, it becomes clear to me he still doesn’t quite trust me, but unless we go on forever the way we were before, something’s gotta give. Might as well put me to use, right?

What’s better than a serial-killing trio? A serial-killing quad.

“Everything you’ve said has so far proven to be truthful,” Hawthorne admits, “but we’ll see if that continues.”

“So skeptical,” I say. Though I hold his stare, he can easily hide under his wavy black hair. It’s long enough that it’s starting to cover his eyes now. “How about when we get back, I give you a haircut?”

Out of everything I could’ve said, that must’ve been the last thing he’s expecting, because the look he gives me is full of confusion as his brows furrow and he asks, “Excuse me?”

“Your hair is getting long. It’s covering your eyes. I know you hide in your office all the time, so it might not matter to you, but still, you have nice eyes. You shouldn’t hide them.” The more I say, the more I must make him uncomfortable, because he averts his gaze.

“That’s not… that’s not something you should be concerned with.”

“And yet it is.” I grin up at him and do something else he doesn’t expect: I grab him by the collar of his shirt, tug him down, and place a kiss on his cheek. “Don’t worry, I’ll behave, I promise.” Before he can say anything else, I move around him and slip out of the door, catching up with Royal and Ezra in the garage.

Again, it is way too easy to get under these guys’ skin. And the way Hawthorne blushes? I freaking love it.

It’s a bit of a drive. We leave at five-thirty in the late afternoon and don’t arrive at our destination until after midnight. We definitely cross state lines. I sit in the backseat by myself, while Royal drives and Ezra sits in the passenger’s seat. Near my feet are black duffel bags, with what I’m assuming is their killing attire: the black ensemble, gloves, and masks.