“He thinks you are my prisoner, and you are. Anything else that’s happened is up to you to tell.” Lucas’ voice was bereft of any emotion but at least when he finally turned around there was no condemnation. His mouth twisted ruefully. “You’re free to leave the room, my men have strict orders not to touch you.”
I flinched at his choice in words. You’re free to leave. Jeremiah had said the same thing to me when I’d said I loved him. The memory stirred up more confusion in my heart as Lucas opened the door. “Don’t go.”
The words were barely above a whisper but Lucas paused, then turned back toward me. I couldn’t meet his eyes, my vision blurring with sudden tears, but he set down the bag and knelt at my feet. A hand tucked a lone strand behind my ear, and I leaned into the touch. “Lucy,” he said, waiting until I raised my eyes to his. “Tell me why I shouldn’t leave.”
“Because...” I stopped, unable to form a response. My mouth worked as I desperately tried to come up with a reason that made sense. Considering how unreasonable the last few days had been however, nothing convincing came to mind.
After a moment of silence, he nodded slowly. “I thought so.” Standing back to his feet, I watched as he picked up the duffel and slipped quietly out the door, the latch clicking shut behind him.
I felt as though my heart was breaking, and couldn’t understand why. Jumping to my feet, I paced along the room, nervous energy making me go stir crazy. I’d been locked up inside for too long; time had no meaning anymore. I had a vague feeling that, outside the metal walls, night had fallen, but right now I was wide awake and needed answers.
Something cracked under my foot and, looking down, I saw the framed picture beneath my foot. Picking it up, I saw with some dismay that I’d broken off an edge of the frame itself, but the glass had miraculously held up to the recent beatings. The two boys stared at me, so young and full of life and love. Their eyes lacked the anger and mistrust of the men I’d seen earlier, and I wondered if those days were forever gone from their lives.
Setting the frame carefully atop the dresser, I slipped on my shoes and opened the door. Jeremiah and Lucas would have to work out their differences on their own time. I had too many questions that I needed answered, and knew only one person who could do that for me.
Jeremiah’s prison wasn’t really a cell so much as a dank room at the bottom of the ship. The rumble of the engines was much louder here, the walls and floor vibrating from the proximity. Two of Lucas’ men stood outside, but when they saw me, one of them casually unlocked the door. “Might want to knock first,” one of them rumbled, and I noticed even in the low light that he had a dark bruise forming around one eye.
Taking a deep breath, I knocked softly against the wood door, then opened the door carefully. Poking my head around the frame, I found Jeremiah’s hulking form sitting on a bunk. The large man stood to his feet as I came into the room, and I shut the door behind me to give us some privacy.
“Hi,” I murmured, taking another moment to gather my thoughts by looking around the room. The room was small, with two sets of recessed bunk beds at one end and an open toilet at the other. A solitary light on the ceiling illuminated the room, showing me that Jeremiah had removed most of his gear and only wore the black shirt and pants now. Leftover war paint showed as streaks to his arms and face, but I could feel his gaze on my skin. It still took me a minute to get up the courage to look him in the eye.
“What happened?” he asked.
I knew immediately what he was asking, and it was as good a place to start as any. “After you left, I got into a limo outside the house that I thought you’d left for me. I had no idea it was Lucas behind the wheel. He drove me to another car, then offered to let me come with him.”
“What did you say?”
“I asked him to take me back.” My mouth twisted down at the memory. “So he kidnapped me for real, sending his driver in to drag me out kicking and screaming.”
Jeremiah grunted, and when he shifted I became aware of his proximity. As much as I wanted desperately to touch him, there might as well have been a wall between us. He was less than four feet away from me, but neither one of us would take that first step. Finally, Jeremiah spoke. “When I heard they’d found one of my drivers tied up in the bunkhouse, I knew something had happened. Then I was told you weren’t in the house, and Jared was found unconscious. I couldn’t...”
Jeremiah cut himself off, and I saw a myriad of emotions race across his face. The stoic mask was gone, and he seemed to struggle with his next words. “By the time we started tracking the car, it had already stopped moving, and when we got there everyone inside was gone. You were gone.”
My chest tightened at the unexpected emotion I heard in his voice. “So what did you do?” I whispered, scarcely able to breathe.
He stared down at me, green eyes bright in the dim light. “Moved heaven and earth.”
I gasped, throat tight, and covered my mouth to hold in the choked sob. The wretched space between us disappeared; Jeremiah took the step we’d both been avoiding and pulled me into his arms, and I broke down. He trembled against me, thick fingers digging into my skin. Everything that had been weighing on my mind exploded out, and I cried against his chest.
He held me, stroking my back as my emotions leaked out. “I’m sorry I couldn’t protect you,” he murmured, squeezing me tight. We stayed that way for a long time, content to be touching on another. Eventually my sobs lessened and, drained of emotion, I clung to his solid mass.
He laid a kiss to the top of my head, both hands running down my back possessively. “That son of a bitch Lucas. You’re mine.”
The words were out before I could stop them. “Your what?”
I don’t know what I expected to hear from my spontaneous query. So much of my uncertainty and doubt funneled into that single statement, but Jeremiah paused. Disentangling myself from around the big man, I looked up into his face. “I’m your what?” I asked again, detachment growing in my heart.
The question seemed to confuse the other man, who frowned down at me. His reaction touched a nerve, and resentment built quickly. “When we last spoke,” I said, keeping my voice low and embracing the anger, “I said some words to you which you rejected. So please tell me what I am to you.”
“Lucy...”
“Don’t.” I stepped away, allowing the anger to flow. Rage was so much easier to deal with than pain; it allowed me to say the things I needed to get out. “You say I’m yours, but I’m not allowed to love you. So what am I? A responsibility? A liability?”