Surrender A Section 8 Novel

Chapter Eighteen





Drugs. Grace struggled against the feeling, tried to put her fingers down her throat to get the pills up, and then she recalled the tiny pinprick feeling on her upper arm.

An injection. There was no getting rid of the medicine until it wore off. She was helpless, a feeling she remembered all too well. A feeling she hated.

Was she tied? It didn’t appear so. She tried to call out to Dare before she was lost in the haze, but through her fever-addled brain she could feel the narcotics holding her down as effectively as bindings. And still she struggled because that’s what she’d vowed always to do. She was pretty sure she was still in Darius’s house with Dare, but her brain was misfiring, taking her to a time and place in the not-so-distant past when she’d been forced to lie still, and she had, because it made things less than enjoyable for the men who’d tortured her.

They liked it when she fought. As soon as she’d discovered that, she’d lain as still as the dead.

She screamed until she realized that excited them to the point of frenzy. They were sharks for her blood, her pain, her fears.

When she looked into their eyes, she saw darkness—no shine at all.

Would her eyes look as dead as theirs when this was all over? Would it be better that way?

“Cooperation is the name of the game, pretty girl,” the man taunted her, his hands tightening painfully around her wrists. The pain of him driving himself inside her should’ve felt far worse, but she’d stopped feeling it. Stopped feeling anything.

And that was survival at its finest.

“Then why don’t you give it to me harder?” she asked the man above her again, and for a second, it made him halt with uncertainty and stare down at her. She ground her pelvis up against his. “Go ahead—make me want it.”

She didn’t know if she’d begun to live or die that night, but she eventually made it out alive, scars and all.

Would she ever find a man she wouldn’t damage? One who wouldn’t damage her? She didn’t have the instincts to know anymore. She’d stopped trusting herself years ago.

When the man rolled off her, the familiar feeling of power shot through her, stronger than any orgasm. She wasn’t in that helpless place she’d flashed back to. She was in control. Older, but she didn’t think she was any wiser. She was simply alive.

For now, that had to be enough.

“Grace, it’s okay—you’re safe.” Dare’s voice. How many hours had passed? How many times had she cried out in her sleep?

What had she given away?

She opened her eyes to stare at him, and he repeated, “Grace, it’s me—you’re okay—you’re safe.”

“I’m never safe,” she managed, her fist slamming into his face with all the strength she had. It didn’t seem to faze him—he grabbed her wrist, not tightly, and stopped her from continuing her assault. “Who gave you permission to drug me?”

“It was an antibiotic—”

“And a painkiller.”

“Your temperature was close to 103. You were in screaming pain—literally. I couldn’t get you to stop thrashing around enough to get you into the bath. I figured you’d sleep through the worst of it.”

He bore scratches on his face, neck and arms to prove his story, she noted. She’d fought him. And it was a reasonable explanation, but she was long past being reasonable. Reasonable got you hurt. “You had no right to make decisions for me—any decisions.”

She pushed against him when he released her, and he relented. She didn’t know if it was guilt or something else, but she took advantage, fought like a banshee until she had nothing left.

“Better?” he asked, without a hint of irony.

She said, “Much,” between harsh breaths.

His lip was bleeding, his cheek bruised. Minimal damage on both counts, but she still took satisfaction in it.

“Never. Again. Do you understand me . . . ? I don’t care about the pain. I need . . . to feel it.” Her voice rose with a desperate quality that she hated, but the only thing that mattered was that he not drug her.

“I’m sorry.”

“You took my dignity.”

“That wasn’t my intention. I know what that’s like,” he said, his drawl soft, seductive, even though she should feel nothing of the sort at the moment.

“I want to hate you.” It was the drugs talking, taking her over. “I want to, but I can’t.”

“Good. Feeling’s mutual.” He wiped the blood from his lip with the back of his hand. “Get back to bed.”

“No.”

“Do it or I’ll put you there.”

“Try it.”

He did more than try—he hauled her over his shoulder and walked her, kicking and fighting but ultimately too worn-out to be effective. He dropped her on the bed, told her, “I won’t lock you in here unless you give me reason to.”

She charged him and he put her back on the bed. She pulled and they tumbled together.

She shouldn’t have wanted this. It must be the drugs making her hot, bothered. Clouding her judgment.

She’d never know which one of them made the first move, but they were kissing, even as their bodies fought against each other. She waited to feel the familiar surge of power at not feeling anything. Instead, the burst of heat nearly seared her.

It didn’t go away. She knew she’d surrender to it if things went further, and she couldn’t let that happen.

As if he knew, he pulled back and rolled off her, but, as she soon realized, only to grab handcuffs. He snapped one on her wrist, the other on his.

“Go to sleep,” he told her gruffly. She saw how aroused he was, and that at least pleased her, since she was equally so.

“No more drugs.”

“Just Tylenol and an antibiotic—take it.”

She inspected the pills and the bottles they came from and reluctantly took them. She needed to keep getting better. Stronger. This fight—all her battles—was far from over.

She did sleep, wasn’t sure for how long, but when she woke she noticed that he’d taken the cuffs off and he’d deserted the bed.

His scent was still everywhere, like he’d marked her in some way.

She was desperate for him, out of control, and the only consolation was that he seemed to feel the exact same way.


* * *

Dare heard Grace stirring, brought her some water to drink but waited at the door of the room until she acknowledged him.

“Hey. Look, about before—”

“I’ll take the water,” was all she said. She took a long drink. “My fever’s coming back.”

“More antibiotics are on the way.”

“What’s going on, Dare?”

“I don’t know,” he said honestly. “I f*cking have no idea. I’ve lost control of this. Of you.”

“You never had control of me. I don’t give that up,” she told him. “But with you . . . I want to.”

He sat on the bed next to her. “We’ll figure this out, okay? We’ll figure out a way to deal with Powell.”

“I’ll help you.”

“Grace—”

“I don’t know any other way but violence,” she told him. “At least I thought I didn’t. But when you kiss me, that all goes away. I’m trying to fight it, but I don’t want to anymore.”

He didn’t know if it was the painkillers helping her confession along or not, but he was grateful just the same.

“Just promise me that when I’m better, you’ll kiss me again,” she told him.

“That’s a promise I can damn well keep.” He paused. “Sometimes I feel like violence is all I know too.”

She turned his hand over and looked at the scar in his palm. Touched it gingerly. “I guess the bastard nearly killed both of us.”

“But we’re both still here.”

She stared up at him, her eyes still clouded with fever. “You can use me to draw Rip out.”

“That fever’s worse than I thought.”

“You’ve got to stop him, no matter what,” she murmured.

“I will. Don’t you worry about that, Grace. But it will be with you by my side, not by his. Are we clear on that? Because every damned thing has changed now.”

“Clear,” she told him. She put her head on her pillow and he tucked a towel under her and then wiped her forehead and shoulders and back and thighs with cool water. He did that until he heard the nearly nonexistent hum of the small Kodiak.

Gunner. Finally.

“Baby, it’s okay—you’re safe with me. You always were.” He patted her dry before she started shivering, knew the fever wouldn’t stay down for very long without stronger meds.

He covered her with a light sheet and waited, not wanting to leave her, knowing that Gunner could find his way to the house easily and disable the alarm.

About five minutes passed before he heard the light knock and the door opening.

“Dare, it’s us,” Gunner called.

“Back bedroom,” Dare called back, and then he heard the footsteps. Gunner came in first, followed by Avery, and while Gunner went right to Grace, Dare stood to see Avery.

“You okay?” he asked, and she nodded, looked around him to see Grace. “It’s a fever—nothing more.”

“I didn’t think you’d hurt her,” she said.

“I didn’t. I won’t.”

“Then what do we do?” she asked. He hadn’t figured that out yet, but he would.