Page 75 of A Captive Situation

When I was going to have kids.

Then at some point, the looks turned pitying. They started thinking it wasn’t going to happen.

They’d been correct, but I wasn’t feeling that specific heartache right now.

I was missing the familiarity of my life. I knew what to expect. It felt safe.

Wednesday night was martini night at the new bar that everyone in Bear Creek said was so hoity-toity.

I loved the hoity-toitiness of it all.

It made me feel sophisticated. Classy. Like I was going somewhere. Like my life wasn’t always going to be the same and I was the hamster never getting off the same wheel.

Beck made fun of me for going to martini night, because who was I to think I belonged in a classy bar like that, drinking martinis like I was some city-folk socialite. It burned at the time because he was right.

It burned worse now because he was wrong.

I belonged anywhere I decided that I belonged. Maybe it was all the kidnappings, or the running, or the people either shooting at me or near me, but all of the little comments Beck used to make about me didn’t matter. None of it did.

I could do what I wanted. If I survived this, I was going to do whatever I wanted.

I’d taken on the role of being a supportive and loving partner. That defined me. A job never did. I don’t know if I wanted it to define me in the future, but I knew that moving forward, I was going to make moves for me. What was in the best interest for me.

And for damn sure, I was going to go back to Bear Creek and I was going to slam all the martinis that I wanted. After that, I’d figure things out, because I’d woken up with a brand-new fucking lease on life.

Forget my tourist bucket list. I was doing a real bucket list.

Become fluent in Spanish. I was going to do it. Take a cruise to the Bahamas, fuck yes. Backpack through Europe ... Maybe I’d hire someone to help me with that, but I was down. Whatever invisible strings or handcuffs that kept me chained to Beck or to the role of being Beck’s loving and supportive partner—that wasn’t going to be me anymore.

I would not ever love and support someone to the detriment of myself. That wasn’t a real partnership. I would never have that again, where I gave all of myself and they barely gave me 10 percent back.

I just needed to commit murder first.

I washed up the best I could and smoothed back my hair, cleaned my teeth with a toothbrush that had still been in its packaging and some toothpaste, then I went for the bedroom door. There were no sounds on the other side. The room was unfamiliar, so I didn’t think Jake had brought us back to his cabin.

There was a knot in my stomach as I reached for the handle. If it was locked, I was going to burn the place down.

My fingers touched the cool metal and turned. It clicked open.

Relief spread through me, which then ticked me off because I shouldn’t have to be relieved that I wasn’t being locked up yetagain.

I found him.

Stopping abruptly, just inside the kitchen door, I saw him in a chair by the table. Sitting back. Eyes closed. Shirtless. Totally and completely asleep.

I already knew Jake had a good physique, but seeing his chest naked now—I trailed down the sleekness of him. All smooth muscles. There were some scars on the side, which had tattoos interweaved with them so they looked like some cool Celtic symbol.

Screw him.

My mouth watered, but I pressed my lips together.

I hated that he could affect me like this.

He deserved nothing from me, certainly no appreciation of his body.

But I couldn’t tear my eyes away. He wasn’t lean, not totally, but nor was he a bulky bodybuilder. He was solid. Perfect. His chest was hard like cement. His stomach muscles moved as he breathed. They were corded into a valley of dips and mountains.

There was no softness on him anywhere, and I was raking my gaze over every inch of him.

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