Alex Kava Bundle - Alex Kava [273]
She looked up to survey the depths of their hell now that light seeped down to them. It was not as deep as she had initially thought—twelve, maybe fifteen feet at the most, about five feet wide and ten feet long. It looked to be an old trench, partially caved in with uneven sides. Tree roots snaked out and rocks jutted out in places. But there were fresh spade marks that told her he intended for this to be a trap.
What kind of monster did this to a woman and then threw her into a pit? She couldn’t think about him. She couldn’t wonder or imagine, or it would completely paralyze her. Instead, she needed to concentrate on getting them out of here. But how the hell could she do that?
She kneeled next to the woman. The blanket seemed to reduce the convulsions. She’d need to examine her for broken bones. There were enough gashes in the walls and jutting rocks that they could climb their way out, but she’d never be able to pull or carry the woman.
Just as Tess reached to touch the woman’s shoulder, she saw what it was that the woman’s eyes were focused on so intently. Startled, she jumped back. Slowly she forced herself closer for a better look, despite her amazement, despite her revulsion. Directly in front of her, buried in the dirt wall and partially unearthed by the rain was a human skull, the empty eye sockets staring out at them. And then, Tess realized. This wasn’t a trap, at all. It was a grave. It was their grave.
CHAPTER 47
Saturday, April 4
She wore another red silk blouse. She looked good in red. It emphasized her strawberry-blond hair. It had become a habit for her to leave off her jacket and stand in front of her desk, half sitting on the corner. Today, she didn’t bother to pull down the skirt hem that hiked up just enough to reveal shapely smooth thighs. Lovely, tender thighs that made him wonder what it would feel like to sink his teeth into them.
She waited for him to talk while she scribbled in her notepad, probably not even taking notes on him. If the notes were about him, he wasn’t the least bit curious about what they said. He was more interested in what her moans would sound like when he finally stuck himself inside her, thrusting deep and hard until she was screaming. He so enjoyed it when they screamed, especially when he was inside them. The vibration felt like shock waves, like he was causing a fucking earthquake.
It was one of many things he had in common with his old friend, his old partner. At least it was one thing he didn’t need to fake. He pushed the sunglasses up on the bridge of his nose and realized she was waiting.
“Mr. Harding,” she interrupted his thoughts. “You never answered my question.”
He couldn’t remember what the fucking question had been. He cocked his head to the side and jutted out his chin in that pathetic gesture that said, “Forgive me, I’m blind.”
“I asked if any of the exercises I suggested have helped.”
Sure enough. If he waited, people always made it easy, supplying the answer, repeating themselves or getting up and doing whatever it was they had wanted him to do. He was getting good at this. Probably a good thing, in case it became permanent.
“Mr. Harding?”
She didn’t have much patience today. He wanted to ask how long it had been since she had been fucked. That was, no doubt, the problem. Or perhaps she needed a few porn movies from his new private collection.
He knew from his personal research that she was divorced, for almost twenty-five years now. It had been a short, two-year marriage, a youthful indiscretion. Certainly there must have been several lovers since, though, of course, those details weren’t easily accessible on the Internet.
Now he could see her impatience growing in the way she crossed her arms. Finally, he said politely, “The exercises worked quite well, but that doesn’t prove or help anything.”
“Why do you say that?”
“What good does it do to get myself…well, excuse the expression…to get my little general all hot, hard and bothered when I’m alone?”
She smiled, the first she had surrendered