Page 8 of Stolen Bride for the Don

Pep talk complete and I am still no closer to opening any of the doors or windows out of this prison. I start to grow frantic. My teeth grind as I try to keep my hysteria at bay. Panicking won’t accomplish anything but clouding my mind. Focus. I glance at the French doors with determination. I’ve never picked a lock before, but I’ve seen my brother do it several times. It shouldn’t be that hard, right?

My hand rummages through my hair. I take out a pin, holding it up triumphantly as I bend down to inspect the keyhole, but there isn’t one. No key hole or slot…just a little touch pad not dissimilar to the one in my apartment. Fuck. I punch the door angrily as I let the pin slip out of my hand. I know how impenetrable these things are; hence why I have one of my own. This bastard has thought of everything.

I stand up with a whimper, my hands fisting in my hair as I pace. What now? What do I do? I glance at the touchpad again. This one requires biometrics instead of just a password, so I can’t even try to guess the code–not that I’m confident I could, given that I know nothing about this man.

I slow to a halt as a crazy idea pops into my head. No. It wouldn’t work. But what if...My heart starts pounding as I slowly bend toward the touch pad and gently press my thumb against it. I wait breathlessly but nothing happens. No sound, no lights. Nothing. I press my thumb harder against it, and a sharp jolt of electricity zaps up my arm. I jump back breathlessly, which makes me fall on my ass, and a loud ripping sound cuts through the silence.

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.” I gasp as I rub my thumb to dispel the numbness. Anger bumbles up inside me as I realize that I’m well and truly trapped. I knew if he got me here, it would be difficult to escape, but it’s starting to seem impossible.

I slap my palm on the smooth hardwood floor as I shove myself up. “This is just a challenge I need to puzzle out,” I mutter to myself, glancing around the room again. Daddy didn’t raise no quitter. My gaze homes in on the bookshelf and the big statues placed in empty spaces between books.

“Here’s to nothing,” I mutter as I pick up a hefty marble bust of a man that looks suspiciously like Zeus with his long hair and arrogant nose.

Sure enough, “Zeus” is carved on the plaque below the bust. I lift my hand up and down to test the weight. Satisfied, I make my way back to the balcony doors. I hit the glass door with the statue. The momentum causes a painful reverberation to travel up my arm, but the glass doesn’t so much as crack. Fueled by rage, I hurl it with all my strength at the doors. Nothing. So it’s reinforced glass. Of course.

I fall to my knees. It feels like the walls are about to close in on me. Don’t panic. Don’t panic. Don’t panic. I sink back on my heels and dip my head into my hands, trying to calm my racing heart and stop the tears that are oh so close to spilling down my face. I refuse to let this man see me break. I’m a Beaufort, for God’s sake.

“I wouldn’t try that again if I were you. You’ll only end up hurting yourself.” My head snaps up at the sound of the rumbling voice. There he is: Hudson is leaning against the doorframe with a smug look on his face. I immediately raise my feet as gracefully as I can, refusing to let him see me in any form of distress, while convincing myself that if he saw me throw that statue a moment ago, he’ll be thoroughly impressed by my tenacity. And if I’m lucky, a touch threatened.

“All of the windows in this house are shatterproof. Bulletproof too in case you’re getting any ideas.”

The smirk on his handsome face irks me; that combined with his arrogant tone makes me forget all my strategically-laid plans, and I rush him. In hindsight, I should have just thrown Zeus at him. I make a move as if to punch his jaw.

His expression flickers to surprise; he takes a step back into the hallway to avoid the hit, but I follow him closely. But this time, I’ve lost the element of surprise; he remains still, allowing me to hit him. At the last second, I change my target to his throat. Pain vibrates through my fist from the contact.

Alex spent years drilling self-defense maneuvers into me, making me repeat them daily like an overbearing drill sergeant. I’ve become pretty confident in my skills, so I expect him to gasp and double over; but to my horror, his green eyes light up, a crazed look washing over his face.

“That's all you got, pet?” he challenges and takes a step toward me. To his surprise, I take one of my own toward him and raise my nose in the air. “Not even close, asshole.”

At that moment, I realize he’s been calling me pet since he took me. My anger hikes up a notch. He wants to see all I’ve got? I’ll show him. My hand slips into my dress, and I pull out the knife I stole from Eli, the one I kept stashed under the band of my bra. I charge at him with every ounce of rage I’ve accumulated today.

CHAPTER 7

HUDSON

She moves so fast that I barely register what’s happening. Before I can defend myself, surprisingly warm steel presses against my throat. I hold my breath as fury and incredulity flashes over me. I glance down, studying the hilt of a familiar knife. Shock joins my range of emotions when I realize that the knife is one of Eli’s. She fucking pickpocketed one of my men, the little troublemaker.

“You’re going to let me go,” she threatens. I’m a sick fuck because blood rushes south at the breathy tone in her voice. Pure, undiluted challenge swims in her ocean blue eyes, but all it’s doing is intriguing me further.

I lean into the knife and ask, “Or what?”

We continue to stare each other down, realizing that we just might be matched for stubbornness because neither one of us is willing to back down. Her chest is rising with each deep breath, and her eyes race between mine, trying to figure out just how far I’ll take this. All the way, love. In my peripheral, I see Crew and a few of my men arrive with guns raised.

They must have seen us on the camera feed. My men have access to all of the footage except for my bedroom. Only I have access to that, but there’s a clear shot down the hallway, putting our little altercation on full display. Pitty, because I’d like to see where this goes.

“Time is running out, pet. Tick Tock.”

Her eyes spark at my taunt, “Stop calling me that!” she yells and presses the steel harder against my throat, hard enough to break the skin. The distant sound of guns cocking fills the air, and Andrea tosses a wild glance at my men.

I take advantage of her distraction and effortlessly disarm her. It’s like taking sweet sweet candy from a baby. I twist her around until her back is pressed to my chest; I place the knife to her throat, although I have absolutely no intention of using it. I nod at my men to leave us alone, and they oblige.

“Walk,” I growl into her ear. No one threatens my life, draws fucking blood, and gets away with it. She shudders in my arms but obeys. “Good girl.” Before I can help myself, I rub the tip of my nose along the crook of her neck; her scent overwhelms me.

Goosebumps erupt all over her skin, and I don’t miss the reaction. Involuntary or not, she’s attracted to me. And I fully intend on using it to my advantage.

We shuffle into the bedroom. I spin her around to face the door, the knife still pressed to her throat. “Close it,” I order.

She hesitates, knowing that once that door is closed, she’s lost her chance at freedom. “That wasn’t a suggestion, pet. Close the fucking door.” I press the knife harder against her throat, careful not to draw blood; it would be a shame to mar her flawless skin. Certainly it’s more consideration than she gave me. Besides, there are other marks I can leave there, ones less permanent and much more satisfying.

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