Page 7 of Captured By Fate

"Fuck you! Let me go," she snarls in response. Her spitfire attitude surprises me, making me reconsider my initial assessment of this slight woman. There's a wild fighter in those eyes that gleams fiercely even through the fear.

In response, I merely lean casually against the wall opposite her, not breaking eye contact for an instant. I like this game of cat and mouse and yet, there’s a thrill in this brewing storm that thrums through my veins and leaves me craving more.

Her fists come up, the pink nails a stark contrast against her skin, and she lunges forward. She packs quite a punch for a petite woman, but I've been trained to handle far worse than this.

I dodge her attack, my reflexes honed from years of scrutiny in the underground race clubs. With every blow she aims at me, I sidestep or bat her petite fists away with an ease that comes from muscle memory.

In the next instant, I find my window of opportunity. She throws herself wide open with an attempted haymaker, her balance unsteady on the uneven ground. Seizing this chance, I close the distance and spin her around. Her body slams into the cool metallic surface of the trailer with a dull thud that makes her shiver despite herself.

There's raw fear in those jeweled eyes now, a deep-rooted panic that has her chest heaving even more rapidly. My hands pin hers above her head, forming a manacle of flesh and bone. A show of dominance – but it's necessary.

Our faces are mere inches apart. My eyes wander over her features as I drink in every detail — the frightened pulse dancing wildly in the hollow of her throat, the dusting of freckles across her nose, the thin furrows in her forehead as she grits her teeth against the unease.

“You're mine now,” I state simply, my voice barely above a whisper.

A spark of defiance ignites in those fearful eyes at my words. "Never," she spits back at me, a wildcat staring down danger.

This woman — spirited and fiery despite the situation she finds herself in, is exactly the kind of challenge I long for. She writhes, the delicate tendons in her wrists straining against the iron grip of my hands. Her almond-shaped eyes—raw sienna with flecks of gold—flash, shedding flickers of indignant light, challenging my heavy stare.

"I said let me go!" She repeats, her voice rasping through the tense air between us.

In response, I merely tighten my hold around her wrists. The sudden increase in pressure elicits a choked gasp from her lips, but her gaze remains unbowed, undulating with a rare combination of fear and indignation. Her breath comes out in ragged gasps, pooling warm and fast against my face.

"Challenging me won’t change your fate," I murmur into the small space that separates us. My words seem to slide off her defiance like water on an oil slick.

Her chest rises and falls rapidly against the cold metal wall behind her. The flimsy fabric of her shirt clings desperately to each rib as if pleading for freedom on behalf of its distressed owner. I notice each rise and fall, every breath she takes unwillingly close to me, making my own lungs contract in an odd rhythm.

"I don't belong to you! Get the hell off me!” She spits out vehemently, a naked defiance coating each syllable. The rawness of her words stirs something within me—a searing heat beneath my rib cage that punctuates my every breath.

Unfazed by her stubborn resistance, I drop one hand from her wrist and gingerly trace a path down her arm. My fingers skate over the bumpy trail of goosebumps that dot her skin like a constellation of stars, each one seeming to pulsate in rhythm with her quickening heartbeat.

This tactile exploration sends a shiver through her body, but she doesn't pull away; instead, she grits her teeth and glares at me with undying defiance. I like this woman. There’s something unique and interesting about her.

"Your words might say one thing," I whisper huskily against her earlobe, "But your body speaks differently." My hand trails further down the curve of her side until it rests on the jut of her hip, my fingers digging gently into the soft flesh through the worn fabric of her jeans.

Her lips part slightly at my touch, but no sound escapes. Her defiance is still prominently displayed in her gaze, but the fear that danced wildly in them before has been replaced by something else entirely – curiosity perhaps or maybe even anticipation masked cleverly behind layers of indignation.

I let a small smile play on my lips - an unreadable expression that doesn't quite reach my eyes. With her trapped tightly against the trailer, I lean in closer until our bodies are nearly flush against one another. Her ragged breath hitches as our proximity erodes any remaining physical barriers between us.

"Maybe you're right," I concede, drawing back slightly to meet her gaze again.

The intensity of those sienna eyes almost has me reeling, their fiery depths revealing more about this intriguing woman than words ever could. But I keep my composure – this is just another test in a long series of challenges she presents.

"Perhaps you won't be mine willingly," I continue, introducing a dangerous edge to my tone that sends a shiver down her slender spine. "But you’re mine, nonetheless."

5

KELLEY

“How’d you get in here?” he asks.

His eyes, blacker than the devil's, bore into mine with an intensity that leaves me speechless. He may be the devil, but he’s the most handsome devil I’ve ever seen.

I struggle against his hold, desperate to free myself. “Go fuck yourself,” I snarl.

He grins. If I didn’t know better, I’d say he likes when I curse at him. I try to pull free once more, but his grip tightens painfully on my wrists.

“You’re not going anywhere,” he says. His voice is deep and it makes me tremble. There’s a part of me that’s slightly afraid of the power he exudes. I don’t know who he is, but he’s clearly in charge.

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