Page 4 of Take My Crown

There is some serious money here.

We turn onto a road signposted ‘King Street’ and at last, the biker pulls up by a large, carved gate obscuring whatever is behind. He presses a buzzer set into a column to the right of the gate. There is a nameplate next to it, but I can’t make out the name carved into it as it is covered with overgrown ivy. Figures.

“It’s me,” he says into the intercom. “I’ve got a delivery for Solomon.”

Whoever is on the other end of the intercom opens the gates and they swing open to reveal the most beautiful house I have ever seen. It is like something out of a dream, large and regal with a porch held up by pillars and the porches wrap around the entire mansion. There are too many windows to count–there had to be at least six bedrooms, if not more. I notice right away the cameras and bars lining the downstairs windows that look rather new. This only gets worse. Apparently being kidnapped was something someone rich planned out for me.

But why fucking me?

There are certainly worse places to be held prisoner, that’s the only good thing I can come up with.

The biker slowly eases his vehicle over a gravel path, but instead of pulling up in front of the house, he turns off and follows the road out to the side, back to where there is a large garage. He drives in and switches off the engine.

Taking off his helmet I’m finally able to see what my kidnapper looks like and damn, he is as good looking as I thought. He is younger than I expected, not much older than me if I had to guess. Thick brown locks cover his deeply tanned skin and pearly grey-blue eyes. With dimples that appear when he smiles, like he knows I’m checking him out. This guy is as dangerous as he is good looking. I’m truly fucked.

Just my type. If we’d met under different circumstances, I would have been more than happy to go for a ride on the back of his bike. As it is, he’s just an idiot.

“Welcome to your new home,” he sarcastically points out while taking a set of keys from his pocket. Prick. He unlocks one set of handcuffs and does them back up again around both my wrists before releasing me from the other metal loop.

“You’re not going to fight me are you?” he asks with a sadistic smile.

I shake my head, hoping I look weak and innocent for a moment. Enough to fool him.

“Out you come then.” He helps me climb out of the sidecar. I wait until we have walked a few steps away from the bike. When we are next to a large tree, I swing my foot out and kick him hard in his leg. He stumbles and turns on me, picking me up by my shoulders and pushing my back into the tree. He covers my body with his and grabs my chin with his large hand.

“Don’t fucking push me,” he growls and I smile.

“Fucking do something about it then!” I provoke him. I don’t know why I do it, it’s not smart, and he has all the cards. He could hurt me if he wanted…but a small part of me doesn’t think he will.

“Do you really want that, crazy girl?” he questions me like I’m insane and I might just be. With his body pressed against mine, I can feel how turned on he is against my thigh, even without meeting his eyes. His eyes burn with passion and lust, something I’m not that well versed in. For some fucked up reason, I’m not exactly put off by him either.

We stare each other down and I get the feeling he is enjoying this almost as much as me. With one more sneer, he drops me and then guides me by the elbow towards a small door in the side of the house. Pushing it open, he leads me into a corridor.

I stumble a little as he pulls me along, wanting to take my time to examine the inside of the house to get a feel for who I am meeting next.

“Move it along,” he snaps in my ear, his hot breath warming my cheek. “Solomon’s been waiting long enough as it is.”

Solomon. That is the second time I have heard the name, and it is completely meaningless. I have never heard of anyone by that name and certainly don’t know what they might want with me. What kind of name is Solomon, anyway?

We stop outside a closed door, the biker finally releases me from the handcuffs. I rub my sore wrists as my kidnapper knocks on the door.

“Come!”

The voice which beckoned us in is deep and gravelly, filled with the confidence of an alpha male and I grumble internally. Not another dickhead.

Pushing the door open, the biker gestures to me to go in first, so I step in to be presented to a man sitting behind a desk. He has black hair cut short with flashes of white at the temple, and a beard which had more streaks of white amongst the black. There is something familiar about his eyes, but I can’t put my finger on what.

“Ivy!” he exclaims as soon as I walk in, getting up from his seat and walking around to greet me with arms outstretched.

I cringe, stepping back when it becomes clear he is coming in for a hug. No, thank you.

“Now, my child,” he says with a mock pout. “Is that any way to welcome your father?”

“Myfather?” I shake my head and laugh. I keep laughing until I realise I’m the only one who is finding this funny.

Biker asshole dude is looking at me like I’m crackers and fake father man is mimicking that expression. Oddly, I feel relieved for a long moment. They must have kidnapped the wrong person because they don’t want me.

Phew. “I don’t know who you think I am, but I amnotyour daughter and I pity her if this is how you treat her. All your thug had to do was ask and I would have told him my dad died in an accident when I was a baby.”

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