Page 11 of Captive Souls

I turned quickly, but not before I saw a cold determination cover his features. Replaced by that quick, oily smile. It sent the world tilting for just a second before I hightailed it out of there.

I’d known that wouldn’t be the last I’d see of him, known I was in trouble, but I never in a million years could’ve predicted where I’d end up.

In a car, going God knew where with a man who most definitely was a murderer.

Four

Piper

Ihad resolved to stay quiet the entire drive. My form of protest, maybe? But upon reflection after about an hour, I decided that silence was not protest but submission. I’d gone with him willingly, without a fight, which was shameful enough. I wouldn’t sit there meekly, letting him think I was entirely at his mercy.

I had a voice. It was pretty much the only thing I had left at this point.

“What’s your name?” It was a pertinent question to ask my kidnapper. Though was it kidnapping if I went willingly, albeit under duress? Though I didn’t even know if it counted as ‘under duress’ since he hadn’t made any outright threats. Although just his existence alone was a threat.

I sighed loudly. Great. Even if I did decide to run away at a gas station and go to the police, I’d have nothing to truly convict him of, and I’d be laughed out of the station for getting in the car with a stranger.

“You work for Stone, right?” I probed when he didn’t respond to my question. “I just want to ensure that I didn’t somehow just get in the car with a stalker completely unrelated to my…” Whatwas Stone? Definitely not a boyfriend. Not a friend. “Overly friendly with hostile undertones acquaintance who wants me to behiswith my coerced consent.” The word spewed from me in a quick babble with air quotes and nervous smiling.

I did that—babbled and smiled when nervous.

He obviously worked for Stone. He’d had him on the phone, after all, a detail that had floated out of my mind. As if I could erase Stone’s very existence. I hadn’t realized just how quickly my mind would fracture in a situation as unbelievable as this. My brain was already attempting to erase memories to protect me from them.

I was looking right at him. My nameless abductor, road trip buddy, Midnight Man. Parts of me didn’t want to. Look at him, that was. Though he was hauntingly attractive, there was something unnerving about staring at him in such an enclosed space. The act of even speaking to him felt dangerous. But I pushed past that. Showing my fear would not do. You didn’t do it with horses, and you didn’t do it with mafioso enforcers or whatever his title was.

Until this point, he’d been looking straight ahead. But his head tilted enough so his eyes slid to me. It took all my effort not to plaster myself against the door and let out a little scream. I might’ve peed myself a little. Mostly out of fear but also because I’d been holding it since we left and was too embarrassed to ask for a bathroom break. One of the many things in this situation that didn’t make sense. I should be shaking with fear, terror; embarrassment shouldn’t have been anywhere in the mix.

I didn’t break eye contact, even though I really, really wanted to. The weight of his gaze wasn’t just terrifying, it was probing, ice barbs pricking at my skin, awakening something inside me I didn’t know existed. The magnetism I felt toward this man was unexplainable. And unhinged. It had to be some kind of psychological effect from being kidnapped.

“I work for Stone,” he finally said. He didn’t remind me of the exchange in the car or seem at all surprised at my amnesia, holding my eyes longer than was technically safe for the driver of a motor vehicle to be averting his eyes from the road.

Though a car crash was likely the least of my worries. And inexplicably, I knew this man wouldn’t crash. There was no way he would let ordinary dangers come to me. I felt safe with him. In that respect, at least. I was more than aware that I definitely wasn’t safe in any other ways.

I swallowed heavily. “Good.” It was an effort to keep my voice light, even.

Only because I was watching him so intently did I see the very slight twitch to his eyebrow. Before this, his face was so expressionless, it could’ve been made of marble.

“I wouldn’t say it’sgoodthat I work for Stone De Luca,” he remarked dryly.

My bones trembled at the tone of his voice. Fear. Yes, fear was a living being inside of me. But I couldn’t deny that was the only thing I felt. There was also warmth. From the vicinity between my legs.

Unlike my sister, I did not have a bad boy infatuation.

Until now.

Not that the man beside me was aboy.

I had a hard time imagining he’d ever been a boy. This man had never been a defenseless, cute, squishy baby. No, he’d burst onto this earth ready to fuck shit up. Like an orc. Just a lot more handsome.

“No, it’s not good,” I agreed, thrumming my fingers on my thighs. “None of this is good.”

Most especially my burgeoning obsession with this man, my inability to stop looking at him, cataloguing every inch of him.

“Oh, Jesus.” I ran through the situation in my mind, picking at my cuticles. “I’m going to be on a segment of60 Minutesone day. Maybe I’ll even get my own Netflix special if Daisy is dramatic enough about it … which she will be. My colleagues will all go on. Even Trina, and she hates me. But she’ll be talking about how we were best friends. How I lit up the room.”

I looked back at him, his profile sharp. He didn’t seem to be listening, but the sound of my own voice was better than silence.

“Have you ever noticed that murder victims always ‘lit up a room?’” I made air quotes. “I mean, sure, some of them might’ve. But just by law of averages, they couldn’t all have been angels. Even murder victims can be bitches.” I toyed with a thread on my jeans. “Do you think that death does that to the people who survive it? Makes them remember people differently? Better?”

---