Page 24 of Naughty Santa Daddy

“I can’t wait.” Sausage Fingers undoes his belt. It’s so dark, I can’t see my surroundings. Maybe there’s something I can use as a weapon to defend myself.

I feel around on the bed of the van, but it’s bare. Next, I check the area behind me, hoping to not catch his attention. Again, nothing.

“Gag her so we don’t have to listen to her scream,” the one in the passenger seat says. “I hate hearing chicks scream.”

“Because you’ve forced yourself on them before?” the driver asks. “Guess that’s one way to get pussy.”

“Shut up!” the passenger shouts.

“I can knock her out.” The large man towers over me and raises his fist.

I shriek back; my heart is thundering now. I can’t believe my fate. These assholes ripped me straight out of my bed. Plan to rape me, then ransom me, and finally kill me. This is why I don’t want any part of the family.

“Look at this son of a bitch with his brights on,” the driver shouts, stealing the attention away from me.

“What’s going on?” Sausage Fingers asks.

Relief washes over me, but I know I’m not out of the woods yet.

“Flash him back,” the passenger orders.

“He’s driving down the middle of the goddamn road!”

“I think he’s trying to hit us!” the driver yells.

“Swerve, dumbass!”

“There’s no shoulder!”

“Put it in reverse!”

The barking of orders gets louder and louder. I can hear their fear, and it makes me damn happy. So, I brace for impact as best I can, finding a rope hanging on the side wall. I doubt it will help if the van flips, but hey, it’s something.

A horn blares.

The men yell.

And I grab my stomach with my free hand in a protective way.

The crunch of metal smashing into metal is horrifyingly loud. I’m thrown to the side at impact and into the New Yorker, his burly body acts like a firm mattress. I grab onto his thick hair and pound his head against the floor, over and over, to ensure he’s unconscious. He is.

We’re moving backwards, and I don’t hear any noise from the other men. Why isn’t the driver slamming on the brakes? Is he knocked out?

Suddenly, we jerk to a stop, and I make my escape. I push open the side door, but it won’t budge. I scramble toward the back and get it to open. Climbing out, I get my first real breath of freedomand force myself to run, but my thigh screams at me. The pain is so intense, my knee buckles, and I hit the pavement.

Heavy footsteps pound the asphalt.

Pop! Pop! Pop!

The gunshots ring in my ears. Holy terror bursts inside me. I’m next…

Dragging myself toward the side of the road to hide in the bushes, I scrape the flesh right off my legs. Never again will I wear satin nightgowns. It’s sweatpants from now on.

I steal a quick glance over my shoulder and catch a masked man running toward me. He’s massive—like the man who haunts my dreams.

“No!” I scream, picking up speed and not caring about the gravel cutting into my palms. “Stay away! Don’t hurt me! My family will kill you!”

“Alex, it’s me! Baby, it’s Goliath.” His words, the sound of his voice, both register in my head.

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