Page 3 of Holiday Hostage

I spare a sideways glance at his partners in crime. The other two are similar in height and build. They may be all related, maybe brothers, but with the masks hiding any discernible features, it’s impossible to tell. But the way they move is so in sync with each other that if they aren’t related, they must have a history together. One that brought them to the same bank as me. Except they skipped over the pesky paperwork when it came to financial security.

“Let’s go. Nice and easy.” With a backpack full of cash securely in place on his back, with an arm locked over his hostage’s shoulder, and a gun pressed against their chests to keep them in line, the gunman who seems to be in charge takes the lead and steers his captive toward the bank’s main entrance. “Don’t try anything. Do as I say, and we all walk away from this. Understand?”

The bank teller nods and allows him to steer her closer to the door.

Everything happens in a rush of movement. One second, we’re standing in the bank’s lobby, and the next, we’re through the doors, down the steps, and standing on the sidewalk outside. The sirens have been switched off at some point, but the lights are still flashing. Some officers are positioned behind the open doors of their patrol cars. Others from the side are aiming their weapons over the hoods and trucks. Conflicting orders from all directions are being shouted.

“Arms up.”

“Lower your weapons.”

“Get on the ground.”

“Let the hostages go.”

“Are they trying to get us killed?” I grumble, not realizing my inner dialogue is tumbling out of my mouth. Something I really need to get a handle on. I seem to have developed a serious case of verbal diarrhea today.

“This is probably the first hostage situation for most of these guys. Give ’em a break, princess.” Blue eyes chuckles, and the small rumble of laughter through his body pressing against mine raises goose bumps across my skin.

Time seems to speed up again. Blue eyes and his partners move as a unit, taking me and the other hostages with them and pushing us toward a car. There’s a flurry of movement. Car doors are slung open, and with a yelp of distress, I'm being shoved into the back of the getaway vehicle, and Blue eyes is crushing me against the seat with his body on top of mine.

The engine roars to life, and one of the bank robbers stomps on the accelerator. The tires scratch against the asphalt, creating a plume of dark gray smoke as rubber releases from the road, and the car lurches forward as we peel out of the parking lot.

“Get off me,” I scream from beneath the massive hulk of a man pressing against me. “Let me go.”

“Easy, princess,” Blue eyes whispers in my ear, and my body responds with a shiver and an ache between my legs. “We’re not going to hurt you. I promised, remember? I don’t make promises that I can’t keep.”

A fleeting thought of his size still pressed against me, and how that could hurt in a good way ran through my mind. I felt a flash of disappointment over his vow to keep his promise. What the hell is the matter with me? I’m sure I’d read somewhere that near-death experiences heighten arousal and desire, but this is insane.

Chalking it up to a brief lapse of sanity brought on by being caught in an armed robbery, held at gunpoint, and taken hostage, I force the dirty thoughts from my mind and go back to doing whatever it takes to convince them to let me go.

Okay, not whatever it takes. Stop it, Laiken. Get yourself together. You need to keep your head screwed on tight and your legs shut if you want to get out of this alive. Stop thinking about whether that’s a gun pressing against your back or something…else. The only thing you should be thinking about is convincing them to pull over and let you out of the damn car.

“Please,” I plead with them. “Just let me go. I won’t say anything. There isn’t anything to say. I haven’t seen your faces. I don’t know your names. Just, please, let me out of the car.”

I’m crying again. Or maybe I never stopped. I feel like I’m on an emotional roller coaster—needy, scared, aroused, stressed, scared because it bears repeating—and all I want to do is get off this crazy ride and get out of the damn car in one piece.

“What the fuck?” the man from the front passenger seat shouts and slams his fist on the dashboard. “How the fuck did she end up in the car? Kidnapping wasn’t part of the plan. It’snot too late. We could still toss her out. Get rid of her before it’s too late.”

“Except it is too late, Koda.” Blue eyes all but growls his response to his partner’s complaints. “She’s seen your face.”

I shouldn’t have looked. I didn’t mean to look, but when Koda whipped around and peered over the seat to argue, the dark, obsidian pools of his eyes suck me under.

“What the hell, man? You just told her my name,” Koda yells, his gaze still fixed on me before he shifts his attention to the mask he’s gripping in his hand and realizes his own mistake. “Shit.” He huffs out a defeated breath and shifts in his seat, ramming the back of his head against the headrest. “Shit. Shit. Shit. We are so screwed.”

“Promise to be a good girl, and I’ll let you up. Can you do that, princess? Make me a promise and keep it?”

I nod. It’s the only response I can give. If I open my mouth, there is a high probability that more sobs or screams will come out.

“My name’s Bryce. The guy behind the wheel is Eli. I guess I already introduced you to Koda.” He pushes himself off me, turns me over, and helps settle me into the seat beside him, all while reassuring me that they aren’t going to hurt me and that I’m safe with them even though they’re armed bank robbers and I’m a witness to their federal crimes.

Bryce reaches over my shoulder and tugs the seat belt, pulling it over my chest and fastening it. There’s an audible click of the buckle as he snaps it in. He reaches under his chin, gripping his mask, pulls it over his head, tosses it on the seat beside him, and gives me a little wink. “There, that’s a good girl. Safe and sound. Just like I promised.”

But for how long?

Sure, I’m safe right now, but what happens when they get to wherever it is they’re taking me? Bryce may be a man of hisword, but what about his partners? Of course, the only proof I have that Bryce is actually a man of his word is his word. Which is not exactly a glowing recommendation, all things considered.

After what feels like hours of high speeds and neck-breaking turns that have me clutching the seat belt strapped across my chest, Eli eases back on the throttle and slows the car to what feels like a respectable speed.

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