Page 532 of Rage

Savage Heirs

By: Maisie Kane

Chapter One

Cece

Being locked in a trunk should probably upset me more than it does.

The thing is, the third time you’ve been kidnapped, it’s more annoying than scary.

Should I be terrified? Yeah. That’d be smart. Instead, I’m pissed at myself. I mean, it’s my own damn fault for being distracted by the hideous bridesmaid dress my brother Eddie’s fiancée had picked out. I know better than to get distracted in public. But seriously. The damn thing is peach. And poofy.

I’m barely five feet tall. Poofy is not for me. I look like I’m a seven-year-old playing princess instead of the future head of a criminal empire.

Which might be why Nat picked it out, now that I think about it. She was a little salty to find out that my brother wasn’t the heir we want the world to think he is. Luckily, he’s on my side, so I don’t have to worry about getting stabbed in the back in my own home. Or, at least, not by Eduardo. The jury’s still out on Natalia.

The car hits a bump and I slam into the top of the cargo space, cursing. “I never thought I’d complain that a trunk was too big, but I’m flying around back here.”

The driver doesn’t answer, just continues belting along with middling success to Pink’s “So What?” on repeat. We’ve been driving long enough for me to know exactly when his voice is going to crack. And…yup. There it is.

As if the gods of kidnapping victims hear me, the car takes a sharp right, throwing me to the side as I try my best to brace myself with my bound hands and feet, then slams to a halt, my head cracking against the wheel well. The music, thankfully, stops as the car turns off, the creak of the door telling me the driver is out of the vehicle. I wait to be pulled from my dark box, but nothing happens.

Nothing happens for so long that I debate a nap. At least they took me on a nice night—not too hot or cold. It’s downright comfortable in this trunk.

Sleep’s whispering when the trunk opens, the bright light of headlights blinding me, preventing me from taking a well-aimed swing. I’m jammed into the tiny part at the back, and before I can scramble to the front for a shot at freedom, two more loads are tossed in, the trunk clicking shut to the sounds of masculine cursing.

An elbow gets me in the sternum, and I yelp. “Careful, bony.”

“Shit, there’s somebody else in here,” a male voice murmurs.

“No wonder it’s so damn tight,” another man says, this guy’s voice lower and gruffer than the first.

“Are you telling me they just shoved not one, not two, but three people into the same trunk? Who the fuck are these idiots?” I mutter.

The car turns on, Pink belting out the same bop, the driver joining with his unpracticed yodels. “What the fuck is that?” the gruffer voice asks.

“Pinky will serenade us for however long we’re shoved in here,” I reply.

This time, when we hit a bump, I don’t fly around, but I do get that elbow again, this time into my cheek. “Ow,” I whine. “Can we shift around so I don’t end up losing an eye every time we hit a pothole?”

The bony guy answers, his tone light. “I’m wedged in here pretty damn tight, but I’ll see what I can do. Make sure you’re tucked in before I move.”

I press my back against the seats behind me. “Your turn.”

“My head is opposite yours and we’re back-to-back,” the deeper voice says. “We should try to kneel on our sides, so our legs have space. Tuck our heads into the backs of each other’s knees.”

“On it,” the other guy says, and after a whole lot of wiggling and cursing, they must get set up in a way that works for them. Unfortunately, what works for them has the guy closest to me wedging his face into my boobs.

“Is this okay?” he asks, his breath tickling my chest.

“It’s better than losing an eye, so I can’t complain. You comfy?” I ask.

“Very,” he answers, the grin in his voice evident, even over the painful sing-shouts about fighting coming from the front of the vehicle.

“So, first time?” I ask, not sure how to pass time in a trunk with two men, one of them getting very up close and personal with a sensitive part of my anatomy. His proximity is making my nipples hard, and if I didn’t know how weird bodies can be under stress, I’d be more concerned about how turned on I’m getting.

“You say that like this is just an ordinary Tuesday,” gruff voice says.

---