Page 1 of Taken By the Outlaw

one

Emilia

The library isempty at this hour, just the way I like it. Closing time always brings a specific kind of peace—the smell of old books, the soft echo of my footsteps against the polished floor, the gentle click of lights switching off one by one. I run my finger along the spines of the classics section, savoring the moment before I have to step outside into the real world. If I'd known what waited for me in the darkness tonight, I would have barricaded myself among these shelves until morning.

"Goodnight, Ms. West," calls the security guard as I slip through the staff exit.

"Goodnight," I respond softly, tugging my oversized cardigan closer around my body.

The night air hits me with a chill that makes me quicken my pace. The streetlights cast long shadows on the pavement, and I adjust the strap of my bag, heavy with borrowed books I couldn't resist taking home. My apartment is only fifteen minutes away, but tonight I've stayed later than usual finishing the catalog updates.

The shortcut through the business district is something I rarely take this late, but exhaustion wins over caution. Empty storefronts and darkened office buildings line the street, their windows like vacant eyes watching me pass. My footsteps sound too loud in the silence, and I find myself holding my breath at odd intervals.

A crash echoes from somewhere ahead, and I freeze. My heart gives a weird little flutter, the kind that happens when you're startled but trying to convince yourself it's nothing. Just someone dropping something, I tell myself. Or maybe a cat knocking over a trash can.

But then I hear voices—low, harsh, angry. Male voices.

I should turn around right now. Walk away. Call someone.

Instead, curiosity pulls me forward on trembling legs. I've spent nineteen years behind books, imagining other lives, other risks. Something primal in me wants to see, just for a moment, what danger looks like up close.

I creep toward the sound, staying close to the buildings. There's an alley ahead, and the voices grow louder. I peek around the corner and immediately wish I hadn't.

Four men in leather jackets stand outside the back door of what I recognize as the high-end jewelry store. The door is open, its alarm system clearly disabled. One man holds a gun. Another is loading something into duffel bags. A third keeps watch. And the fourth...

My breath catches in my throat.

The fourth man stands with his back to me, but there's something about him that makes my skin prickle. He's taller than the others, broader in the shoulders, and even from behind, I can tell he's in charge. There's authority in the set of his stance, in the way the others keep glancing at him as if waiting for approval.

"Hurry the fuck up," he growls, and his voice slides down my spine like ice water.

I should leave. I need to leave. My body tenses to run, but in my haste, I bump against a metal trashcan. The sound, though slight, might as well be a gunshot in the quiet night.

Four heads snap in my direction.

My blood turns to slush. I duck back behind the building, pressing myself flat against the wall, hoping somehow they didn't really see me. My heart pounds so hard I'm sure they can hear it.

Heavy footsteps approach. I turn to run, but my legs have forgotten how to work.

"Well, well. What do we have here?" A rough hand grabs my arm, and I'm yanked back toward the alley.

My captor is a thick-set man with a beard and cold eyes. He drags me into the light spilling from the broken door, and I'm suddenly facing all four men.

"Found a little mouse," the bearded man announces, shoving me forward.

I stumble, nearly falling, and look up to find myself staring into the coldest blue eyes I've ever seen. It's him—the leader—and up close, he's terrifying in his beauty. Dark hair, sharp cheekbones, a mouth that's currently pressed into a hard line. He wears his danger like expensive cologne, and I shrink beneath his scrutiny.

"What were you doing back there?" he asks, his voice deceptively soft.

I can't speak. My throat has closed up, and my vision starts to blur at the edges.

He steps closer, and I catch his scent—leather, smoke, and something darker. "I asked you a question."

"I-I was just walking home," I manage to whisper. "From the l-library."

His gaze flickers to my bag, noticing the edges of books poking out. One dark eyebrow rises slightly.

"Kill her," says one of the other men. "She saw our faces."

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