Page 42 of Oh No, My Kidnapper Is Hot!

I don’t know how I didn’t notice it before, considering the sheer size of it. It has to be at least twice as large as the one I’m sitting in. It’s wooden and carved with intricate pictures along every available surface. The only portion uncarved is his seat, which is upholstered in a plush red fabric. The thing dwarfs him completely, but he somehow makes it work, lounging like a king on his throne.

I squint to get a better look at the carvings. I can just make them out, but… that doesn’t seem right. Leaning in closer – practically into Stryker’s lap, which I promptly file away in a green denial box for proximity issues – I make out the details more clearly.

Those… are chickens. I lean even farther over Stryker’s lap, ignoring his sharp inhale.

Yep. Those aredefinitelychickens. I sit back.

What a strange little man. A strange little man who is dinging his knife against his water glass now, despite the fact that we’re all already looking at him.

“I’m sure you’re wondering why I’ve gathered you all here today,” he says. I look around. No one seems particularly puzzled.

“It’s family dinner,” Heidi says. “And it was your turn to host.”

Ignoring her, Archie plows on. “It’s come to my attention that we have a newcomer in our midst!” Five pairs of eyes swivel to me. I shrink, hastily chewing my food and hoping the floor swallows me up.

“I’d like you all to meet Millie! A top-notch girl, and one I hope you’ll all make an effort to welcome into thefold.”

“We’ve all met Millie,” Heidi cuts in again, rolling her eyes. Archie continues, undeterred

“To Millie,” he says, raising his glass. “Our new friend, neighbor, companion. May she be safe, happy, and stabby here!”

To my surprise, everyone raises their water glasses in unison. A chorus of “to Millie!” and they down them, chugging their glasses until every drop is gone. I watch, unsure how to feel. They just hydrated in my honor, in a wish to have me here and happy.

It almost makes me feel bad about my plans to leave. Sure, they’re all in need of some heavy duty grippy socks and round the clock monitoring, but they can be awfully sweet.

“Breathe, Millie,” Stryker says softly beside me. I breathe in hard through my nose, and widen my eyes, willing the moisture gathering there to evaporate – go back in, anything but fall. Stryker’s hand meets my back, rubbing small, comforting lines. Up and down. Up and down. Repeat. Over and over until my breathing is level and I can safely blink. He gives me a final, gentle pat, then rests his arm on the back of my chair.

I glance around and am relieved to find that no one is watching me. Baz is feeding a forkful of duck into Heidi’s mouth while she’s yapping at Rosie. Rosie takes Heidi’s chewing time to add to the conversation. Archie and Sal are in a heated debate about which brand of pliers have the best grip for pulling out human teeth. My nose wrinkles.

“Knipex channel locks,” Stryker puts in, siding with Archie.

“Aha!” the dapper man exclaims, throwing his arms up in victory. Sal sulks.

I remember my priorities and make the wise decision toconcentrate on my food – also known as the quickest route to getting me a slice of chocolate perfection. I start to panic when I’m only halfway through my plate, but my stomach is already feeling like another bite might explode me. I’m losing space for cake!

“Stryker,” I whisper out of the corner of my mouth. He doesn’t hear me, lost in a disturbingly detailed discussion about ice picks. I flick a frantic glance at the cake. At my plate. Back at the cake.

“Stryker!” I hiss, checking to make sure everyone is still distracted. They are, including Stryker, who still doesn’t hear me.

I grunt in frustration and give him a kick under the table. He doesn’t stop speaking to Sal and Archie, but his arm comes off the back of my chair and wraps around my waist, squeezing me to him. This isnotwhat I wanted.

After several long seconds – and another kick – he exits his conversation and puts the full force of his attention on me.

A flutter in my stomach has me rethinking my plan. His deep blue eyes lock onto mine. One dark curl falls oh-so-perfectly out of place. I wonder if he practices this look in the mirror or if it comes naturally. The intensity is something else.

One of his arms pulls me closer by my waist, holding me to him, while the other rests on the table in front of my plate. It’s like we’re the only two people here, enveloped in this bubble he made for us out of strong arms, dark curls, and twilight eyes.

My vision is all him – his eyes, his curl, his thick, long lashes.

“What do you need, darlin’?” he asks. I blink. Need?

His arm blurs in my peripheral vision, and then my world goes dark. His rough fingers push carefully, coveringmy eyes.

“What are you doing?”

“You were fading. I’m saving us from another Millie swoon.”

Well. That’s just… something.

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