Page 4 of Oh No, My Kidnapper Is Hot!

“She’s not for f–” Another sniffle. “–ing Archie.”

Wow. Grouchy soundsreallygrouchy now. Before I get a chance to ask who Archie is or, more importantly, where a tissue might be, the gate is opening and we’re moving. I fall on my bottom when we shoot forward.

“I don’t have a buckle!” I remind the front seat.

“I shouldn’t be surprised you can’t follow simple instructions,” he growls.

My brows furrow. What is this, a romance novel? What real man growls?

“Did you just growl?” I ask. “This isn’t a book, you know. People don’t growl in real life.”

He growls again.

“And another thing! People don’t go around snatching people in real life either! You can’t kidnap me and tell me to shut up. It’s illegal. Andrude.”

The van skids to a stop, and I fly forward. My shoulder smashes into the corner of the cage, and my face hits metal.

“Will you stop doing that?” I yell. By the time I right myself, he’s outside the vehicle, his door slamming shut behind him.

Uh-oh.

This does not spell good things for me.

The door at the back of the van swings open, and there he is. He’s cloaked in shadows, but they do little to conceal the size of him – that size being approximately gargantuan. How does a man even get that big? He looks like he could lift a house one-handed.

He taps a quick four-digit code into the keypad, and then the cage door is open, too. He reaches one massive hand in, gets ahold of an ankle, and drags me through filth and dirt to him. I kick out with my free foot, so he grabs that ankle, too.

He gets me to the edge of the van. I’m airborne one terrifying second before I land over his shoulder with an undignified grunt. I see gravel, black boots, and long, dark jeans. I absolutely do not look at his backside. Even though it’s right there in front of me. Nope, not even a glance. And that blush on my face is purely coincidental, thank you.

Ahem.

I kick out only to have my legs quickly pinned by one of his Hulk arms. With a frustrated grunt, I leverage myselfto hit him with my fists instead. That does… nothing. Less than nothing, actually. What’s this guy made of? Steel?

“Quit,” he snaps.

I most definitely will not be doing that. I thrash around some more on principle, trying to get a hold on his head. I’m making headway (ha!) when he whips my body backward and lets go of my legs. I fall for a millisecond, then he grabs me again, snapping my body in the other direction and mashing it against his. I barely have a second to recover from that maneuver when his hand is suddenly in my hair and he’s using it to yank my head back. He bends, putting his face right in mine, and–

Wow.

Idefinitelydid not hallucinate his hotness.

His dark hair hangs, partially covering his eyes as he glares at me. His nose is the slightest bit crooked, I notice. I refuse to look below it. I will not be caught ogling this crazy man. Even if he is the most gorgeous creature I’ve ever seen. Crazy trumps gorgeous. Everyone knows that.

My eyes flick down. It’s only a moment – only the tiniest glimpse of his lips – but it’s enough to derail me. I look again. They seem soft. They’re the perfect shape and size. Not too big, not too small. My heart gives a stutter step, then speeds up. The edges of my vision fade to black.

I shoot my gaze back up to his. A worse place to focus, it turns out. The night sky gazes back at me, sparkling with uncaged emotion. He’s just soangry.

Blackness creeps in further, and my body softens against my will. I blink once. Twice.

“What kind of name isStryker?” I mutter. If he has a response, I don’t hear it. The world fades out, and I go weightless.

Chapter Two

When I come to, I’m being carried princess-style over the threshold of a larger-than-average door. I take a moment to get my bearings and contemplate my next move. The rules of human nature tell me I have two options. I can brawl, or I can flee. Am I a fighter, or am I a flighter?

My fist swings up.

It connects with a strong jaw, then I’m falling. I crash to the floor, a slew of low curses following me down. I waste a fraction of time absorbing the pain before I scrabble away. I haven’t made it far on the hardwood floors when Stryker’s big hands grab me and I’m up, up, up – back in his arms. It’s a princess carry with a twist, designed specifically to contain me. He holds me tight, leaving no room to move my limbs, let alone to go for another punch.

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