Page 87 of Fight for You
“ ‘Tude. You’re in for a cultural awakening, big guy.” She laughed, sashaying to Camdyn’s F250 that I’d be borrowing for a while.
Standing there, watching her, a chuckle rode through my abdomen. I followed her, climbing behind the wheel just as she closed the passenger door. I felt good.
So good.
Too good.
The sunlight seemed to dance around us. I tried to slip the key into the ignition. I’d skip this entire step with a keyless ignition.Four attempts?C’mon. Six before it slid in home. Nobody had to know.
“You need help, Jamie?” Laughter permeated the air.
Drat. Jordyn knew.
“Jor … Jor …” My voice sounded off. Slow. I rested my hand on the wheel instead of pulling into reverse. My foot felt too heavy to lift off the brake. “Do you feel good?”
Her fingers massaged her temple. “Yeah. Like I’ve been given happy … drugs.”
“Me … too.” I struggled to shake the warm fuzzies from my head. My vision warped at the edges like summer heat on asphalt. I rubbed the sides of my fists into my eyes.No. This wasn’t happening. Couldn’t be happening.
The driver’s side door opened. My heart raced in slow motion. From my peripheral, a man reached in from my side, and another man opened Jordyn’s door. Lifted her limp body.
“Our drinks,” I muttered.
“Dah.” The one closer to me affirmed in Russian. “Nighty, night.”
“I told you to give this dude another minute. He’s bigger than thegerl,” Jordyn’s captor snapped.
“The waitress gave him more.”
“Khoroshiy, khoroshiy.”
Aware of some Russian, I figured the guy closer to me had saidgood,goodto his partner.
Had Chelomey hired others?
34
BEVERLY HILLS
Jordyn
Days Free: 4 … Maybe.
I stirredawake beneath a warm blanket that cuddled against my body. An opulent floral scent drifted in the air. A familiar fragrance. The cost exceeded a thousand bucks. I blinked at the ceiling. Pastel pink with delicate stenciled clouds. My fingers curled over a duvet stitched with embroidered peonies, the pillow beneath me shaped like a heart.
The room was too clean.
Too perfect.
Too youthful.
My heart punched into my throat. The British Prime Minister had a room similar to this for me in my early twenties. I sat up fast, breaths tight. My limbs were free—unshackled. No pain in places that didn’t belong to anyone else but me. No restraints? That only made things worse. Compliance was my new abductor’s aim.
Compliance. Air swooshed in my ears.
New abductor.
Breaths tighter now. Shallower.
