Page 45 of Bounty
Ophelia held my gaze and offered me an understanding smile. “You’d be surprised.”
I’m not sure how long I was unconscious, but I awoke to a massive headache, surrounded by darkness and cold. Grogginess dulled my brain. Even so, I knew I remained in danger. Though I couldn’t remember if I’d dreamed, somewhere inside of me I thought I’d been in the midst of a nightmare and when I opened my eyes, I would be in the hotel room. A part ofme prayed every waking moment from the time I asked Slice if we were in a relationship to now was a nightmare.
Unfortunately, it was real. A nightmare, yes, but live and in person. I was tied to a chair with my mouth gagged and my hands and feet bound.
I tested how secure I was. My movement caused the chair to scrape against the floor. The sound echoed and I cringed.
“She awakens,” a voice murmured, too close for my comfort.
Disorientation removed my spatial awareness. I didn’t know if my kidnapper stood in front of me or behind me.
“How’s the head and the nose?” He snickered. “You’ve been out for hours. I thought we overdosed you.”
Even if I didn’t have something stuffed in my mouth, I wouldn’t have spoken.
Footsteps clipped toward me and terror surged into me. I tried to draw in a deep breath, but instead, I felt as if I lost all my air. I imagined the material gagging me and blocking my airway.
A hand landed on my shoulder. I shook, demanding myself to calm down. Panicking wouldn’t help. It might do the exact opposite and hasten my death. Overhead light flared to life and I blinked against the intrusion. Once my eyes adjusted, a cavernous room greeted me. I was in a warehouse. The idea chilled me. Before my mom began writing romances, I loved horror novels and crime fiction. Mom and I watched more than our fair share of true crime.
Empty warehouses, bad dudes, and tied up women rarely ended well. Death didn’t necessarily frighten me. It was the occurrence that would lead to my death that chilled me. I was young and in good health as were my parents and siblings. I expected us to live long lives. Other than a nightmare here and there, I didn’t think about dying.
One more thing to add to my naïveté belt.
A burly man with shoulder-length red hair walked into my line of vision. A long scar ran along his cheek, disappearing into his ginger beard. His eyes reminded me of a tropical ocean—azure; without the warmth, though. He studied me. His gaze landed on my breasts and he licked his lips.
Another dose of panic roared into me. They hadn’t blindfolded me. Not good. If they released me, I could identify them. Tears lurking in my eyes slid down my cheeks. Twenty-one should be too young for regrets, but they filled me.
Mom would receive news of my disappearance and remember our last encounter where I’d been so horrible to her. Slice would hear about me and…? I didn’t know. I only wished I’d handled the aftermath of our lovemaking better. Our seduction had been equal opportunity. Not one of us bore the blame more than the other. But he was right. I’d wanted him. From the moment I discovered he’d attend, I schemed to be in his company.
I should’ve listened to what he had to say. I should’ve been honest about how much I liked him. Before we spent time together, I’d had a crush on him. Afterward, I fell a little in love with him, and nothing could stop me from having sex with him.
My captor crouched in front of me, snatched the gag away, and swiped at my wet cheeks. He held a finger up. Red tears? My brows snapped together. Then, I remembered. Someone hitting me. Blood running down my face. Falling unconscious.
“I’m Dutch, Effie.”
My eyes flared in surprise that he knew my name. I still refused to speak.
He smirked, leaned forward, and pressed his lips against mine. I turned my head. Struggling in protest wasn’t an option. I was bound too tightly. Rough fingers sank into my cheeks and forced my head toward him.
“Kiss me like you kissed Pretty Boy outside the club,” he snarled.
My mind whirled. Before I unpacked those words, Dutch slammed his mouth against mine. The kiss was harsh, but at least he didn’t have bad breath. His grip on my face tightened.
“Respond to me.”
I couldn’t imagine that. Nor could I imagine a sexual assault or a brutal death. But I wasn’t stupid. I needed to give to get. If I humanized him, perhaps he’d see me as a person rather than an object to be used, abused, and discarded.
His mouth on mine was just as brutal as the first time. Pretending he was Slice helped me endure. I even ignored the pain.
Dutch tore his lips away and stood. His erection pressed against his pants. For the first time, I noticed his cut. The denim had a bunch of patches and emblems. Until he turned, I couldn’t know his club affiliation.
My stomach growled. Suddenly, my bladder felt overwhelmingly full.
“Do you know why you’re here?”
I glowered at him.
His hand struck out, as fast as a cobra’s strike, and landed on my jaw. My head snapped back, and blood leaked from my injured nose, sliding over my lips.
