Page 54 of The Stolen Princess
“I’m not staying herewith you.”
Drake gathered his bag, sleeping gear, the medic kit, and canteen and began walking to the door. “You don’t have a choice.”
“I’m not going.” Myka dug her heels into the ground and pulled the rope between them. This would be a tug of war that she would surely lose, but she was nervous about what might happen to her if she went into that house alone with Drake Vestry or any of the kidnappers.
“I’m sorry, but the castle suite you requested was already booked for the night,” he said in a tone so sweet it could only be mocking.
Myka was being ridiculous. She would end up in that house with him whether she liked it or not, but her stubborn pride wouldn’t make it easy for him.
She lifted her chin, shooting him a stiff smile. “If the suite isn’t available, you’ll have to find the next best thing.”
“Maybe I didn’t make myself clear enough. Thisisthe next best thing. Youronlyoption. You don’t have a choice.”
“Why not?” She looked around at the camp. “There are dozens of little wooden houses all over. Surely this isn’t myonlyoption.” She went on her toes, checking back behind her. “What about that one over there?” She pointed at one that they had passed on the way to his house.
“That one is missing a wall,” Drake said flatly.
“Or that one?” She pointed to another one forty feet to their right.
“That’s Dawsick’s. Would you rather be bunkmates with him?”
Myka raised her eyebrows. “I’ve got a better idea. You bunk with Dawsick, and I’ll sleep in this one by myself.”
“That’s exactly what I thought you would say. This is your only option because everything else is broken down, and you aremyresponsibility. I’m in charge of making sure you don’t escape.”
She shook her head in defiance.
Drake threw the items in his hands onto the dirt and slowly started walking toward her. With each step he took, Myka took one back. Then he grabbed the rope and pulled her toward him. It was like he had some sort of super-strength that couldn’t be beaten. Her chest slammed into his, and she stumbled back, tripping over his shoe, almost falling. His large arm—the one she’d appraised in great detail when she’d shot him—wrapped around her shoulder and back, steadying her, and for some reason, Myka’s fingers splayed across his chest.
Terrible hand placement, especially considering her wrists were tied together.
Slowly she looked up at him. His brown eyes burned into her in their unreadable way.
“Don’t fight me,” he said calmly. “Because I’ll always win.”
It was true. Myka would never be able to fight against his strength. The thought devastated her, and a fresh wave of hatred filled her to the brim. She hated that she was tethered to him and not home helping her father fight for his life. Anger flashed through her body, and she leaned forward, spitting in Drake’s face. She’d never spat on anyone before. In truth, it was kind of fun and satisfying to see her frothy saliva spread across Drake Vestry’s cheek. Then she used her terribly placed hands to push away from his body. She stood on her own two feet, lifting her chin.
His gaze never left hers as he slowly wiped the spit away with the back of his hand. Then without warning, he dipped down and picked her up—for the second time that day—throwing her over his shoulder. She screamed as she kicked and pounded on his body, hitting him wherever she could with her restrained hands.
His head.
His back.
His shoulders.
There wasn’t much power behind her punches, but it felt good to hit him nonetheless.
He swung the door open to his house that was really nothing more than a rundown shack and dropped her onto one of the cots pushed up against the wall. A curtain was strung across the other end of the room, so at least there would be a little privacy between them. The house had a small wood-burning stove, two cots, a table, and chairs. A couple of square windows let in light, but they were both too high to look out of.
Myka leaned up on her elbows to see Drake standing over her. They were alone. Her heart raced. Would this be the moment he showed her how helpless she really was? She watched his every move as her mind scrambled to come up with some options for survival, but there weren't any. Dread flowed through her veins, and her chest lifted up and down with each of her heavy breaths. He leaned over. A piece of his hair fell, crossing over his brow. Myka scooted her knees closer to her stomach, like she could somehow protect herself. His eyes swept across her face, and she swallowed as his hands moved to the rope at her waist and untied it. Myka did the only thing she could think of. She jammed her foot into his groin.
Drake let out a groan as he doubled over on the side of the bed.
Myka scrambled to her feet, backing away from him before he could hurt her.
“What was that for?’ he coughed out as his body coiled into a ball.
“Oh, that’s a really great question coming from my kidnapper!” she spat. Frantically, she looked around for something she could use as a weapon, but there wasn’t anything. Where were all the frying pans?
