Page 10 of All's Fair in Love & Chaos
I wantthis.
I wanther.
But before we get to that, we need to get past the little issue of who the fuck she is and what she wants with me behind us.
“Where’s the key to your cuffs?”
“In my pocket,” she purrs, and I know exactly what she’s doing, so does my dick. I look down at the shorts that are so tight they had to have been sewn on her body, and I can’t imagine how a key could fit anywhere in them.
“Well, can’t say I’m not going to enjoy searching for it, vixen.”
“Stop calling me that,” she snaps.
“You gonna tell me your name, then?”
“Fuck you.”
“Now that’s not a very nice way to talk to your captor.”
I push her down flat on her back, with my hand to the center of her chest, her lower back arching, with her hands braced underneath her. My hands pat the small pockets of her denim shorts, finding a simple key in the front right. There’s barely enough space for me to slip my finger into it, fishing out the key.
I don’t miss the way her breathing hitches, the way her fair skin flushes that pretty crimson heat. She’s just as affected as I am.
“Is that what you are? My captor? Afraid I don’t believe in Stockholm syndrome, so if your plan is to get me to fall in love with you…” She shrugs like I just asked her if she wanted a cup of coffee. “Sorry to break it to you,Chaos, I’m dead on the inside. It won’t happen.”
“Now there’s a challenge, vixen.” Flipping her over, I cuff one of her wrists with the new cuff, then unlock the other one, freeing her. Dragging her up the bed, she doesn’t fight me like I expect her to, instead letting me get her as comfortable as possible against a pillow while I weave the cuff through the metal headboard and cuff her other hand over her head. The position stretches her arms upright, pushing her tits out of her leather jacket. Leaning in, I grasp her chin between my forefinger and thumb. “And I like a challenge.”
Beautiful brown eyes sparkle with mischief, the amber swirling with trouble, my heart pounding out of my chest. She really is so goddamn painfully beautiful. And lethal. My eyes flick down to her lips, naturally darker red, her bottomlip plumper than the top. Her tongue slips out, seductively licking through her seam.
“We could have so much fun if you’d behave,” I whisper just as she pulls her head back slightly and spits directly into my face.
“Fuck you! If you think you can keep me locked up here against my will, you had better pray to your god for strength because I will not go down without a fight, you demented fuck!”
Standing slowly to my full height, I lick my lips of some of her saliva, moaning as her taste hits my tongue. I wipe the rest off with the back of my hand, watching as she looks up at me with rage and contempt. Hate fills those beautiful browns, and I don’t know what the fuck happened to her to make her this way. But I’m going to find out.
Without saying a word, I turn and leave, pulling the door closed behind me and coming face-to-face with Wrath. “Get a prospect to stand guard at my door. No one goes in except me. Understood?”
“Yeah, I got it. No one in.”
Now to explain to my brothers why I have a random woman held hostage, handcuffed to my bed, and get a plan together for finding out what she wants and how the hell I’m going to keep her.
Chapter Four
SAIGE
Was being handcuffed to the bed of the President of the Hell’s Heathens part of my master plan to kidnap and torture him? Not even in the realm of possibilities. I jerk hard against the cuffs, the cool metal digging into my wrists. I don’t even register the pain. I’ve trained for years to be able to take down men triple my size, and yet, I let the one man on Earth I have the most to hold against get the jump on me. If Sebastian could see me right now.
“FUCK!” I scream at the top of my lungs, rattling the cuffs as hard as I can. Warm liquid starts to drip down my wrist, a slow, steady trickle of crimson. Fucking great. “Camden! Let me fucking go, you piece of shit! Ugh!”
Even though I’m chained to a bed in the den of a predator, there’s no point in being scared. The only thing fueling me right now is a heavy dose of adrenaline and pure, unfilteredrage.
I look around his room, the sparse space fairly empty except for the bed, a dresser, and a nightstand. The only thing on the blank white walls is a bunch of random old MC patches. I cock my head to the side, reading the names. Doc, Beatle, Ace, Babs, Fang, Crash, Ox, Panic, Razor, Toad, Goose . . . the patches go on and on, tacked haphazardly on the wall. Then it hits me. If they’re on his wall, that means they aren’t on their cuts. All these people are gone, and I wonder for a split second if I’m responsible for taking any of their lives.
A sharp pang I’ve never felt before lashes through my chest, right under my ribcage. It doesn’t matter if I’m responsible or not. Every single life I’ve taken has been from someone who no longer deserves to breathe. Rapists. Pedophiles. Abusers. Murderers . . .Like Camden.
They’re above the law, have police officers, lawyers, and government officials in their pockets; someone has to stop them. Innocent lives are lost because of these clubs, and I’ll be damned if I don’t do my part to rid the world of some of it.
I jerk the cuffs again, screaming until my voice is hoarse, demanding that Camden come back and face me like a man. I snort at the thought. Camden Young is more than a man. He’s a fucking Greek god, and part of me dies on the inside to even admit it. If I thought the man was good-looking from his photos, they have absolutely nothing on what he looks like in real life.
