Page 4 of Taken in the Tree Farm
The words are soft, almost gentle, but they send ice through my veins.
I grab the first thing my bound hands touch—a fake candy cane prop—and hurl it at him. It bounces harmlessly off his chest, but it gives me the split second I need. I lunge for the tiny side door on the opposite side of the building. It wasn’t built for an adult human, let alone a woman dressed in layer upon layer of tulle.
It's small, barely large enough, but adrenaline makes me fast. I dive through, tulle catching on the frame. I hear fabric rip as I tumble out into the snow.
His hand catches my ankle.
The grip is iron-strong, effortlessly yanking me back. I kick with my other foot, catching something—his hand, his arm—and he releases me with a pained grunt.
I scramble away, my fishnets completely shredded now, one slipper hanging by its laces. I kick both shoes off and run barefoot through the snow, the cold so intense it burns.
Behind me, I hear him let out a low, menacing chuckle. He sounds almost amused.
God help me, it does something to me.
I run until I find myself behind the gingerbread house again, or maybe a different one—I've lost all sense of direction. My breath comes in ragged gasps, my bare feet completely numb. I press against the cold wall.
The eerie music continues. Snow falls. Lights twinkle.
He’s out there. I can hear the crunch of his boots in the snow with each confident step.
CHAPTER 2
LUKE
She runs like her life depends on it.
I watch from the shadows between two massive evergreens, tracking the flash of pink tulle as Seraphina bolts into the maze of Christmas trees. The rhinestones on her dress catch the light with every frantic step, turning her into a living constellation. Snowflakes cling to her red hair and her bare shoulders, melting against her flushed skin.
Beautiful.
She's absolutely goddamn beautiful.
I count to thirty in my head, giving her the head start I promised myself. It's only fair—I designed this place, know every twist and turn, every dead end. The least I can do is give my sugarplum a fighting chance.
In the end it doesn’t matter. She won't escape me or what I have planned for her.
At thirty, I step out and follow. My boots crackle on the freshly fallen powder. My black tactical gear blends into the shadows between strings of lights.
Dark Santa, come to check if she's been naughty or nice.
Definitely naughty. The thoughts running through her head right now—terror mixed with that confusing arousal she's trying so hard to ignore—those are deliciously naughty.
The tree farm spreads out before me like a kingdom I've built with my own hands. Three months of planning, two months of construction, weeks of fine-tuning every detail. The lights had to be perfect—not too bright, creating just enough shadow and illusion. The candy cane pathways seem random but actually funnel her exactly where I want her. The structures provide temporary shelter that ultimately leads to my endgame.
Every element serves a purpose.
Every choice was made with her in mind.
I follow her tracks in the snow, the delicate imprints of her feet. Her slippers soaked through faster than I had anticipated, offering zero protection. Her feet must be freezing. The thought sends a dark thrill through me—not because I want her to suffer, but because I know that cold heightens every other sensation. How it will make her hyperaware of every heated touch when I finally get my hands on her. She’ll be begging for my warmth to consume her.
The prints veer left toward the candy cane archway. Smart girl. She's trying to vary her path. But she doesn't know what I know—that archway leads to a section with fewer exits, boxing her in without her realizing it.
I take my time following, letting anticipation build. Rushing would ruin the game. This is about the hunt as much as the capture. I want her totremblewith anticipation.
The distorted Christmas music drifts through speakers I've hidden throughout the farm. "Dance of the Sugar Plum Fairy" slowed down until it's almost unrecognizable stuck on repeat was the perfect final touch to this scene.
I move through the trees with ease, scanning ahead for pink in the darkness.There—a flash of movement near the oversized lollipop sculptures. She's cutting through the candy clearing, heading toward the workshop prop.
