Page 6 of Venice

My sexy as sin captor retreats to get the food. The man may be tall and thin, but he is quite muscular. I stare at the firm outline of his biceps as they peek below the cuff of his T-shirt. I wonder if I’ll find six-pack abs hidden under the waistline of said shirt. Dirty blond hair falls to his shoulders in an unkempt mop that fits perfectly with his spotless white T and black distressed jeans. A beautiful baby face, and those eyes. Speckled amber so fine, they appear to be dusted with pure gold.

He seems nervous which almost makes me relax. If he is so unsure of this, maybe he hasn’t done it before, and I can figure out a way to escape. I need to try.

As he sets the tray down next to me on the bed. I look up at him, catch his gaze and flutter my eyelashes. “So, by the looks of this room, I’m not the first woman you’ve kidnapped?”

“Oh.” He runs his hands through bedroom hair. It looks perpetually mussed, as if professionally styled that way. “No . . . We’re bounty hunters, and sometimes we have to keep a fugitive here for a day or two before our client or the authorities pick them up.”

I look at the tray of food and pick up the fork. I’m starving, and it smells insanely delicious, though I don’t usually eat meat. I blame my hunger. The plate is piled with salad, meat and potatoes with gravy, and a cob of corn. I look up at him as I take a bite of salad. “Am I a job?”

“Excuse me?” He pulls up a wooden chair and sits down across from me. Close enough to talk but far enough so I can’t stab him with the fork if I wanted to. “A job?”

“Yes, did someone hire you to kidnap me?”

“No.”

“So, that was your idea then? You and your friends?”

His sigh is heavy and deep. “Diva. Do you know what your parents are doing?”

I stop eating and look up at him, my eyes narrowing. “Of course I know what my parents are doing. They’re making the world safer from monsters.”

“Do you really believe that?”

“Yes, I believe it. Excuse me, Mr. Righteous, did you watch a child get torn apart by werewolves?”

He looks down at his hands. “No, and I’m so sorry that happened to you. But not all werewolves are killers. That would be like saying all humans are killers.”

“Twisted logic, if you ask me. All supernaturals are evil.” Or Signum, as they like to call themselves, as if a fancy name hides their vile nature.

“You can’t believe that. Doesn’t your family live in Distant Edge?”

Ah yes, Distant Edge, the first enclave for Signum to live and run wild. “Just because we live there doesn’t mean we want to. My family were among the first humans given a house and a job to move into that hotbed of unnaturalness. And now we can’t leave or they’d lose their jobs, and the free house. Prices in California aren’t exactly affordable.” My voice rises, and I don’t care. “But we’re not friends with Signum. We don’t invite vampires and witches to dinner. We don’t go to the movies with shapeshifters.”

He leans forward, putting his elbows on his knees, and I can’t help but focus on the five o’clock shadow of stubble on his face. It suits him, makes him even hotter somehow. “Well now Diva, that isn’t quite true, is it?”

“Excuse me?” I drop my fork.

“Half your circus troupe are Signum. Iphigenia is a witch, as is Sophia. Leonard is a vampire. Alex is a shifter. And you’re friends with all of them, aren’t you?”

I bite my tongue, hard. I want to tell him that my fellow performers don’t count. They’re not like the rest of the Signum. They’re circus first and supernatural second. But he’s right, and that pisses me off. Instead, I pluck the corn cob off the plate and turn my nose up to the ceiling. “I don’t eat meat.”

He jumps out of the chair so fast it topples over. “We had no idea. We’ll get you something else. What are your dietary restrictions?”

I want to laugh at this man who is trying to bend over backwards for me, but I’m shackled to a bed in a basement. “I’m a vegetarian. Do you know what that means?”

“Yes, no meat but dairy and eggs are fine?”

“Exactly.”

“I’ll go find something you can eat.” He starts toward the door.

“What’s your name?” I don’t know why I ask; I tell myself it’s so I can turn him in once I get free, but that’s a lie.

He puts the tray on the table next to the door and turns around. “I’m Emilio. My other two friends are Luca and Marcello.”

“Can I ask you a question or two before you go, Emilio?”

“Please, anything.” He returns to me, rights the chair, and sits down again.

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