Page 13 of Caught By the Kingpin
I’m good at being quiet and quick. Lots of practice.
“Go back to bed, cara.” The command reverberates through me.
I nearly do it. There’s a battle of wills going on up and down forty feet of corridor shrouded in darkness.
That rough tone. The stark beauty of his unclothed but scarred body. I’m a bit scared, yes, but there’s also another emotion bubbling up.
I’m excited. I shake my head.
“That’s the game you want to play, is it?” he purrs.
I take another step away. I think I can make it to the window. Imust. Because while adrenaline is pulsing in my blood, right from my heart to every extremity, and throbbing at my core, I can’t lose.
“Try then. But if I catch you, you’ll be mine.”
His.
I run.
I’ve taken off before I can think through the consequences. His heavy thudding strides follow. Exhilaration races through me. Running, my legs and arms moving, alive after so many years of stasis.
He was offering something normal, to talk about the future in the morning. But I couldn’t settle and now all his attention is on me as I try to escape. I screech around the corner of the corridor and throw myself into the open hallway, the smooth white walls and occasional minimalist painting reflecting moonlight.
My muscles burn with the effort of running.
And oh does it feel good. I check over my shoulder and his eyes are trained on me, intent as a predator. He’s focused. I whip my head back around. He’s chasing after me like he wants me, like that kiss meant something and he won’t let me go.
I should be tired after waking in the middle of the night, but I’m more energised than I’ve been in my life as I sprint down across and take the stairs two at a time. I can hear him behind me, but not close enough to see, I’m pretty sure.
That’s not disappointment. It’s not.
I’m getting out of here.
I round the corner at the bottom of the stairs and slow, trying to control my breathing, which is fast and from the whole of my lungs, my chest heaving, throat on fire. But I make my bouncing steps light on the cold marble flooring.
The sound of him coming after me doesn’t pause. I grin. I’ve outfoxed him. I glance back, confident that—
He’s there. Right behind me. I shriek with fright and accelerate. I’m really sprinting now.
Half of my heart wants to escape. It’s beating oxygenated blood around my limbs and urging me faster and onwards. It’s reminding me why I was trying to leave the mafia life in the first place. That part of me is trying to get away and has real panic at the thought of being caught.
But the other half… Oh, the other half wants to run too. But that section of my heart is gleeful. Looking for places to slow or trip. Urging me to look behind again and check he’s following, and see the intent look on his face. This part of my heart delights that he wants me so much. Enough that he’ll chase me through his house in the dead of night.
This part of my heartwants to be caught.
His promise. I’ll behis. That ought to be terrifying, by all rights, but it’s not. I need to own and be owned. I crave the intensity and the struggle, the proof that he’ll overcome my every objection, even as my feet slap painfully on the floor.
To be owned by him wouldn’t be slavery as it was with my father. No, his mafia loves him as their leader, that is clear. If I were owned by him, I’d be an indulged pet, given every best titbit and snuggled. Protected.
It couldn’t last. I know that, and I want freedom more, even if I’ll be alone again. Scotland is the only option.
I can hear him and my fogged brain thinks I can smell his sweat and feel his heat. He’s a force of nature.
My lungs are close to bursting with the unfamiliar effort of running and I’m heaving in air, panting with my whole chest. My knees hurt with the force juddering up through them with every stride, cracking up my bones. Every muscle in my body is engaged.
There. I recognise the entrance to the library at the end of the corridor and my mind, seeing freedom is possible, pushes my legs faster. I half expect him to pounce as I throw the door open in front of me like the melodramatic arrival of a queen, but no. He’s at my heels though, his hard breathing close.
This is one of those moments in a film where the plucky heroine gets out, despite insurmountable odds. There’s an epic soundtrack that’s swelling to a crescendo. I’m going to dive through that window like Indiana Jones rolling out of a doomed temple.
