Page 8 of Caught By the Kingpin
“Cara,” a deep voice whispers in my ear. “All is well.”
He’s leaning over me, and though we’ve only met once, I know him.
Marco. The scent of salt and the outdoors, his voice, and his shadowed face are familiar. My wrists are pinned and my mind whirls as more shots are fired. There are yells and grunts.
Evidently all isnotwell.
I pull on my wrists, but he’s holding me tight.
“We need to go now. Will you be a good girl and stay quiet for me?”
I fight. Kicking and wriggling, but not screaming. Whatever is going on, I won’t draw attention to myself.
That’s when the tang of ammunition reaches my nostrils. Acrid and smoky. It occurs to me that if he wanted me dead, I’d have never woken.
Doesn’t mean I’m going to let him wreck all my plans. I won’t be another kingpin’s captive. I bite at his hand, thrash, and try to claw at him. Just because he was kind to me once doesn’t mean he will be again. This could be my chance to get out of my father’s house. Unexpected, yes, but no less welcome for that.
A frustrated snarl comes from deep in Marco’s chest and he uncovers my lips for an instant before his mouth lands on mine.
What?
Why is Marco…? My lips soften under the pressure and my mind goes blank. I forget about escaping him.
As first kisses go, this is…
There’s the snick of plastic and a sharp pinch at my wrists, slamming them together. The covers are tugged away, leaving my legs bare.
It’s not a kiss.
Marco is not kissing me. He’s preventing me from screaming as he gathers my ankles together, his grip uncompromising and his mouth hard. Another zip tie, and I jack-knife myself, trying to knee him. I try to scream now, but it’s too late.
I’m caught.
He lifts me with surprising gentleness, one hand under my shoulders and the other on my bum, mouth still on mine, my arms trapped between us. Slipping out of my room he moves down the corridor in assured but silent strides.
I don’t know what to do, whether to try to struggle or try to shout. Who is the biggest threat here? Brent, who is kidnapping me? The Westminster mafia, sending smoke and yells through the house? If I managed to get away from Brent and jumped two-footed through the house like the world’s most malcoordinated kangaroo, would Westminster kill me? Would Kensington—given he didn’t even give me his name—even think to search for me?
A sob tries to rise up out of my belly. Escape was so near.
I stop fighting. Brent is massive, and zip ties are impossible to break, so it would be futile. Besides, he seems intent on getting me out. He moves confidently through the maze of narrow corridors. At the bottom of the first flight of stairs, he pauses in a dark alcove as there’s gunfire. Close, far too close.
“Okay?” he whispers against my lips.
“Let me go,” I hiss.
“Don’t be afraid.” I feel his words as much as hear them. “I’m going to protect you.”
I try to be angry. He’s captured me against my will and I really should be furious. But honestly, the massive warm bulk of his body pressed to mine and his arms around me make this the most cared for I’ve felt in since my mother died. Which is a timely reminder of how this will end.
“You.” I have to swallow before I can continue that sentence because my throat is dry as overcooked sponge cake. “Fucker.”
He huffs with laughter and hitches me up his body. “Put your arms around my neck.”
Slowly I obey, my body having a will of its own.
He hums approval.
It’s as though my weight is nothing at all and despite the chaos around us, I’m not scared. I trust he’s not going to allow anything to happen to me.
