Part 2 (2/2)

”A businessman.” I shrug, then take her by the arm to help her up. I place her against the wall. ”You gonna stay there, right?”

”It's not like I'm going anywhere,” she mumbles.

I take my s.h.i.+rt from the desk and pull it over my head, then dig my cell from my pocket and dial Marney's number. As usual, he picks up on the first ring.

”Yeah?”

”That deal in Vanderbilt's f.u.c.ked up. I've got a d.a.m.n hostage now, and what the f.u.c.k am I supposed to do with that?” I groan, my eyes locked on hers.

”A hostage?”

”Yeah, a f.u.c.king girl!” Hearing it out loud sends me into a sudden fit of rage. ”Someone's gonna f.u.c.king die!” I shout. I exhale in an effort to calm myself. ”Call around and find out some more about this Euan kid for me. Tap his f.u.c.king line. I want to know everything about him down to what kind of lotion he uses when he jerks off, got it?”

”Yeah, sure thing,” he chuckles. ”So, what you gonna do with the girl?”

”I don't f.u.c.king know!”

”Well, have fun with that. I'll let you know what I find out.” He hangs up the phone, and my eyes zero in on her swollen lip again.

I will f.u.c.k Richard up so bad for doing this. I take her by the shoulders and, without saying a word, turn her around, my gaze instantly falling to her bound wrists. The skin is red and raw, the flesh worn into the rope. b.a.s.t.a.r.d. I quickly untie the knot and notice just how deeply the burns have cut into her fair skin.

She wiggles her fingers, working to get feeling back into her hands. ”Thanks,” she mumbles.

I don't know what the f.u.c.k to do with her, but she's got to go somewhere besides here.

”Come on, then.” I reach for her arm to escort her to another room, and the next thing I know, her knee is coming at my b.a.l.l.s. I jump back, bite down on my lip, and hiss in a breath. f.u.c.king b.i.t.c.h! I catch both her arms in my hands, jerking her around as I pin them to her sides and slam her into the wall. She fights me, thras.h.i.+ng her entire body in a feeble attempt to get away.

Leaning into her, I place my nose inches from her ear. ”Really?” I growl against her neck, as I press her against the wall. ”Now, do you think that was a wise decision?”

”Let go of me!” she screams.

I force her harder into the wall. I'm using so much of my own body weight I doubt she can hardly breathe, much less move. ”Not a chance,” I say, and push into her more, my thighs now firm against her a.s.s. She gasps, and I keep my voice calm and low as I say, ”I'm telling you, girl, it's best not to test me.” She squirms and her body rubs over me in a way my c.o.c.k can't ignore. I back away an inch so she can't feel that I'm slightly aroused by her.

”Please just let me go,” she begs. ”You don't have to do this. I won't tell anyone. I won't call the police. I promise.”

”I don't trust anyone, not even pretty little blondes. And you know what usually happens to people I don't trust that try to kick me in the b.a.l.l.s?” My hold on her tightens, and I yank down on her arms. ”They end up in a f.u.c.king body bag.”

She grunts and, without warning, drives an elbow into my stomach. To my surprise, she actually has some force behind it because it knocks the breath from me. That little stunt makes my hold on her let up, and she wiggles from my grasp, running for the door. I storm after her, my heart thras.h.i.+ng in my chest. When I catch up to her, I grab the ends of her long hair, yanking her head back so hard she stumbles and falls to the floor. I drag her back down the dark hallway, and she's pitching a fit. Screaming, yelling; she's clawing at my hands so hard that her nails are slicing through my knuckles.

”I'm gonna f.u.c.king kill Richard for this s.h.i.+t,” I grumble. She lets out a scream so shrill I'm certain only dogs can hear it, and I cringe. ”You can't just make things easy for me, can you?” I mumble as I plop down in the office chair and pull her onto my lap. ”Had to go and make me act like an a.s.shole.”

She's still fighting me, slapping me, wiggling around. I manage to yank the drawer open despite her bucking like a rabid mule, and I fish out a zip tie. ”Would you just f.u.c.king be still?”

She screams again, then I grab her by the waist, and in one swift movement, I lay her face down across my lap, wrapping one leg over her thighs to hold her there. ”I don't guess you're gonna put your hands behind your back without a struggle, huh?” I ask, my tone dripping with sarcasm. She grabs onto the edge of the chair. I guess she thinks that's going make it more difficult for me to get her hands? I just laugh and take both arms, bringing them behind her back. I fasten the restraint, then pat her on the back. ”You gonna behave now? Not try to kick me in my b.a.l.l.s again, huh?”

”f.u.c.k you!” she shouts, still struggling underneath my leg.

I trail my eyes down from her hands to her a.s.s, and unfortunately, the way she's continuing to thrash around combined with the sight of her flipped over my lap and tied puts my d.i.c.k in a compromising position. I s.h.i.+ft my hips, adjusting the semi-hard on I can't seem to f.u.c.king get rid of, then I feel her teeth tear into the upper part of my thigh.

”You crazy....” I hiss at the throbbing pain and grab a fistful of her tangled blonde hair, jerking her head away from my leg. It shouldn't turn me on, but f.u.c.king h.e.l.l, I love a feisty girl. f.u.c.k, I'm sicker than I thought. I probably need to get the h.e.l.l away from her.

I rise and she falls from my lap to the floor. Before she has a chance to try and stand, I pick her up, and toss her onto the couch across from my desk.

”You really don't know when to just stop. f.u.c.k, I was being nice to you!” I say as I loom over her, wiping the sweat from my brow.

”Yes, I'll just lay down and let you kill me,” she says with bitter sarcasm.

”Who the f.u.c.k said anything about killing you? Don't f.u.c.k with me, and you won't have to lay down and get killed. d.a.m.n!” I drag my hand down my face. This is such a f.u.c.king pain in the a.s.s. ”Don't f.u.c.king move. I'm done playing with you. Just sit right there.” I arch my brow as I point at her, and she looks away. I'm pretty sure she's afraid to move now.

I fall back in my chair and sit, staring at her and wondering how in the f.u.c.k this is ever going to go right.

”I had no idea he was mixed up in any of this s.h.i.+t.” Her face crumples and her head falls back into the couch. ”How could I not know?”

The longer I sit here and look at her, the harder that guilty feeling tries to bubble to the surface again. The professional in me knows what I should do, but that dirty, miniscule part of me that still has some deformed part of a conscience is screaming that I shouldn't. If this were a man, I would have one of my guys kill him, but it's a f.u.c.king girl, and I'd really rather not kill her. I can lie, cheat, steal, kill; I can do a number of horrendous things without batting an eye-as long as it doesn't involve a woman. And as f.u.c.ked up as that mess with Joe's wife was, I can't go there, even though I know it's probably safer for me to; I can't kill her.

”You just...” I shake my head, ”stay there.” I stand and pace in front of my desk, then grab the bottle of whiskey, twisting the cap and tossing it to the floor. I turn the bottle up and suck back several mouthfuls of the burning liquor while staring at her. I take one more large gulp, then sit on the floor and slump against the door.

”If you try to leave, you'll have to get through me. I've been pretty f.u.c.king patient up until now. Don't test me.” I flip my s.h.i.+rt up to reveal my gun. ”Just so you know, if I have to kill you to get my f.u.c.king money, I will.”

Her chin drops to her chest, and she cries. And I drink. I drink until my eyes f.u.c.king cross because I see no solution to this situation that I like. At some point, she falls asleep, and I keep tipping back the bottle, watching her. She's just lying there, arms behind her back, hair matted to her face. I skim over her, stopping to admire her breathing. She's out cold, and each large swell of her chest forces her b.r.e.a.s.t.s up. That is one thing that gets to me, for some reason, watching a woman breathe-the way their b.r.e.a.s.t.s rise and fall, it's a turn-on, and the fact that her hands are tied behind her back is just making each draw she pulls in more p.r.o.nounced and slightly labored. f.u.c.k me! I have to shake off that automatic response my body has to it. I keep watching her for G.o.d only knows how long, my d.i.c.k pressing against my jeans like G.o.dd.a.m.n roadkill. I can't take it any longer.

I manage to stand, but only briefly before staggering and falling into my desk. ”f.u.c.k this,” I grumble and grab the knife lying on the desk. ”Just f.u.c.k it!” I stumble toward her, losing my balance several more times before I kneel next to the couch. I stare at her, flipping the knife in my hand. I shouldn't do this, but I'm drunk. I take the blade and slip it between her wrists, and the zip tie snaps free. I guess even soulless motherf.u.c.kers like me have a weakness. f.u.c.k it to h.e.l.l. I rub my hand over my head, dropping the knife to the floor when I fall into the wall. I settle back against the door, and my eyes grow heavy. Great! The d.a.m.n room is spinning. I lean my head against the door and pa.s.s out.

I wake up and my head is pounding. My shoulders ache where my arms have been tied behind my back for so long. Just as I think that, I realise that my hands are no longer bound.

I don't remember him untying me.

I sit up quickly. Looking down at my hands, I notice that my wrists are marked from the restraints. I guess I only have myself to blame for that, but I wasn't going down without a fight.

My eyes dart around the small room. It's dark, the only light coming from a small lamp on the desk. There are no windows, and the walls are bare, with the exception of one picture of a naked woman hanging over the side board covered in various bottles.

The door is opposite me, and there, slumped against it on the floor, is that man. His head is resting on his shoulder, and he does not look comfortable.

Good, I hope he has a stiff neck for days to come.

I study his profile, watching as his chest rises and falls on heavy breaths. He's intimidating, dominating, and scary as h.e.l.l. This man is as predatory as they come. Everything about him screams deadly. I don't know what the h.e.l.l Euan is into here, but this s.h.i.+t is serious.

My eyes drift down his chest of their own accord, tracing over the broad muscle. They skim lower, lower, and that's when I notice the dim glint from the gun in his lap. His fingers are wrapped firmly around it, one a whisper away from the trigger. s.h.i.+t, is he planning to shoot me?

I slowly rise to my feet. My head spins, but I manage to steady myself. I tiptoe across the room, watching to make sure his breaths remain even. Maybe I can just pry that gun from him? s.h.i.+t, can I?

Worth a try. I drop into a crouch in front of him, reaching out cautiously. He doesn't move. My fingers just brush the cool metal of the gun when his hand darts out and latches on to my wrist, squeezing hard.

”You should know I'm a very light sleeper,” he whispers without opening his eyes. I jump, and fall back on my a.r.s.e. s.h.i.+t! ”Nice try, though.” Opening his eyes, he sits up. ”What exactly were you gonna do, sweetheart? Kill me?” His gaze narrows accusingly on me, and I try to tame my pounding heart.

”No, just escape,” I whisper.

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