“You don't need a doctor. They gave you something to knock you out, but once that wears off you'll be fine. They didn't hurt you anywhere else.”
I can tell my arms, my legs, everything feels all right. It's my head that pounds, groggy, like it’s under a pound of sand. “Where are you taking me?”
“Somewhere safe.” His voice sounds dark and ominous, and a shiver runs down my spine. I don't feel safe. I feel trapped. I struggle against my restraints, kicking and wriggling until I'm sitting upright. I can't unbuckle because my wrists are bound tight. But sitting up, I can see him.
He's huge.
The back of his neck is broad, and his shoulders are thick and wide. I'm in the middle seat behind him, so I can't see his face, but I see a strong profile, his jaw locked and firm. He's wearing a short-sleeved T-shirt even though it's November. His biceps strain against the cotton and his forearms are corded with muscle.
I swallow, feeling even more powerless than before. Whoever this man is, I can't outrun him. Definitely can't overpower him. I'll have to use my wits. I'll have to stay alert, observing as much as I can about my surroundings until I can seize my opportunity to escape.
The dashboard clock is lit: 4:04 a.m. I left my shift at the restaurant at 11. Had we been driving for five hours?
Outside the car windows, it's pitch dark. We’re not in the city anymore. The road is made of dirt, narrow and uneven. It looks like we’re in a big SUV, but we’re still getting tossed around by ditches and bumps.
In the headlights, I see trees everywhere, trees growing close in a canopy overhead, trees framing the road like walls. We’re in the deep, dark woods. Terror grips my heart.
“Please don't hurt me.” The words escape my lips even as I know the futility of my plea. He can do anything he chooses. “What do you want with me?”
“We are almost there. Sit tight until then.” He turns down a road even less traveled than the one we've been on. We lurch and plunge into the darkness. Until we stop. In the headlights, I can see a log cabin, rough and sturdy. It's small and it's in the middle of nowhere.
No one knows where I am. No one can find me. He parks, walks around and opens the passenger door. I don't think. I act. The second he undoes my seat belt I bite his arm, trying to sink my teeth into his bicep but I get his shirt instead. I kick at him, pushing my way past, trying to squeeze out the passenger door and away.
It's like trying to get past a steel wall. His arm wraps around me, an iron band of muscle pulling me against his body. I struggle and scream. The woods answer me, dark and silent. He doesn't even break his step as he hoists me up and over his shoulder.
Inside, he flicks on the lights and places me onto a large bed.
“Stop! Help! Please!” I beg, words tumbling out of my mouth as I wildly kick and flail.
“Stop struggling.” Large hands hold down my shoulders. With one of his thick thighs, he easily pushes down my knees. I'm immobilized beneath his muscle, his heat.
Panting, I look up, straight at him for the first time. My mouth drops open. His dark, chocolate brown eyes gaze down at me with such intensity, conflict and pain it takes my breath away. I know somehow, on instinct, they are not the eyes of a cold-blooded killer. I don't know who this man is, or what his intentions are, but I hold still. I can feel my heart beating, the weight of his thigh against mine. I swallow, bewildered, my emotions swirling.
“Can you listen to me?” His voice is deep and gruff, as if he's not used to speaking often. I'm struck with the sense that my presence is as disturbing to him as his is to me. “What’s your name?” he asks.
“Liv.”
“Short for Olivia?” I nod. “Olivia, I’m Knox, and I’m not going to hurt you. I want to talk to you. Will you sit still and listen if I let go?” I nod again, vividly aware of the contact between us, the tension coursing through his body into mine.
He gives me one last look, his eyelids low, his gaze resting on my lips. I catch my breath, almost wondering if he's about to kiss me. But the moment passes, gone as soon as it arrived.
He stands, rising to his full height. He must be 6'3" or 6'4", and his broad shoulders and thick dark hair make him look like a superhero. Only he’s a villain, I remind myself. He’s taken me against my will.
He looks down at me on the bed, then rakes his hand through his hair. “What kind of trouble are you mixed up in?”
“What?”
“Crime? How are you connected to the mob?”
“Are you kidding? Are you asking if I’m a criminal? I’ve never even stolen a pack of gum.”
“Do I look like I'm joking?” He stares at me, dead serious.
I shake my head. “No, I’ve never broken the law. I have nothing to do with the mob.”
“You do,” he insists, starting to pace the floor.
“I don't.”
“Think.” He sits down next to me on the bed, his weight dipping the mattress down. It makes me slide closer to him, and I try to scoot away. He glances down at my thighs, exposed as my skirt rides up. I stop my movement.
He curses and looks away. “Those men, the ones who grabbed you, they work for the Corretti family. Why would they want revenge on you?”
“I've done nothing! I'm a waitress. I take online classes. I live a quiet little life.”
To my surprise, he se
ems to believe me. “Then who do you know who's dirty? A friend? A relative? A boyfriend?” He almost growls the last option, his gaze dark.
“No, I don't have a boyfriend.” The muscle in his jaw seemed to relax, his fists unclenching a bit. “I mostly keep to myself,” I insist. “My roommates are all like me, girls working at coffee shops and fast food chains.” I’m at a loss, trying to imagine any of them doing anything criminal.
“What about family?”
“No, my mom...” I trail off. It’s not my mom. It’s my dad. I exhale, my chin dropping to my chest. If my damn hands were untied, I’d give my forehead a rub. I need a Tylenol. Or 20.
“Who is it?”
“It might be my dad.” My voice sounds like a lost, scared child, and that's how I feel.
“Why do you think it might be him?” His voice grows quieter, and he moves almost as if he’s about to put his arm around me. But he doesn’t. “Where does he work?”
“I don't know.” I shake my head, all the suspicions I’ve had over the years taking root in my mind. “It might be bookkeeping, but...” I shrug. The cash handouts. The unmarked building. The thugs he works with. “Do you think he's in trouble?” I look up at my captor, tears brimming in my eyes.
“Two men drug and try to kidnap you, and you're worried about the guy responsible?” I guess it’s an accusation, but he doesn't say it like he thinks I’m an idiot. He sounds astonished.
“I don't know what's happening.” I can't stop the tears from spilling down my cheeks. “Can you untie me?”
“I’ll untie you, but you have to promise you won’t run. You won’t get away from me. And you might hurt yourself if you try.”
“I promise.”
He takes out a Swiss Army knife and cuts through the zip tie. The second my hands are free, I run. I bolt out the front door, racing as fast as I can, tearing away from the cabin, blind in the darkness. His arm wraps around me before I even get 30 feet, stopping me like a steel band. He scoops me up like I weigh nothing. And I weigh something. I’m no ballerina, but he lifts and hauls me over his shoulder. My fists pounding on his broad, strong back don’t make the slightest bit of difference.