You moved my heart with your eyes,
Broke it with your tiny call.
I’ll look after you my baby,
I’ll be your daddy today,
I’ll hold you in my arms, my baby,
Forever you will stay.”
Grief hits at the strangest of times. Sometimes I’d hear a laugh that sounded like my mum’s and look over, expecting to see her. Or I’d smell someone wearing Dad’s cologne and look for him.
Often in the middle of the night, I’d lie awake thinking about them on that road. Dad had died in hospital, Mum at the scene of the crash. I’d think about them, scared, hurt, probably hysterical. I’d feel overwhelming guilt that they had been alone when they’d gone.
And I’d been about to make love to a guy.
Paxton Elliot.
God.
I shook my head, throwing off that particular memory as I walked to the car. I pulled the door, tossing my small handbag in.
A hand grabbed my arm, stopping me. I started and lurched, spinning to confront a man in a black suit.
Cliché was the word that sprang to mind. He was tall, broad, and wearing black. Solid. The man was built like a brick shithouse. His face was serious. The ‘don’t fuck with me’ vibe he gave off freaked me out. My immediate thought was hot but scary.
“Miss Oliver.” It wasn’t a question. I jerked my head back and bumped into my car.
“No. You’ve got the wrong person.” Years of dodging the paparazzi and stalkers had taught me to be calm in any situation. I ignored the panicked beat of my heart.
“Miss Oliver, you need to come with me.”
I shook my head. “Not me, sorry.”
He reached out and twisting my wrist around, displaying the phoenix tattoo. “Let’s go.”
He started dragging me away from my car. I screamed, yelling for the Suit to let me go. The deadhead rockers watched but no one intervened.
I struggled as the guy in the suit pulled me along. My heels digging in to the dirt, my body twisting this way and that as I tried to bite him. I caught sight of one of the onlookers lighting up his bong.
“I’m being kidnapped, you motherfuckers!” I screamed as I hit, clawed and kicked at the Suit. He easily overpowered me, shaking off my efforts and wrapping me in a death grip. It was a bit of a joke really. I knew to look for a nut kick, but he didn’t give me any opportunity.
As I bit down on his arm, the door to a black SUV swung open and I was roughly tipped inside. The Suit slid in behind me and nodded to the driver. I was squished between Suit One and an identically dressed Suit Two.
Both were broad, built, and wearing what I assumed was expensive shit.
Calm be damned, I’d seen Taken – I couldn’t let them drive away with me. I didn’t have Liam Neeson on speed-dial ready to stage a rescue. I kicked out and tried to climb over the centre console to hit the driver in the face. I was ripped back and swung to face Suit Two.
“You want me to hurt you? I got a Taser and a tranq. You sit quiet, you sit still—I don’t have to go there. You start this shit up, you get it. Your decision.” His fingers dug into my shoulders as he held me in place, facing him. His face was harsh, hard lines cutting across his skin, emphasising his displeasure. His cheeks were flushed red with anger, a small bubble of spittle caught on the crease of his lips.
I nodded, and turned, sitting quietly. To keep the volcano of panicked fear under control, I started making a mental note of street signs and filing my captors’ appearances away. I took in everything I could. The police were going to need everything from me.
My emotions threatened to overwhelm me as we drove on. As we crossed state lines I felt my panic reach near hysterical levels. Keeping my eyes on the road, very aware of the two men beside me. Suit Two kept tapping his leg and fidgeting. He seemed frustrated, annoyed. Suit One remained still. Occasionally his head would turn, look at me, then turn back. His eyes were blank, his body still.
“Where are we—"
A hand caught my cheek. I fell back against Suit One, pain bloomed over my cheek. I raised a hand and pressed it to the burning slap.
“I said silence.”
Suit One shifted me off him, and helped me settle in. His eyes met mine. They appeared to be trying to communicate with me.
I dropped my gaze and pressed my hands into my knees, closing my eyes to deep breathe.
Be calm. Be calm. Be calm.
I’d read that if a kidnapper lets you see their face, it means you’re likely to be dead. These guys didn’t seem like some psycho fans wanting to meet an Oliver. Or trying to ransom me. No.
These were professionals.
And I had no idea what they wanted.
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Just Joshing: A BBW Romantic Comedy (Short and Sweet Series Book 1) Page 14