Riley immediately got over her revelation and decided how best to use it to her advantage. She would tell him exactly how she felt about him before he could beat her or do whatever evil thing he planned on doing to get Shank’s name out of her. He hadn’t pushed for a declaration out of her since admitting his feelings in her garage. Her dark, sinister man had simply waited and watched, giving her time to come to her own conclusion. He wasn’t going to let her go. Presumably he had all the time in the world, anyway.
And if that didn't work, she would distract him with mind blowing sex until he forgot what he wanted from her. And if that didn’t work, she would make up a name and send him on a wild goose chase. Unfortunately, as an avid fan of The Simpsons, the only fake names she could come up with on the spot were Max Powers and Hooter McBoob. Somehow, she didn't think those names would throw him off the trail for long.
She showered, washed her hair, blow dried it straight and pulled it up into her customary ponytail. Then she pulled on a pair of worn sweat pants and a blue tank top without a bra. There was no one in the house anyway to see her boobs bouncing around. Once Soloman got home, she would use them to distract him from his interrogation.
Humming the theme song to The Simpsons, because of course that was in her head now, she jogged up the stairs and into the kitchen where she realized she was on her own for breakfast. Damn. No kitchen staff on weekends. Soloman usually cooked bacon and orange juice for her on weekends, but he was busy. She frowned. She had been expressly forbidden from cooking.
What should she do? She was pretty sure he didn't intend for her to starve, and bacon was essential to life. Settling on the floor, she set about breaking into the locks Soloman had jokingly installed on the cupboards to keep her out. With a glance over her shoulder at the camera facing the kitchen, she sighed. She hadn’t wanted to give away her mad breaking and entering skills so soon, but a girl needed her protein if she was going to avoid some heavy-handed discipline later.
The lock fell apart in her hands and with a happy grin, she reached into the cupboard for the pan she would need. She stood and set it on the stove, turned the stove on to heat and twirled toward the fridge, now singing “Bohemian Rhapsody” to herself. She knew she was in way too good of a mood for the black devilry Soloman had waken her to, but it wasn't every day a girl found out she was in love for the first time.
“Is this the real life, or this just fantasy…” she sang, reaching into the fridge after making short work of the shiny new lock. “I’m just a poor boy… easy come, easy go…” Okay she didn’t know all the words. “Mama, I just killed a man. Put a gun against his head…”
She was about to take a gulp of orange juice straight out of the container when a loud boom rocked the house. Riley jumped back into the still open fridge door with a scream of startled surprise and dropped the container. Orange juice splashed over her bare feet and onto the marble floor. Riley brought her hands up to cover her ringing ears and crouched between the fridge and the island, clutching her aching head. What the fuck was that?
It took her a few precious seconds to understand that the sound definitely wasn’t natural and that it couldn’t possibly be anything good. She also realized that the ringing in her ears was the house phone. She shook her head to clear the cobwebs and stood, reaching for the phone. She pressed the talk button and put it against the side of her head.
A voice instantly roared in her ears. “Ms. Bancroft, go to the safe room, now! We’re under attack. Arm yourself and get underground into the safe room.”
She didn’t recognize the voice, but assumed it was one of Soloman’s security guards. He kept himself aloof from his employees except for Roman. Though she suggested they get to know his security better, Soloman had refused, not wanting her anywhere near his men. Riley disagreed, believing the better their people knew their employers the more they would want to protect them. But she also thought she would have more time to change his mind. Apparently, she was wrong.
A sob of fear escaped her throat as she clutched the phone tighter. “Th-there’s been an explosion. I’m in the kitchen. I-I don’t know if I can get to the safe room,” she told him, glancing around frantically.
“Okay, change of plans. Go out the back door,” he told her. "I'll come get you. As far as I can tell there’s only one guy. He’s taken out half the team though. He’s one crazy motherfucker. Drove straight through the gates, tossing explosives and ignoring our bullets like they bounce right off him.”
Riley froze as her fingers wrapped around a butcher knife. There was only one motherfucker crazy enough to penetrate Soloman’s private estate alone. He had come to collect what he thought was owed him. She wrenched the knife out of the block and whirled around as he stalked into the kitchen, his wild eyes searching for her. A grin stretched his thin lips, pleasure suffusing his tattooed face when he caught sight of her facing him with a weapon.
“Ah, angel baby, it don't gotta be that way between us, you know,” he growled, his eyes roving over her, lingering on her braless chest. She tried to edge toward the back door, but seeing her intent, he lunged in that direction.
She cried out and tried running back around the other way, but he was faster. Catching her around the waist, he swung her around and gripped her wrist, squeezing brutally until she dropped the knife. Fuck! She should have kept facing him. Although Shank was stupid enough to run at her, blade or not. She was no good at fighting anyway. She was a car person through and through. She hated weapons. The only fight she ever won was bloodying Duke Badger’s nose in 6th grade when he flipped Katie’s skirt.
Shank pulled her back into his erection and pressed his gun hand into her stomach, breathing in her clean, feminine scent as though he couldn't believe he finally had her. The woman he’d loved and obsessed over for years. The woman who’d held herself just out of his reach. His hands tightened around her until she whimpered in pain, the butt of his gun bruising her hip. She promised him payment. Now she would pay.
He dragged her backwards around the counter toward the kitchen entrance. Her eyes widened as she caught sight of the security guard coming up to the back door, preparing to enter. Shank reached for his belt, yanking out what looked like a grenade. He pulled the pin. Riley flinched against him, trying to get away from the deadly weapon clutched in his fist. Psychotic fucking man!
“Watch out!” she screamed toward the back door as it was wrenched open. Luckily the guard reacted instantly, throwing himself to the side as Shank threw the grenade.
Shank hurled her backwards out of the kitchen and followed her through as debris exploded throughout the kitchen. She landed hard on her hands and knees. He was laughing maniacally at the destruction, as though it delighted him to see the gorgeous kitchen go up. Grabbing her arm, he dragged her off the floor and carried her straight through the front door with an arm around her middle.
Riley was too shocked to put up much of a fight as they approached his classic Charger. She was not too shocked to flinch at the damage the front fender had sustained when he went through the gate. Okay, the bastard deserved to die for that alone. The next time she saw Soloman she was singing like a canary. He opened the trunk, curved a long arm under her legs and leaned down to place a stinging kiss on her plush mouth.
She gasped and surged up against him, punching his chest and shoulders, but he stuffed her easily in the trunk. “Sorry, angel,” he said with a grin just before slamming the lid down on her panicked screams.
Riley braced herself in the cramped space as Shank peeled away from the front of the house and raced up the long driveway. Loud bangs erupted when they approached what she assumed must be the ruined gates. Something pinged off the metal frame of the car. She screamed and flinched further back into the darkness of the trunk, curling in a ball, terrified that she might get shot through the metal. Clearly security had no idea she was in the vehicle.
They roared up the road as fast as Shank’s souped-up engine could go. The engine Riley had upgraded for him. She knew exactly how
fast his fucking car could go. She also knew these old trunks didn’t have a release. She was super fucked. She tried to breath evenly in the hot space as she slid her fingers around searching for anything that might help. Shank was definitely stupid enough to leave a weapon in there with her. He would consider them trading bullets as foreplay.
The only things she found was some kind of fluffy, lacy material that she shoved aside after deeming it useless, and several bottles of water. After determining that the bottles were sealed she twisted the top off one and took several calming sips. The trunk was so hot, she was already beginning to sweat. She could feel the car begin to slow and knew they were now far enough away from the house that Shank was trying not to draw unwanted cop attention. She curled on her side and clutched the water bottle to her chest. Maybe when they stopped she could momentarily blind him with the contents, kick him in the nads and scream bloody murder.
That was assuming they didn’t go straight to his clubhouse. Those fuckers were nearly as psycho as he was. They wouldn’t help her. In fact, they might insist on a piece of the action. She shivered and curled tighter into herself, hoping that wasn’t the case. She just needed to trust that Soloman would get to her quickly and that this day would end happily. With bacon and declarations of love.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
It took every ounce of self-control for Soloman to wait the half hour for Roman to get to him before tearing after Riley and the bastard that took her. He knew he had to be patient. Roman was with their information guy, getting what they needed and saving valuable time in the long run. Roman would make the smart decisions where Soloman was incapable at this time.
As he looked down at the debris littering his once immaculate kitchen, rage unlike anything he’d ever known washed over him. It was the orange juice container and the liquid spilling across the floor that felt like a punch in the gut. Each breath he took felt like a vow to the woman he loved. He would find her. He would make the man that took her suffer in ways he couldn’t even imagine.
He stepped out the gaping back door and looked across the sandy coloured patio tiles, now splattered in blood. Two security guards dead. Geoff, who had apparently gone to get Riley out of the house, was fighting for his life while several others hunted for the ’69 Dodge Charger with a woman in the trunk.
Soloman didn’t turn around when he heard the crunch of shoes approaching through his kitchen. Only one man would brave his presence at the moment. Soloman flicked his cigarette into the pool. He’d gotten a pack as he’d headed out of the police station. He’d deal with quitting again later.
“Got a name,” Roman’s voice rumbled quietly from behind him.
Soloman nodded. The name of the man that would soon die a very brutal death.
“Manuel Alvarez, known as “Shank” on the street. Nasty, batshit crazy piece of work. Deals on both sides of the border and don’t mind killing anyone who gets in his way. Apparently, your girl tried to steal his car several years ago. That pretty face is what saved her life. Don't think she knows the half of what he’s capable of or she would not have stayed in touch with him.”
Soloman grunted his acknowledgment, fury and stone-cold fear rushing through his veins. It was that pretty face and blasé attitude that was going to get her fucked up by the psycho that was bold enough to cross a known mafia kingpin. A man that no one dared to fuck with. For good reason. Soloman Hart did business with brutal efficiency.
“Where is he taking her?” Soloman finally spoke, his words clipped.
Roman didn’t hesitate. “Straight for the border. He’s going to bury himself in Mexico.”
Soloman turned and strode back through the trashed kitchen with Roman on his heels. He walked right out the front door and reached for the passenger door on Roman’s Mustang.
“Let’s go.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
Riley didn’t know when she fell asleep, or maybe she passed out, but she woke up to the rush of cool air on her overheated skin and blinding light. She moaned and lifted a hand weakly to shield her eyes. She began to realize she might be severely dehydrated when her hand refused to obey and only flopped beside her. She rolled her head and squinted as a shadow fell over her prone body.
“Ah my sweet angel, sorry you had to go through that,” Shank said, reaching for her sweat-soaked body. She flinched away from him, but he wrapped one arm easily around her legs and another under her back.
Her head lolled as he hefted her out of the trunk. Her fuzzy brain tried to decipher how long he’d driven with her in the trunk, but she couldn't seem to think straight. He cradled her against his chest, nuzzling his lips against her sweaty hairline. She wanted to shove him away, but her body just refused to obey.
“So fucking pretty, Reaper,” he groaned in her ear, licking the sweat from her skin. She shuddered and moaned in distress. “So small and helpless. You need me to take care of you now, don't you, angel?”
She could barely understand what he was saying, her head was swimming and her limbs felt so heavy. She’d baked in his goddamned trunk for probably hours. She was lucky to be alive! What she did understand was that he seemed to be lowering her back into the trunk. She struggled as much as she could in his arms and croaked, forcing her parched throat to make sounds.
“Sh-Shank… p… please…” she begged, fighting weakly against him. He already had a wiry strength she could never hope to match. But in her dehydrated, weakened state, it was like a kitten trying to fight off a lion.
“Hush, baby, I won’t close you in again,” he said adoringly into her panic-stricken face. “Just need to set you down so I can give you some water and some medicine.”
She so didn't trust him not to close the trunk, but the tiny bit of fight drained right out of her and she flopped weakly back into the trunk, landing on the cushiony softness of lacy fabric. He cracked one of the water bottles, looped an arm around her neck and brought it to her lips. Riley sucked on the bottle greedily, her eyes glued to the gang tattoos inked over every inch of his skin. She decided she hated his tattoos. They were evil and disgusting, not beautiful like Soloman’s.
“Now for your pills,” Shank told her, pulling something out of his pocket.
Her eyes widened and she shook her head. “No,” she whispered, her voice slightly less croaky now that she’d had some water. “Please, I don't want to take anything. I don't take drugs, Shank.”
“I know, angel,” he said sympathetically, reaching for her jaw. “But I gotta cross the border with you and you can't go in the trunk. It’s not good for you. Can't have you fighting me either. It’s better with these until you get the idea that you want to stay with Shank.”
She shook her head frantically in his grip and brought her hands up to push him away, but she was still too weak to be effective. She did not want to cross the border with him. She especially did not want to cross the border in a drugged-out haze. She needed to be able to tell someone she was being kidnapped.
He squeezed her jaw until she was forced to open her mouth and then shoved something down her throat until she gagged on his fingers. When he pulled his fingers out, she coughed, feeling something small wedged drily in her throat. He poured the remainder of the water into her mouth and then pressed his hand against her lips and nose as she struggled not to swallow. She didn't have a choice. Her eyes flared wide and watered before she finally swallowed the huge mouthful of water along with the pills.
He took his hand away. She immediately rolled away from him and tried to shove her fingers down her throat, intent on forcing the contents back up.
“Don’t you fucking dare, Riles,” he snapped, grabbing her by the ponytail and dragging her backwards until she was kneeling at the edge of the trunk with her back against his chest. He kept his fist wrapped around her hair while his other arm clamped around her middle, holding her arms down so she couldn’t force herself to throw up.
“What did you give me?” she cried out in fear, her voice hoarse.
“D
oesn’t matter,” he growled against her ear, nuzzling his face into her neck. “I’m’a take care of you from now on. I’ll tell you what’s good for you.”
He lifted her out of the trunk and set her on wobbling legs. Holding her up with a bruising grip around her waist, he reached into the trunk and pulled out the bunch of white, lacy material. Her eyes widened when he shook it out and she finally saw what it was. A wedding dress.
Her eyes met his. Disbelief written all over her face. This was not fucking happening. Dude was taking her to Mexico to… what? Marry her?
“Put it on,” he demanded.
Her mouth fell open and she finally looked around. Where the fuck were they? She saw nothing but desert and scrub brush in both directions. He’d clearly pulled off the main highway and parked on some back road. And if he was intent on taking her across the border, then they must still be in the United States. Before she had a chance to ask he reached for the hem of her tank top and jerked it up.
“No!” she croaked, pulling back. The material ripped in his hands and without waiting for her to react, he tore the shirt right off her body, heedless of her struggles.
Riley whimpered in protest, a new kind of panic welling up within her. Fuck, fuck, fuck! Was he about to rape her in the fucking dirt on the side of the road? She wasn't even wearing a damn bra. Her arms instantly clamped down across her breasts and she glared at him, her shoulders hunching protectively.
He didn't seem intent on checking out her naked skin though, he was reaching for the dress and trying to figure out best how to unzip it, his bony fingers awkwardly flipping the material around. Okay, so he didn't plan on raping her in the dirt. Yet. She could put the dress on if it meant covering more of her skin and keeping herself out of the trunk.
“Here, give it to me,” she snapped, keeping her breasts covered with one arm and reaching for the dress. She gasped and waved her arm in front of her face. It looked blurry, like more than one arm moving at the same time. Weird. What the fuck did he give her?
Driven by Desire Page 17