by Marie Carnay
His hand twitched with the urge to comfort her. Damn it. Comforting wasn’t his thing. It never changed the facts. She was still his only way to get out of this mess.
Mia turned around and peeled the soaked shirt away. Damien forgot his troubles.
He had been honest when he’d told her the clothes didn’t hide much. But seeing her without them…Pure torture.
She shimmied out of her still-dripping shorts and Damien’s cock throbbed.
Firm and tight and big enough to hold onto, that ass of hers was what dreams were made of. Visions of her straddling him, bouncing up and down as she milked him dry, filled his mind. Fuck.
Mia grabbed the comforter, tugged it around her curves, and Damien closed his eyes. He’d never forget that body.
“Where do you want these?”
Damien blinked his eyes open and snatched the dripping clothes from her hands. “I’ll hang them up.”
“Thanks.”
He paused mid-step. Did she just thank me? He swallowed. “You’re welcome.” He held the soggy mess in his hand and strode into the kitchen. The sound of the blanket dragging across the floor followed behind him.
“Why didn’t you kill me?”
Damien wrung out her shorts in the kitchen sink. “Which time?”
“At my father’s house. When you opened the door to the closet, why didn’t you just kill me?”
The pink terry cloth twisted in his hands. “I don’t know.”
“Liar.”
He braced himself on the counter. “Believe what you want. I don’t need to tell you shit.”
The shorts would dry by morning. He laid them over the faucet and picked up her shirt. A scrap of a thing, he wasn’t sure it would survive much more.
“You don’t by any chance have any spare clothes laying about, do you?”
Damien smiled to himself. She’d read his mind. “I’ll check the bedrooms. There might be something.”
Mia stayed quiet behind him as he squeezed the water from her shirt. He hung it on the faucet next to the shorts and braced himself. He still wasn’t prepared when he turned around.
All innocence and vulnerability. Mia stood in the kitchen of a drug cartel’s safe house, caramel hair fanned out like a halo, white comforter fluffed around her shoulders like wings. She shouldn’t be there. And Damien sure as hell shouldn’t hand her over to Marcelo.
She would never survive.
He jerked his head to the right. “Bedrooms are this way. Come on.”
The door to the first room opened with a creak. He ushered her inside. “There’s a shower. You can clean yourself up if you want. I’ll look for some clothes.”
Mia tugged the comforter tighter. “Aren’t you afraid I’ll try something?”
“You want to live, right?”
She nodded.
“Then don’t.”
After a minute, she nodded and headed toward the bathroom. The door shut and Damien heard the lock click into place. He exhaled and slumped down onto the bed.
He had looked grown men in the face and pulled the trigger. He had watched the life bleed out of someone a pint of blood at a time. Beatings, confessions, drug deals. You name it. He either did it or witnessed it.
But never in all the years he had worked for Marcelo had he ever done something this fucking hard. He rubbed his eyes and tried to focus. Mia wasn’t some drug addict Marcelo threw his way.
She was beautiful and strong and so fucking stubborn. Damien didn’t know whether to knock her out or kiss her senseless. If she hadn’t made a sound…If she hadn’t seen his face…
He would be back at home, half drunk on vodka so cheap rubbing alcohol tasted better. But she had fallen into his lap. Mia Davenport was his ticket out of hell. His chance to get out of the cartel once and for all.
The water turned on in the shower and he glanced up at the door. He just needed to survive her first.
With a grunt, he stood up and made his way over to the dresser. While she showered, he would get everything ready.
By the time the bathroom door opened, Damien leaned on the wall, a handful of women’s clothes in his hands. “Found these.”
Mia took them and shut the door. When she emerged again, Damien could finally look at her without cursing. The sweatshirt was too big and the jeans hung off her hips, but they were clothes.
As long as he couldn’t see her tits, he’d do okay. “Do you have any injuries?”
“I-I’m sorry?”
“Are you hurt? Do you need any bandages? There’s a first aid kit in the kitchen.”
She narrowed her eyes. “Why do you care?”
He shrugged. “Just thought I’d offer.”
After a moment, she nodded. “I have a few cuts on my wrist. They could use some attention.”
“Ladies first.” Damien moved out of the way and Mia eased past him. Her hair smelled fresh and clean and he leaned in as she walked out the door. Mmm. He wouldn’t mind breathing her in all night.
When they reached the kitchen, he pulled out a chair. “Sit. Show me the wound.”
She followed his instructions and he pulled out bandages and ointment.
The cuts were angry and red, but not that deep. She’d really worked that phone cord to get free. “Lucky for you, they’re just surface scratches. You’ll survive.”
“Will I?”
Damien didn’t answer as he dabbed the ointment on the gash. He pulled open a bandage. “You won’t die from these.”
“Comforting.”
“I try.”
Mia snorted. “If you’re not going to kill me, then tell me why I’m here. What good am I to you alive?”
“There are other people who want you more than me.” He placed the bandage on her arm and pretended not to notice her quiver.
“You mean Marcelo.”
Damien’s eyes snapped up. “How do you know that name?”
“Come on, Mr. Kidnapper. You’ve got more sense than that.”
“From your father.”
“No. The TV news. Every time there’s a crime in this town, his name is the first one mentioned. Everyone knows about the Marcelo empire. The drugs. The weapons. The girls.”
“Then why ask?” Damien ran his fingers over the bandage until it laid flat against her skin. He didn’t let her go.
“I needed to hear it from you.”
“Happy now?”
“No. I’m terrified.” She pulled her arm away. “Handing me off to a thug like Marcelo is a death sentence. You have to know that.”
Damien steeled his expression. “I don’t have a choice.”
“Everyone has a choice.”
“Not in this. I’m sorry.”
She crossed her arms. “Not sorry enough.”
Damien stood up in a rush. He didn’t need to justify himself to this woman. Just because she looked up at him with those pleading brown eyes full of fear and sadness. He couldn’t help her. It was too late.
He grabbed the rope off the table and walked around behind her chair. “Give me your arms.”
“Why?”
“Do it before I chop one off.”
Her arms flew behind her back. Damien tied her wrists together and looped the rope around the back of the chair. Then he did the same with her ankles before scooting her and the chair over to the radiator. With a chain he’d found in the carport, he hooked Mia and the chair to the metal.
No more toppling chairs for her. He walked around to face her. “I’m going to get some dinner. Do I need to gag you?”
She sneered. “Afraid I’ll wake the neighbors?”
He reached for her still damp tank top. “This should do.” He spun it until it formed a twisted-up rope.
“You don’t need to gag me. I was just yanking your chain.”
“Too bad. You should have cooperated instead.” Damien shoved the moist lace into her mouth and tied it behind her head. He crouched to catch her eye. “Any allergies?”
Mia cocked her head.
She rolled her eyes and shook her head no.
“Don’t do anything foolish while I’m gone.”
6
DAMIEN
This is impossible. Mia slumped in the chair and blinked back a wave of tears.
When her kidnapper left, she had counted to sixty before trying to escape. No matter how hard she yanked or how much she rocked back and forth in the chair, she couldn’t get free. Not a hand or a foot, not even a finger.
The damn radiator was as solid as a jail cell. At least she’d managed to spit the damn shirt out of her mouth. That was something. Mia fluffed a lock of hair off her face with a hard exhale.
She needed to get free and call the cops before he came back. Otherwise, she might never get the chance. Visions of the gun going off while he leaned over the dying man played through her mind. He was a killer. A murderer.
But something else lurked beneath the surface. Something…good. She saw it in the way he looked at her. If he’d been evil, she would either already be screaming at the hands of Anthony Marcelo, or she would be dead.
No way would a man without a soul let her shower and give her spare clothes or treat her wounds. Mia chewed on her lip. An evil man would never have kissed her like she mattered.
If she couldn’t get out via force, she needed to come up with a plan. A way to trick him into letting her go. She closed her eyes and thought back to the murder.
Her father had been gloating. Throwing around his weight and his name like they meant something to a thug with a gun. He’d always been an egotistical asshole. Mia just hadn’t realized how big his head had swelled.
The guy who died…the one who shot her father…what had he said? She scrunched up her face and tried to think. Marcelo was angry. He wanted her father to rein in the cops. Mia’s eyes popped open.
The cops. If Marcelo had his hands not just in the DA’s office, but in the local cops as well, would they even help her? Was that what her kidnapper was after? Info on dirty cops?
It didn’t seem like it. She shook her head. Whatever he was trying to find, he had come up empty. If she could get him to talk, maybe she could help. If she could give him answers, maybe he would let her go.
Before Mia could come up with a plan, the door opened. Her kidnapper slipped in with a sack full of food and couple of sodas.
“A little tougher this time?” He smirked at her and she rolled her eyes.
“Maybe I wanted to stay.”
“Right. And I’m a billionaire.” He pulled paper-wrapped burgers out of the bag and a mountain of fries.
He spread everything out on the table between them and slid over a chair.
“Isn’t this the part where you untie my hands so I can eat?”
The man ran his tongue over his lower lip and Mia’s muscles clenched. It was so simple, but so dirty. She thought of his lips on hers. That tongue in her mouth. She swallowed.
He held out a French fry. “Sorry. Can’t risk it. Open up.”
She opened her mouth and he popped the French fry in. Mmm. Grease and salt and fried potato goodness. Mia was starving. She swallowed and opened her mouth again. This time, he put a giant burger dripping in ketchup and mustard near enough for her to bite.
Oh, wow. Could you be in heaven and hell at the same time? Mia wasn’t sure. Any other day, she’d probably turn her nose up at dinner like this. But it wasn’t any other day. She had watched her father be murdered, been kidnapped, almost escaped and now…She was eating dinner with a man who wanted to trade her off to the most dangerous criminals in town.
So much for her appetite. Mia shook her head when he offered another bite.
“You need to eat.”
“What’s your name?”
He raised an eyebrow. “What do you care?”
“I’m not going to eat until you answer a few of my questions.”
He shrugged. “Then I guess you’ll go hungry.”
“I thought you wanted me alive to hand off to the cartel.”
“You don’t need to be healthy. Just breathing.”
Damn it. She wasn’t getting anywhere. With a sigh of exasperation, Mia opened her mouth. He slipped in a fry.
“Damien.”
“E—use me?” Not the most ladylike of questions, but Mia could have cared less. As long as she stayed tied to a chair, she could talk with her mouth full.
Her kidnapper tried not to smile. “My name is Damien.”
Oh. The name shouldn’t have meant anything to her. But it did. Damien. Just knowing it changed something between them. He might still be a killer and a kidnapper and a bad, bad man. But he had a name. A damn sexy name.
“Thanks.”
“You’re welcome. Now you need to eat.”
Damien fed her the rest of a hamburger and a whole carton full of fries. The empty gnawing in her stomach finally disappeared. As he stood to clean up, she braved another question. “So why my father?”
“Hmm?”
“Why did Marcelo want my father killed? Did he disobey orders?”
He snorted. “Marcelo didn’t want him to die. Angelo was supposed to scare him. Rough him up a little. Remind him who was boss.”
“Marcelo.”
“Exactly.” Damien balled up the empty wrappers and scooped everything into the trash. “Angelo should have checked for a gun first thing.”
“Is that what you would have done?”
“Damn straight.”
She shouldn’t like his answer, but she did. “You don’t bullshit people, do you?”
“Not usually.”
She smiled. “Neither do I. Guess we have something in common after all.”
“I have nothing in common with you, honey.” He turned around and leaned back on the counter. “You’re a modern day princess. I’m a murderer.”
Mia glowered. “You don’t know anything about me.”
“I know your father was the district attorney. I know you have a huge house full of shit I could never dream of buying. I bet you went to the best schools. Had the nicest car. Tons of rich boyfriends.”
“Try again.”
“You’re lying.”
“No, I’m not. My father might have tons of money, but I’m not part of his life.” She shook her head. “I wasn’t, I mean.”
“Then what were you doing in his closet?”
“None of your business.”
Damien pushed off the counter and walked past her. “Told you so.”
Mia tried to turn around, but she was trapped by the restraints. She managed to swivel her head. “I was there for a photo-op. I hadn’t been to my dad’s place in years. I haven’t lived with him since my mom died.”
He paused in the doorway but didn’t turn around. “Your mother’s dead?”
“Cancer almost ten years ago. I was fourteen.”
“What happened then?”
Mia snorted. “My father shipped me off to boarding school. Sold the house. Got a girlfriend. Then another and another.”
She couldn’t keep the bitterness out of her voice if she tried. “He only calls when he needs to parade me around like a trophy. I’m his box checked. Kid: One. All I’m ever good for is the media.”
Damien spun on his heel. “Is that why you haven’t cried?”
“Just because I’m a woman doesn’t mean I’m going to start blubbering.”
He stepped back into the room. “But you watched your father be murdered. He died in front of you. That would shake anyone up.”
She’d give anything to cross her arms and turn around. Damn chain. “I’m not sorry he’s dead, okay? You happy now?”
Damien stepped closer. “Why not?”
“It doesn’t matter.”
He sat down in the chair. “It does to me.”
“Loosen these ties and I’ll tell you.”
Without another word, her kidnapper leaned over her and tugged at the ties around her w
rists. His chest hovered an inch from her face, his shirt gaping low enough to reveal a swirling mass of tattoos across his chest. Mia swallowed.
How’d it get so hot in here?
He smelled of greasy food and rain and she realized for the first time that he’d lost the hoodie, but never changed clothes. Muscles stood out in stark relief on his arms, rippling and flexing as he loosened the ties.
A chain dangled from his neck with something attached to it. A…locket? She opened her mouth to ask when he rose up.
“Is that better?”
Mia tugged up her arms and they moved a few inches. “Yes, thank you.”
“Now talk.” He sat down in the chair and waited.
This close, she could see the color differences in his eyes. They weren’t just gray; they were more blue mixed with steel. His short beard hid a scar on his chin she hadn’t noticed before and his cropped hair was almost as dark as her own.
She swallowed. There was so much she wanted to learn about this man. But she needed to run.
Mia exhaled and met his stare. “My father was a bad man. He withheld evidence, lied to the court, and put innocent people on trial and behind bars to up his conviction rate. He didn’t care about justice. He cared about winning.”
“Was he always like that?”
She shrugged. “I don’t know? When I was little, he was just my dad. Always at work, never home. I never saw either of my parents. My mother made partner in her law firm when I was four.”
“Sounds rough.” She could tell he didn’t mean it.
“You try having three sets of nannies instead of parents.”
“What?”
Mia focused on the doorway past Damien’s head. “My parents couldn’t guarantee they would make it home at night. My father was first chair on capital murder trials. My mother was doing corporate deals worth billions.”
She didn’t know why she was spilling out the painful secrets of her childhood to a stranger. But what did she have to lose? He’d probably dump her at Anthony Marcelo’s feet in the morning. She would be dead in a matter of days.
“When I was three, they had an au pair suite built into the house and hired three different women to raise me. Every eight hours they changed shifts. Eight to four was Isabelle, four to midnight was Donna, and midnight to eight was Rebecca.”