OWNED_Satan’s Kin MC

by April Lust

  As I walk, I notice the streets are completely empty. There are a few outdoor restaurants and cafés that are still open, and those few people are sitting and clinking beers.

  I’m about to turn the corner to cross over to Broadway when I hear footsteps behind me. Before I can even turn around to see who is following me, a warm hand slips over my mouth. It guides me towards the alley and I’m too shocked to fight back. Suddenly, lips brush my ear and a deep voice whispers, “If you want to live, come with me immediately.”

  I merely nod my head, not wanting to upset him. I can feel something hard and cold pressing into my back, though I’m not sure if it’s a gun or a baton. Either way, he’s a lot stronger than I am and his grip on my shoulder is scarily tight. I can’t bear to run away or tell him to screw off. What if it’s a gun? Or a crowbar?

  A million thoughts race through my head, and I can hear my heart pounding in my chest. This is it, I’m going to die in these streets. All I can think about is this man taking me deeper into the alleyway and doing horrible things to me before killing me. He’ll leave my crumpled body by the dumpster, and the next day I’ll be a headline. Hopefully everyone will cry at my funeral and muse about what a wonderful dancer I was, and how sad it is that I can’t finish Swan Lake . I bet Rosie, that bitch, is going to be over the moon.

  But to my surprise, he doesn’t take me to the alley and hurt me. Instead he leads me over to a black motorcycle with red stripes running up and down its flanks.

  “If I let go of your mouth, are you going to scream?” he asks.

  I shake my head.

  “Are you sure?”

  I shake my head again, and he reluctantly removes his hand from my mouth. We stare at each other for a few seconds, but I can’t make out anything other than his crystal-blue eyes. He’s wearing black motorcycle helmet and an all-black outfit. Whatever piece of metal he was pressing into my back is now hidden somewhere on his person. He gestures towards the bike, and I suddenly lapse into fear again. Am I being kidnapped?

  He hands me a motorcycle helmet with cat ears poking out of the top, and I smirk at it for a few seconds. If I’m being kidnapped, at least I’m going out in style. I think my brain has had a temporary lapse in judgment. That’s me, adaptable to any situation. I could survive as an orphan in Russia and a neglected adoptee in America. Who knows what’s going to happen next?

  I feel like my body is no longer my own, and I’ll do whatever this stranger asks if he doesn’t hurt me. Kidnappings have to have resolutions, don’t they? I take it as a good sign that he hasn’t hurt me yet. He climbs on first, and I climb on behind him, wrapping my shaky arms around his body. Though he’s wearing several layers of fabric, I can tell he’s ripped. If I try to run he’ll probably catch me in seconds, even though my legs and stomach are probably just as muscular.

  He starts the bike and we speed off into the night. I have no idea where we’re going, so I take this as a chance to look at my surroundings. If he’s going to take me somewhere far away where I’ll never see my family or friends again, I at least want to know how we got there. We drive down Broadway, and he veers towards the highway near the river and the George Washington Bridge. I see a million twinkling lights reflecting in the water. There are clusters of people in the parks, some swinging on swings and others working out on the metal poles. I’ll sure miss my golden city. I hope he’s not bringing me to a cave where I’ll rot away.

  Suddenly a bolt of lightning stabs me in the heart. I’m going to miss the Swan Lake production. But is that such a bad thing? If I don’t make it tomorrow, Rosie will take my spot. And then what? I won’t have the status of prima ballerina anymore? Maybe if I tell Patty I was kidnapped she’ll forgive me and let me keep my job. I can only imagine how much she’s going to freak out about me missing out on the practice before opening night. She’ll probably assume I’m hungover or something. My phone isn’t in my leotard, and I realize I’ve left it on the table at the restaurant. I wonder how I look to other cars: a dark ballerina with cat ears being whisked away by an evil knight.

  I hug my kidnapper tighter, not because I want to, but because he’s speeding up, and I don’t want to fall backwards onto the pavement. Now that would be a sight for sore eyes.

  He takes a sharp turn to the right, and we cross three lanes, heading beneath a dark underpass. As we reach his lair, I realize I no longer recognize where I am. We’re definitely still in the city, but on the outskirts. There are slummy red and blue lights everywhere, and I see a few girls in fishnet tights and ripped skirts walking up and down the street. How the hell did we get here? He leads me through two glass buildings that have created a darkened alleyway before parking his bike outside of a rusty garage. Seconds later, I’m following behind him, completely unsure of what my future holds.

  Chapter 3 Natalia

  My kidnapper reaches over and takes the helmet gently off my head. We’re inside an enormous warehouse with blue and yellow light bulbs dangling from the ceiling. All around me are puddles of light, a few rusty metal bedframes, and several doors, all bolted shut.

  “What are we doing here?” I hesitantly ask.

  He doesn’t respond, but merely beckons for me to follow him into one of the narrow doorways. He leads me down a chilled cement hallway that has walls painted all black. At the very end is another door, this one opened only with a key that my kidnapper has on a metal ring. When we walk through I realize we’re in an enormous well-furnished room that has a bed, a table, bookshelves, and even windows. My mind is racing. If he were kidnapping me and trying to keep me away from the rest of the world, why would he place me in a room this well-furnished? And why would he put me in a room with windows?

  As I walk towards the desk, I hear the door close behind me. My heart speeds up again as I whirl around and rush towards the door. To my surprise, it’s not locked. Instead of opening it and following him down the hall, I close it quietly. The bed looks comfortable and the room seems fine enough.

  I walk towards the bed and sit down, wondering what to do next. There are a few dozen books on the wall that I could read. Upon closer inspection, I notice they’re all classics. There’s Moby Dick, Pride and Prejudice, Jane Eyre, and a few others I don’t recognize. At least I know I won’t be bored cooped up in here for however long he’s going to keep me.

  The door opens again and this time the man appears without his helmet. I bite my inner cheek when I see his face for the first time, realizing how gorgeous he is. His eyes are even brighter than when I first saw them in the streetlight. He has a chiseled jaw and a handsome face, light beard, and dark brown hair. It’s cut close to the sides of his head and is a bit longer on top. All I can think about is leaping into his arms and running my hands over his crew-cut. Through his black t-shirt, I can see the outlines of his pectorals. Each arm is covered in sleeves of tattoos.

  I stare at his arms for a few seconds, which are extended towards me holding an enormous wooden tray filled with food. He has crescent moons, book passages in Russian, and a cross on his forearm. I want to ask him if the tattoos extend up his arms and onto his chest. Maybe there’s even a few on his back. I imagine them crawling off his body like black snakes, entangling themselves in my body and pinning me to the bed as he kisses my neck and—

  “Are you all right?” His voice is deep.

  I shiver, just once. “I’m fine,” I say curtly. “What is this place? Why am I here?”

  “You sure like to ask a lot of questions.”

  “That’s funny coming from you, seeing as I was just kidnapped for no reason.”

  “Lay off the drama, sweetheart. It’s not gonna do you any good.” The man scowls at me, baring his teeth. I’m surprised – they’re bright white. He obviously takes care of himself.

  I’m not sure how to respond to his attitude. Shouldn’t he be the one apologizing to me for what happened? Either that, or he should be torturing me. A violent shiver rips through my body. Maybe this nice room is just a trick to throw me of
f.

  “Are you going to kill me?” I glance down at the tray of food. It looks like stuff I haven’t been allowed to eat in years: biscuits, gravy, a formless lump of meat.

  “No. Don’t be insane.” The man smirks and steps closer. A wave of his scent washes over me, and I fight the urge to swoon. He smells like pure musk, like an animal.

  “That’s easy for you to say,” I say primly. As gingerly as I can, I perch on the edge of the bed and cross my legs at the ankle, just like I was taught.

  The man shrugs. He sets the food down on the bed, then walks over and leans against the wall. He looks like such a tough guy, but there’s something about him that almost seems familiar.

  “All right,” I say. I lean towards the tray, unable to stand the smell of the hot biscuits. “I’ll eat. But if you’re trying to kill me…” I trail off and look up at the man once more. “Well, I know some things to do with my toe shoes, and they’re not all fun.”

  “Oh, I’m real scared.” He smirks, then folds his arms across his chest.

  Rolling my eyes, I reach towards the tray and wrap my hands around a warm bowl of soup on the edge of the tray. I’m starving even though I just ate, and the soup warms me to my very core. “Is it time for you to tell me why I’m here?” I ask between bites. “Because I’ve been waiting patiently, and I’d really like to know.”

  He grabs a chair from the corner of the room, flips it around, and straddles it. I’m trying not to stare at his arms, which are covered with taught chords of muscles. I want to know what it would be like if he pinned me against the wall. I want to ask if he’s strong enough to lift me over his head with one hand. I wonder if he’s a dancer.

  “If you must know, Natalia, I brought you here as bait.”

  “Bait?” I ask, slurping loudly. “And how do you know my name?”

  He chuckles. “So many questions. Aren’t you scared of me?” he asks with a mischievous grin that causes a wave of heat to surge from my chest.

  I put the bowl down and walk around to survey the room. I choose the wall closest to him, cross my legs, and lean against the wall. I must admit the room reminds me a bit of a jail cell. But of all the things I feel, fear is not one of them. No, more like anger. This guy is wasting my time, and it’s really starting to tick me off.

  He stands up and takes a powerful step towards me. His eyes settle on mine, and I see my body reflected a million times in them.

  “I have no intention of hurting you. Like I said before, I brought you here as bait. There’s a man I’ve been hunting down for quite some time, and I’m just about to sink my teeth into him. He’s only in town for a short period of time, so I’ve got to play my cards right or else I’m going to lose everything I’ve ever cared about. It’s nothing personal; I just need you here to bring him in.”

  He’s taking the emotional route, trying to trick me into feeling sorry for him. Well that’s never going to work. I don’t care enough about his weird life to feel sorry for him.

  “Where is ‘here’? Where am I?” I ask before I can stop myself. I don’t want to annoy him with too many questions, but I want to get a further grasp of the situation. I believe him when he says he won’t hurt me, which emboldens me to probe further.

  He sighs and closes his eyes, “God, you’re annoying.”

  “It looks like an old warehouse or something,” I suggest hoping that he’ll continue.

  “It is,” he says curtly. “All you need to know is that I won’t keep you locked in this room, but you should stay in here if you know what’s good for you. And never under any circumstances go upstairs.”

  “Why­—” I start to ask before he cuts me off.

  “Just don’t do it.” That seems to be the end of that subject.

  “Okay,” I concede with a bit of defiance, but I need to ask something I already know the answer to. “How long are you going to keep me here?” I ask in a hushed voice.

  He sighs as if he’s been dreading this question. “As long as I need to.”

  “But I’m going to miss opening night. I’ve been working most of my life for an opportunity like this,” I scream, slowly getting louder with every word. “Because of you, I’m going to lose everything I’ve ever cared about!”

  I can see that it stung him that I used his own words against him by the way he hangs his head. He finally looks me in the eyes and says with sincerity, “I’ll make it up to you. I promise.”

  I nod, hoping he’ll keep his word. I’ll make him suffer if I lose my position in the company. I decide to find out as much about him and this place as I can in the meantime. Maybe I’ll find a way to manipulate this situation to my favor, but part of me just wants to learn more about this man.

  “So what is it you do you do for a living?” I ask, already wary of the answer.

  “I’m part of a motorcycle club called the Renegade Reapers. I’m not going to get into details about what it is we do. And by the way, I’m Beast. Beast Samuels.”

  “Natalia Pestova,” I say, forgetting he already knows who I am.

  “I know.”

  Beast walks closer, grinning like a hyena. I keep his gaze as I reach out my hand to shake his. He’s warmer than I am, and I look down to find an open-mouthed cobra spiraling around his fingertips.

  “I like your tattoos,” I whisper as I lightly brush my fingers over his forearm.

  “Thanks.” He grunts as I sense goosebumps rising where my fingers had been. “Didn’t think a ballet girl like you would be able to appreciate the finer arts, like tattooing.”

  A spark crackles between us. Neither of us lets go of the other’s hand. We stay like that for a few seconds too long until I hear voices out in the hall. The spell is broken and my attention is diverted to the outside world.

  “If you’ll excuse me,” he says. “Please, enjoy your food.”

  “Wait where are you going? Are you just going to leave me here to figure things out?”

  “No, I’m going to leave you here until I get what I want.”

  And with that, he flips the chair back into the corner and disappears out of the room. I can hear his deep voice joining the chorus of others out in the main room. I wonder if they’re his buddies from the motorcycle club he was referring to.

  I proceed to eat the food he’s prepared for me—the biscuits, the gravy, the meat (which turns out to be ham), the soup. It’s all pretty good. I’m not sure if Beast made it himself, but I have to admit I’m a little impressed.

  My mind travels back to the party, and I start thinking about Patty and the others. I imagine they’re worried about me for walking off after having drank so much. I no longer feel tipsy, as the drive towards the warehouse sobered me up. Despite the food, my mouth tastes like metal. I wish I were still drunk.

  After I’m done eating I lean back in the bed and stare at the ceiling. There are strange shadows floating around casted from the lamp and the window. It’s dark out, and a light snow has begun to fall. I’m beginning to speculate that Beast can afford such a nice room because he’s involved in selling drugs. I can’t even imagine how much money he’s been able to make off that. I bet he’s been involved in death. Maybe he’s even killed other people. This terrifies me. I cross my legs and start shaking them back and forth, not sure if I still feel comfortable being here.

  But what choice do I have? I have to trust him. It was the way he looked into my eyes and held my hand so tightly in his that made me realize he might not be as evil as the others. With my head resting on the pillow, I realize how exhausted I am. I close my eyes and fall asleep to the sound of pacing footsteps and low arguing.

  Chapter 4 Beast

  I walk down the hall towards the rest of the club who have only just arrived. With every step I take, I clench my fists and dig my nails into my palms. I can’t believe how sexy Natalia is. She looks like a little demon with her makeup and tutu. Her stomach is so tight and her breasts are so perky. The only thing I wanted to do when we were speaking was lift her into my ar
ms and screw her against the wall, makeup and all. She’s also a pain in the ass. All that questioning, making me doubt my intentions. I don’t put up with that stuff. I need to remind myself that I’m her captor, and she’s under my control. Thinking about it any other way would be criminal, and I’m already one of those.

  I realize as I walk away that I forgot to give her clothes to change into so she can actually go to sleep in something other than a dancer’s outfit.

  Tomorrow she’ll have washed her face and wake up anew, her pale skin and almond eyes shining without all the heavy makeup. I’m not sure how I’ll handle looking at her, let alone speaking to her. What would she say if I asked her about the makeup and the bones? She’d probably laugh in my face. First, I kidnap her and then I request that she paints herself like a skeleton every day? Whatever. What the hell am I talking about?

  I need to focus on the task at hand. I need to focus on finding her father. He’s no doubt heard about my plans. In fact, I really hope he has. I’ve been boasting to everyone within earshot that I’m going to be the one to take him out. It’s a strategy I like to call luring. Just like a fish attracted to a shining plastic orb, I will lure the murderer into my trap and then devour him whole. And if I’m unable to take his life, I have a band of merry men who are just itching to introduce themselves to him.