by Dark Angel
But I’m not complaining. Tonight, these spies of ours have really come in handy.
I go into the building and leave Merc and Benny to sort out the details of how we’re gonna get home. One of the bodyguards tells me which apartment she’s in, and I go find her.
Soon, I’m standing in front of her apartment door, and I find myself having to take a deep breath.
She just does that to me. She’s electrifying, and she sets my heart on fire.
What can I say? She’s the most beautiful goddamn thing I’ve ever seen in my life.
I knock on the door and don’t hear anything, so I knock louder.
And then I think, What am I doing knocking on her door? I’m here to kidnap her. I might as well break the damn thing down to get what I want—her.
And so I pound on the door, and something just tells me she’s in there. It’s too quiet. I realize this might be her worst nightmare coming true, but I have hope that when she sees it me, things will change.
If she’s a good girl, she’ll go with me willingly. Otherwise, we’ll have to do things the hard way.
I knock one more time and then easily bust the door in. I see her standing there with a white blanket wrapped around her shoulders, and her eyes widen to see that it’s me.
Then things start to register. She sees that I’m a potential enemy, and she takes a step back as though anything could keep me from her now.
Fuck me.
Is it possible that she looks more gorgeous wrapped in a blanket than she does wearing a ten thousand-dollar dress?
She’s a sight for sore eyes. I never expected to see her like this, undressed and vulnerable. I have to fight the urge to snatch the blanket off to see her beautiful body uncovered.
“What are you doing here?” she demands.
I smile at her in a devilish way. The moment has come for her to find out.
“I’m here to help you make your escape.”
“Um, you could’ve just knocked. I was gonna answer it.”
“I’m impatient,” I shrug. “Now come with me.”
She looks at me like I must be kidding.
“Listen, we may have shared a kiss, but that gives you no right to do this. Do you even know who I am? Who my father is? And how’d you find my apartment anyway?”
“Go pack a bag. Now,” I say as I look around the hallway making sure all’s clear.
She stands up to me and says, “You can’t be serious. I only just met you tonight. I don’t even know your name.”
My heart flickers with momentary hesitation as I think how she’ll soon turn away from me in hatred when she finds out who I am.
This is the moment I’ve been waiting for. She’s about to find out the truth.
Gone are the last vestiges of trust she may have put into me. I am her sworn enemy.
“You want a name? How about Tristan Montague?”
She backs away from me in suspicion. The little princess finally understands who it was that kissed her tonight.
I’m her biggest fear realized. I’m the man who she was taught to despise—Dark Lord, crime boss, and murderer.
“You can’t be…Tristan,” she says almost inaudibly.
“I am. Now go pack a bag. We don’t have much time,” I say, feeling impatient because any moment now the guards could realize what happened.
Merc and Benny won’t be able to keep this quiet forever.
“You were lying to me! Y-you kissed me, and you knew all along that this would happen. How could you?” she asks incredulously.
For a moment, I’m taken aback by her pure innocence. She looks at me like I’ve committed the biggest act of betrayal in the world.
What can I say? It’s fucking endearing.
“None of that matters now. I said pack a bag,” I say, fully expecting her to obey me.
“I’m not going anywhere with you. You led me on. You lied about who you were.”
“I didn’t exactly lie. You shouldn’t have found yourself in a darkened corner with a stranger, Isobel,” I say to her, feeling possessive as ever.
“I can’t believe you did this to me,” she says. “So that kiss, all of it was just an act?”
My heart beats in my chest a little harder. Now is not the time to tell her the truth. She can’t know that she has any kind of hold over me.
She can’t know that I already feel like I’m in love.
“Maybe. Now quit questioning me. Go pack a bag. I won’t say it again.”
She looks around the room like maybe there’s something she can do.
There’s nothing. Her father left her with no bodyguards. It’s his own downfall.
And it’s her fault for trusting me so quickly.
I know I’m being an asshole. But right now, business is business, and I need this Capulet princess to come with me.
I grab her arm and walk her to the closet. She has a nice little place. But it pales in comparison to where I’m going to bring her.
I pull the blanket from her shoulders and let it fall to the floor.
There she is—my angel, wearing only lingerie and diamonds. What a fucking sight.
She’s light and lithe and perfectly curvy. My cock strains hard against the tuxedo pants I’m wearing.
I think of how it would feel to have her sink to her knees in front of me here and beg to have my cock inside her.
Instead, her eyes fill with tears, and it breaks my fucking heart.
“I can’t believe you used me like that. I’m not going anywhere with you.” She says the words like she’s trying to be brave but I can hear the tremble in her voice.
I grab a Louis Vuitton duffel bag and start to throw her clothes into it.
“Fine, if you don’t want to pack, then I’ll do it for you.”
I swipe some garments off the hangers in her closet and push them into the bag, and then I go to her bathroom and empty the cabinets for her. I see that she’s only wearing heels, and so I grab a couple pairs of boots, and we go.
I’m nothing if not a caretaker. Even during a kidnapping, I make sure my baby has all she needs.
That’s enough crap. I can buy her anything else she might need for her extended stay with the Montagues.
“Why don’t you cover up before we go outside?” I ask her.
She stares at me, unmoving.
This girl. My heart is on fire, and electricity courses through my veins. God, how I want to fuck her.
I envision bending her over the tufted ottoman and sinking my cock deep into her virgin pussy. I know she’s a virgin. Isobel Capulet has a reputation, and I doubt if she’s done wrong by it.
“I said I’m not going anywhere with you,” she says calmly.
Her defiance turns me on, but it also makes me angry.
She needs punishment. I’ll be sure to deliver that later.
I grab a white silk robe that I see hanging in her closet and throw it around her shoulders before grabbing her arm to lead her out of the apartment.
I don’t have much time. I have to get this deal done.
Daddy’s little princess was left unguarded, and I found a way in. I’m pretty fucking proud of myself.
“Why are you doing this?” she says as I pull her into the living room.
“That’s for me to know and for you to find out. Stop asking questions.” I tug at her arm. “Let’s go.”
I take my tuxedo jacket off and put it around her. Who says I’m not a gentleman?
“Say goodbye to your apartment, Isobel. You’ll never see this place again,” I say the words and know it’s the truth.
I will never let her go. She’s good for me—both personally and professionally. She just has to realize it.
She looks around the apartment, her eyes full of tears, but not a single drop falls.
Then she puts her arms into the sleeves of my jacket and says, “Fine. Do what you will with me. I don’t care anymore. I don’t care if I live or die.”
Her words pull at my goddamn hearts
trings. I don’t want her to feel like that. I want to own her, to claim her, and for her to be happy with me.
We’re a long way away from that, I know.
To her, I’m just a stranger that betrayed her. I’m Tristan Montague, infamous criminal. Why should she trust me?
I can tell she’s upset. Tears threaten to fall.
I’m not the stranger she knew in the hallway. I’m not the tender guy that was willing to listen.
I’m a Montague. That must come as a shock to her.
I lead her out the door and down the hallway.
She says, “You know I could scream, right?”
“I know you won’t, Isobel.” I say. “If you know what’s good for you, you won’t. Because as soon as you make a noise, I’ll stop you and I’ll use my tie as a gag if need be.”
She decides against screaming—and it’s a good thing, too. I have my security guys and my spies all over the place. Even if she were to scream, no one would hear her—or care.
I’ve set this up perfectly. Her parents are all the way upstairs in the penthouse suite, unable to hear me slip their daughter out into the night.
I have my guys all over this floor, and it’s easy to walk her directly out of the building and into the alleyway where Benny and Merc are waiting with the limousine.
“Welcome to your new life, Isobel,” I say.
She glares at me and gets in the limo.
11
Isobel
Rain slams into the car, seeming to come from every direction at once.
Each drop hits the vehicle with a distinctive splatter, tiny explosions combining to create a dull roar.
I can barely think through the noise.
It cascades down the windows, completely obscuring my vision.
Just one more obstacle between me and freedom.
I stare hard at the shimmering droplets that slide freely down the glass, trying my best to look transfixed.
In reality, I hardly see them, my thoughts racing too fast to process their journey.
Besides, I’ve seen rain like this countless times.
I may have never danced in it or felt the thrill of jumping feet first into a puddle, but I’ve tracked its progress across glass. Many times.
I’ve watched others dance in it.
There’s little else to do when you’re a prisoner in your own home.
Eventually, the sight becomes tiresome, and you cease to even notice the weather. Weather, after all, only really affects those out in it.
Tonight though, I call to mind fascinations that have died, willing my face to pretend at distraction.
Really, I just can’t bear to look at anything else.
I can’t bring myself to confront my current situation.
Or them.
Tristan Montague has me captive. He and his friends from the ball.
The three of them ride along with me, voices occasionally sounding at the edge of my thoughts.
I pretend I can’t hear them, that they aren’t there.
I pretend that I am not here.
But I can feel their eyes on me just the same. Watching, examining. Tristan’s especially seem to pierce me.
My heart beats quickly in my chest.
My mind is a whirlwind of conflicting emotions.
Most presently, I feel betrayal. Anger.
That my fleeting moment of hope should come from the hands of my enemy makes me feel ill.
The memory of his lips on my own tugs at me, trying to draw me back to that corner of the lobby. To the feeling of freedom that came so easily at his touch.
I know I don’t know him and that he owes me nothing, but my heart screams that he’s betrayed me in the most intimate of ways.
My stupid, stupid heart.
Tears threaten my eyes, stinging as I channel all of my strength into holding them back.
I absolutely refuse to cry here, in front of this man.
Tristan Montague.
The enemy who even now makes my heart race in a way that has little to do with fear.
I feel the ghost of his hands on me, the aftertaste of his tongue in my mouth.
I render myself clean of the thoughts, reminding myself that he isn’t who I thought.
He isn’t my rescuer.
He’s not the embodiment of a desire held for too long.
He’s a Montague, a criminal who saw an opportunity in my weakness, something he could exploit.
I, lost in my own hell, allowed him that. I gave him everything he needed to capitalize on my fear.
Guilt brings the tears rushing back to my eyes, and I bite my lip, forcing them into retreat.
Not here. I can’t cry here.
My mind is a treacherous place, filled to the brim with pitfalls.
I refocus my attention, instead of listening to my captors as they drone on.
“Estbow Manor,” a voice says. It’s one I already feel I know well—the voice of Tristan Montague. “We have to get her out of the city.”
“It’ll have to be there,” one of the other men says. “Nowhere in the city is safe.”
I bite my tongue to keep from chiming in.
They’re fools, all of them.
No place is safe. Not from father.
His wrath doesn’t know any bounds.
They could drag me kicking and screaming to Mars; he’d find me even there.
The thought of my father makes my stomach fold into a knot. Rather than feeling comforted by his imminent rescue, I feel a deep sense of dread.
He’ll find me all right; he’ll find all of us.
He’ll flay them alive for this insult.
Part of me wants to warn them, to turn and tell them all that they have to take me back.
Continuing down this path won’t gain them anything but a painful death.
I refocus my eyes on the window.
I can’t help them now.
Father will find us, blood will spill, and I’ll wear flawless white to my wedding with the Governor.
Nothing has changed—or ever will.
Thoughts of my father paw at my mind, unsettling me to my core. Eventually they lead elsewhere, to those who might really be worried that I’m gone.
When Thelma comes home, what will she think?
I feel her terror as if it was my own, partially because it is.
She’ll be worried sick.
Theo’s image forms in my head next, fearful, angry.
Theo and Thelma aren’t like my father. They aren’t violent by nature. It would take something absolutely dire to make them so.
Something, for example, like me being kidnapped.
I see it all so clearly, the entire weight of the Capulets falling down on these men.
They’re already dead and haven’t even realized it.
I try again to find comfort in the fact, but my stomach only knots up tighter, my skin breaking out in a cold sweat.
I feel a hand fall on my shoulder and nearly jump out of my skin.
Turning so fast I almost give myself whiplash, I find Tristan Montague himself. Somehow, I missed his approach.
“Isobel,” he says, his thumb tracing a line across the bare skin of my arm.
I don’t so much as blink, turning back to the window and the endless stream of raindrops.
“I know you’re probably scared,” he says. “But don’t worry, I’m not gonna hurt you.”
A particularly large drop of water rolls through my field of vision. I pretend it’s the most hypnotic thing I’ve ever witnessed.
“Isobel,” he says again. “You can’t just ignore me.”
I lean towards the window, my forehead pressing against the cold glass.
From behind me, I hear him growl. It’s a quiet sound but nonetheless full of anger.
Chills race through my body.
My hand clenches tightly against the seat.
Still, I say nothing.
“Isobel,” he says, softly this time.
If I di
dn’t know better, I’d say there’s pain in his voice.
I pretend not to hear.
I pretend that his breath on my neck isn’t making my heart race and my chest heave.
I stare out the window.
Minutes seem to pass—maybe it’s already been hours. In reality, I know it’s been only moments.
Finally, I feel him leave me, a void seeming to open at my back. Cold air rushes in to occupy the space he left.
I hear them speaking, this time in hushed voices.
I don’t try to make out the words. They don’t matter anyway.
I try to calm my traitorous heart instead, try to slow its furious beating.
My gaze tracks the rain.
Outside, the rain never slows. It whips wildly against the car, more ferocious than ever.
My eyes keep track, trying to measure each drop.
Trying to tune out the sound of his voice.
12
Tristan
The rain is falling. .
It seems to never end.
It’s a wet, cold night and I have the princess in my car.
The sound of the wipers on the window echo in my ears.
She won’t speak to me. How can I get mad at that?
Isobel has a reason to hate me now. The thought of that sickens me.
I can’t show weakness because of my attraction to this girl. Business is everything to my family. A Montague doesn’t fail, and he doesn’t collapse under the weight of emotion, either.
I’m born a leader, and I’ll claim my blood right and make my family proud.
A Capulet princess is my ticket to everything.
When I close my eyes, I can already hear the applause and see the smiles on the faces of my family.
We’ve won, and no one even knows it yet. We’ve kidnapped their princess, and now she’s mine.
The thought of that thrills me and makes cock hard, even as I watch her sad face looking out the window, ignoring me.
When the car stops, I can practically hear Isobel’s heartbeat. I see her chest rising and falling quickly. Her fear is warranted, though I would never harm her.
The view from the window is magnificent. This house is a well-kept secret.