by Abbi Cook
His eyebrows slowly rise into his forehead, and he stares at me in surprise for a few seconds before he says, “This isn’t a meet and greet. Sit down.”
“Could I at least know what I should call you?” I ask, hoping I’m not pushing my luck.
Those eyebrows that just made him look shocked now dive in toward his nose to make him look very angry. Narrowing his eyes, he answers, “You don’t listen very well, honey.”
“I’m just asking your name.”
Suddenly, he winces and shakes his head, clearly in pain as he grabs his thigh. With a groan, he finally gives me what I want. “King. Now if you don’t sit down right the fuck now, I swear to God I’m going to do something you’re going to regret.”
Quickly, I return to that tan recliner he sat me in before and look up at him to assess my captor for the first time. I guess I always assumed if someone did grab me like my father warned me about, they’d look like my uncle Victor. I haven’t seen him in a long time, but I remember him being a portly man more like King’s boss.
King is nothing like that. My eyes scan his frame and I guess he’s got to be at least six foot three, maybe taller. I felt how solid he was when he held me against his body. All muscle, he’s much stronger looking than either my uncle or his boss.
And he’s younger than I imagined the guy who might grab me would be. Again, I figured it would be some henchman of one of my uncle’s rivals, a man in his forties or fifties with slicked back hair. Maybe he’d stink of cigar smoke and liquor. Maybe he’d have a gravelly voice after years of smoking and shitty living.
Then again, he could look like my cousins who work for the family. They’re young like King. But he doesn’t remind me of them either. Then again, Jaxon and Cason have never been anything other than my protectors when boys bullied me in grade school.
While all of this runs through my mind, I see him stop next to the couch on the far wall and grab on to the back of it like he can’t walk another step. My natural instinct kicks in, and I want to help him. I hear his shallow breathing as he steadies himself. He’s in agony from that knife wound. Memories from stories my mother told me from her time as an ER nurse rush back into my mind.
I open my mouth to ask him if he needs help but quickly clamp my lips together when he turns back and glares at me. Whatever then. Suffer, you son of a bitch.
Instead, I preoccupy myself with how my uncle will get me out of there. I have no doubt he can. These guys aren’t any smarter than he is, so why not? And he’s just as bad as they are, so I know he will.
But the more I try to convince myself that I won’t be trapped in King’s apartment for much longer, I feel hope begin to slip away. I’ve been gone for hours. Does anyone know I’m missing? My mother calls every night to check on me, something I normally roll my eyes at when I see her number show up on my cell phone at ten o’clock. Certainly she’ll do that tonight.
A feeling of dread settles into me when I remember I left my phone at home tonight because I only planned to run around the neighborhood and didn’t think I’d be gone long. Now when everyone realizes I’m gone, they won’t have the clue that I was taken off that street near my house.
God, I’ve seen this in every real crime show I’ve ever watched. When my mother doesn’t get an answer to her call, she or my father will go to my house eventually and see my phone there. Crucial hours when they could be asking people in the homes near where that asshole grabbed me will be lost because they’ll assume I was taken from my home.
The more I think about it, the more I feel my hope begin to wane. What if they don’t realize I’m gone until tomorrow? What if they don’t make the connection between my uncle’s life and mine?
I quickly assure myself that won’t happen. My father is just as paranoid as he’s always been about someone grabbing me one night. Unlike my mother, who married into the Varens family, my father knows all too well what Victor’s done in his life. He may never have been part of his brother’s business, but he’s never completely turned a blind eye to it.
He’ll make the connection when he doesn’t find me at home and sees my cell phone sitting on the kitchen counter. I have to believe that.
Over and over, I repeat that like a mantra to myself, but doubt creeps in with each time I silently say it. My emotions swell inside me, and finally, I can’t stop myself from feeling despondent.
Turning away so King can’t see me, I tear up with each second the worst settles into my mind. Sniffling, I wipe under my eyes, refusing to give up just yet.
“Crying? I would have thought a member of the Varens family would be tougher than that,” he says with a taunting laugh.
I spin around to see him sitting on the couch leering at me like my pain amuses him. Hating him and how smug he seems even as he sits there in pain, I snap, “Fuck you. You don’t know me. You don’t know a thing about me or my family.”
He sneers at my defense of myself like it doesn’t impress him. “I know enough about your kind, sweetheart.”
I wait for him to continue his insults, but he turns away, ignoring me. Infuriated by his dismissal, I don’t stop myself and say, “Be a man and kill me, if that’s your plan.”
The words are barely out of my mouth when I fear I’ve poked the bear one time too often. He flashes me a wicked smile and stands from the couch to slowly walk over to where I sit. Even hurt, he emanates power with every step, and I’m intimidated more than I want to admit, even to myself.
Looking up at him, I struggle not to look away I’m so scared, but if I’m going to die right here and now, I won’t leave this life as a coward. I may not be as able to hurt him as a man may, but I’m a Varens.
King stares down at me, locking his gaze on mine, and I can’t help but notice how unique the color of his eyes is. It’s like a deep chocolate brown mixed with a forest green, and as I look up at him, I’m amazed at how unique they are.
Like two beautiful, exotic jewels in a vicious face.
His breath is labored again, and I sense he’s in more pain than he wants to let on, but his power and strength continues to radiate from every inch of him as I wait for his response to my challenge. Each time he inhales, his broad chest expands, and when he exhales, his warm breath drifts over me. Seconds pass into a minute without him saying a word, though, keeping me on the edge of my seat waiting for what will come next.
Arching a single dark eyebrow, he lowers himself so his face is mere inches from mine. Those stunning eyes of his stare deeply into mine, making me feel like he knows every thought racing through my head.
When I don’t think I can face him for another second more, he finally responds to my taunt and the room instantly feels like someone has sucked out every last ounce of air.
“I don’t plan to kill you, little girl. I’ve got other plans for you.”
His words send a chill down my spine. I don’t know what he means, but that wicked smile of his makes me think he’s even more vicious than I first thought.
As he steps away from me, I wonder if he’s going to torture me. My father often warned me that if any of the Varens’ enemies took me, they’d do unspeakable things to hurt me in order to get to my uncle. But they wouldn’t kill me because I’d be useful to them as something to trade. They’d just cause me enough pain to make him want to give them what they want.
My mind whirls with possibilities, each one more terrible than the last, and tears fill my eyes once more. I won’t let him have the satisfaction of seeing me afraid of him, though, so I quickly steel myself, forcing my tears away.
King may have all the power here, but I have control over myself and I won’t give that up without a fight. If he thinks I’m some little girl, as he keeps calling me, he’s confused. I might be only twenty-one and only a woman, but I’m a Varens.
He can try to do his worst. I won’t break easily. His psychotic friend grabbed the wrong woman from that quiet side street. Soon King will see that for himself.
Chapter Four
King
My eyes fly open as a spike of pain tears through my thigh, taking my breath away. Fuck! When I feel better, I’m going to kill that son of a bitch Tap. I push myself up against the headboard and take a deep breath as another jolt of pain races toward my groin.
Jesus Christ! I’ve been cut before. Why does this hurt so much? Fuck, I’ve been shot before and didn’t feel this bad.
Lifting the blankets, I look down and see my leg’s bright red around where Stills stitched me up. A third wave of pain rolls over me, taking my breath away. It’s infected. Son of a bitch. Fucking Stills must have used a dirty needle.
I grit my teeth and tighten my fists in the sheets as I wait for the pain to subside. The last thing I want to do is have Sophie help me, but I don’t have a choice, it seems. It’s either her or Duke, and he’ll set me off on the sidelines for God knows how long. In the meantime, Tap will recover from the beat down I gave him and be front and center again finding ways to get in the boss’s good graces.
Including taking Sophie back.
“Fuck. No way I’m letting him one up me,” I groan before calling out for her. “Sophie! Get in here now!”
A few seconds later, she appears in my doorway looking terrified. Her wide eyes stare at me filled with fear because she has no idea how little I could do to her at the moment.
Hovering near the door, she doesn’t say a word. All she does is stare, which only makes me feel worse.
“Get in here. I need your help,” I say between gritted teeth.
She slowly walks toward where I sit in bed, far more timid than when she dared me to kill her a few hours ago. Too frightened, she stops a few feet away and shakes her head.
Before she can say whatever the fuck she plans to, I lose my patience and bark, “Get the fuck over here and help me, goddamnit! Stop acting like some frightened mouse!”
Thankfully, she obeys and turns on the lamp sitting on the nightstand. “I don’t know what to do,” she says in a tiny voice.
In the light, I see how bad my leg truly is. Not only is it red, but it’s swollen around where that fucker Tap sliced me. Definitely infected.
“Get me a warm washcloth and some peroxide out of the bathroom.”
It feels like she takes forever to get back. Maybe if she didn’t walk at a goddamned snail’s pace. I watch her take each step back toward the bed excruciatingly slowly, and every second that passes my leg throbs in tandem with my heartbeat.
She returns as a wave of pain washes over me. Throwing my head back, I grit my teeth and hold my breath as I pray it ends before I black out.
Suddenly, I feel warmth on my leg and open my eyes to see her pressing the washcloth to my outer thigh. It feels so good that for a few sweet moments I forget about the agony I’m in and relax a little. Unballing my fists from the covers, I take a deep breath and let it out slowly, happy for the relief she’s giving me.
“I think you need a doctor.”
Her suggestion tears me out of the first good moments I’ve had in hours. Dismissing her, I shake my head. “I’m fine. Just clean up the blood near it.”
“Do you have any pain killers? I can get them for you. Just tell me where they are.”
Again, I shake my head. “No. I’ll be fine.”
“If you took something, then you’d be able to at least get some rest. I can get you them since you can’t walk. Just tell me where to go.”
Her insistence on arguing with me makes all the good I feel from her pressing that washcloth to my leg disappear, and the pain comes roaring back again. Furious, I push her away, disgusted at having to listen to her tell me what I should do.
She falls back, landing on the floor with a thud. Closing my eyes, I try to push away the rage brewing inside me, but it mixes with the pain to make me want to kill someone.
I grab the washcloth, which feels like ice against my skin now, and throw it at her. “This is cold! Warm it up again and don’t take forever to get back here!”
A minute later, she returns, clearly afraid of me. I’m tired of this shit. I can’t deal with her problems and my leg, so I pull her down next to me and snap, “Unless you want to see what happens when I’m really angry, take care of my leg. Now!”
Her hands trembling, she gently presses the warm washcloth to my leg. I close my eyes to revel in how good it feels and hear her exhale softly as she relaxes next to me.
“How does that feel?” she asks after a minute of the two of us saying nothing.
A wave of pain hits me, so I answer through clenched teeth once more, “Fine.”
Slowly, I relax again, and my breathing calms as the pain subsides and I sigh at the warmth of the washcloth against my skin calming me.
I feel her lift it off my leg and instantly open my eyes to see why. She looks at me like she’s terrified and forces a smile before placing it back against my leg with such care I wonder if she’s done this before.
“Are you a nurse?”
Sophie looks up and shakes her head. “I’m a hostage.”
“I meant…” In disgust, I don’t bother to finish my sentence.
But she continues. “My mother’s a nurse. I’m going to school for art.” She stops and looks away. “At least I was.”
I groan as she tenderly cleans the wound, and a second later, she pulls away, recoiling in horror.
“Don’t worry. I’m not a complete, fucking monster. I don’t plan on hurting you while you’re helping me.”
My words fail to reassure her, though. “I saw what you did with that man you beat unconscious. Why would I expect anything better from you?” she asks.
Her mention of that asshole Tap makes my anger surge again. “He’s a fucking dick. He got what he had coming to him.”
When she doesn’t say anything in response, I snap, “You should be thanking me. If Tap had gotten his hands on you, I can promise you wouldn’t be able to talk. You’d be fucking lucky to be conscious after he got done with you.”
And yet still she doesn’t seem to see she’s gotten a good deal by coming with me.
“I guess I should be thankful then,” she says with a healthy hint of defiance.
“That smart mouth is going to get you into trouble,” I warn.
My threat makes her afraid once more. I see the fear fill her dark eyes. Good. I might be stuck in this bed and in fucking agony, but I’m not a man she or anyone else should mess with.
Her hand slips off the washcloth and brushes the inside of my thigh before she quickly moves it away. A rush of arousal awakes need inside me, and my cock begins to harden. I’m naked under the sheet covering everything but my injured leg, and it doesn’t take long before the outline of my hard-on is obvious.
I see her cheeks turn red when she notices it. She also seems nervous, all of a sudden, too.
“What’s wrong, little one? Never seen a man’s cock get hard? You’re not a virgin, are you?” I ask, liking the idea that she might be untouched.
She frowns but won’t look at me as she answers my question. “No, I’m not a virgin. I just…”
Laughing at how uncomfortable she is with seeing me get hard, I say, “You’ve obviously spent your time with the wrong boys. A man should get excited when you touch his thigh like that.”
Confused, she shakes her head and looks back at me. “I just would have thought you’d be in too much pain to have that happen.”
I lift my hips off the mattress, loving how getting hard has taken my mind off the pain in my leg, and palm my cock through the sheet. “You have a way of making a man forget how much pain he’s in, little girl.”
Once again, she blushes at the reality of my arousal hidden right below the covers. I like how sweet she looks at that moment, and quickly my mind moves to imagining what her pretty mouth would look like wrapped around my cock.
As I fantasize, she looks up at me with that same fear in her eyes as before. “What are you going to do with me? Are you going to kill me?”
I shake my head and r
un my palm over my hard cock again. “Not if I don’t have to. I’d rather have you be useful in an entirely different way.”
She blushes at the vague reference of being with me and stands, taking the washcloth away from my leg. Instantly, the pain comes rushing back and I grab her by the wrist.
Her eyes grow wide as I tighten my hold on her arm. “Make it warm and come right back.”
“I cleaned it up. There’s no more to do,” she says tearfully.
“Just do as I say, damnit.”
Releasing my hold on her arm, I watch her hurry to the bathroom to do as I ordered. I hear the water running and pray to God she doesn’t do something stupid instead of returning. The last thing I want right now is to have to get out of this bed to pull her back through the window in there.
But I know she hasn’t given up on the idea of escaping. Even the searing pain in my leg and the delicious thoughts of fucking her running through my head haven’t made me blind to that.
As I sit there truly hoping she doesn’t make the wrong choice at this moment, I hear the water stop and then see the light go dark. A few seconds later, she hurries back to my bedside and places the warm cloth on my thigh, making me breathe a sigh of relief.
“Better?” she asks, wide-eyed, not knowing how sure I’d been that she’d try to escape that time.
Suddenly exhausted, I nod and let my head fall back against the pillow. “Better.”
“Why did you look so unhappy when I was walking back here?”
With a sigh, I open my eyes and smile. “I was in pain.”
“That’s it? You looked like something else was wrong,” she says, searching my face for her answer.
“What else could be wrong? I’m lying here with a gash in my leg and more pain than I’ve ever felt in my life. I’m basically living the dream.”
My smart ass answer confuses her, and she frowns. “Is your boss going to come here any time soon?”
“I fucking hope not. Pretending I’m not in agony takes more fucking energy than I have at this moment.”