by Huss, JA
“Drink?” he asks. “I just stole it from a waitress so I could make a good impression. So please,” he begs, charming me with a smile that reveals no teeth. One of those sly smiles. Very sexy smiles. And Jesus, when I look him up and down from close proximity, he is the whole package too. “Don’t shoot me down,” he says. “I don’t think my ego could take it tonight.”
I make a noise. One of those half grunts, half laughs. Because I’m pretty sure his ego could take it. I’m also pretty sure that no one shoots this man down.
“Mason,” he says, leaning down in my ear so he doesn’t have to yell over the music.
And then he takes my hand and kisses it.
“Lyssa,” I say, momentarily caught up in his spell. I take the drink.
“Nice to meet you, Lyssa.”
I think I blush. I never blush. I’m the one who makes men blush. Still, there it is. Heat creeping up my neck that makes all the hairs stand on end. “You too, Mason. I’ve never seen you here before. New in town?”
“Sure,” he says. Like he’s agreeing with me, but that’s not really true.
“Come to Billionaire Beach often?”
“No,” he says. “You?”
“All the time,” I say. “We have a house here.” Not that I’m staying there. But it’s not a lie. We do have a house here. All my friends from college do. And if this handsome devil didn’t just appear, I’d crash with one of them when the fun was over. But hey… there’s no law that says I have to go home with someone from Billionaire Beach now, is there?
He does one of those nods. The chin-lift kind. A nod of understanding, not really agreement.
Good going, Lyssa. One sentence and he’s already pegged you for what you really are. A spoiled little socialite.
“You wanna go somewhere and talk?” he asks.
I look at my watch. Because I did tell Greg twenty minutes.
“Or have you already made plans with that guy who just left?”
I huff a laugh. “Someone’s been paying attention.”
“I tend to do that when I see something I like.”
“You like me, do you?” I take a sip of the champagne, trying to appear nonchalant. Then take another because he’s just… staring at me. Almost hungrily. A shudder of desire shoots through my body.
“I like what I see so far,” he says, smiling again. Then he laughs. “That’s lame, right? I’m so off my game tonight. Don’t judge me, OK? I’ve had a bad week.”
“Oh.” I laugh. “No, I won’t if you won’t.” I laugh again. Only this time it’s a giggle.
I take another drink, then decide to just down it all in one gulp. I’m acting like a fool. Like a stupid schoolgirl.
And he doesn’t look like a man who dates schoolgirls. He’s definitely older than most people in this club. Over thirty for sure.
But I like it. I like it a lot. Older man. Younger woman. That’s hot.
“So who’d you come here with?” I ask.
“Just me,” he says, panning his hand down his body.
Which makes me take a second look. And then a third. Damn. He is very sexy.
“So what do you say?” he asks.
“Hmmm?” I mumble, unable to stop staring at his brilliant green eyes.
“Talk?” He laughs. “You wanna go somewhere and talk? This really isn’t my scene. I just came out tonight because I didn’t want to be alone.”
Oh, God. I’m dead. Because there is no way I’m not going home with him. It’s a humanitarian crisis. “You’re lonely?” I ask in disbelief.
“Don’t believe me?”
“Not for a second.” I giggle. I really need another drink. Or maybe I’ve drunk too much? I suddenly feel pretty buzzed.
“Come on,” he says, taking my hand and pulling me through the crowd. “I know a quiet place.”
And before I can even think twice, I’m following him. I dump my empty champagne flute on a table as we pass by, and then he’s leading me down the stairs of the VIP section, and towards the back of the club to the secret door where only me, and a few other important guests, get to enter and exit.
So… he’s somebody important, that’s for sure.
By the time we get through the crowd down on the main dance floor and walk through the maze of hallways that lead to the back exit, I’m stumbling.
He stops at the door and looks at me with concern. “You OK, Lyssa?”
I push my wild hair away from my eyes and nod. “Sure. I’m good.”
But when he opens the door and tugs me through it out into the dark, empty alley, I’m not sure I am.
Something is wrong with me.
The cool night air hits my face and I draw in a deep breath of relief.
Maybe it was just too hot in there. Because the wind refreshes me for a moment.
He stops in the alley and turns around, smiling.
“Better?” he says, his voice low now. Kinda growly and sexy.
“Hmmm, yeah,” I say, pushing my hair up off my forehead to let the air flow over me. “Much better.”
“You buzzed?” he asks. “I can get you a ride home if you’re not up to talking.”
He pulls out his phone, like he’s about to summon an Uber. But I place a hand over his phone and say, “No, no. I’m good.”
He smiles again. God, that smile should be illegal.
“Then come on. There’s a little alcove over here where we can have some privacy.”
I follow him. Mostly because he’s still got a hold of my hand and he’s tugging me along. But also because… I really don’t feel right.
I’m stumbling, and dizzy, and a little bit nauseated.
“Take off your shoes,” he says, stopping and bending down. He reaches for my ankle and his touch… Oh, God. His touch is soft and sends chills up my back. I actually forget about how sick I feel and picture him fucking me.
He slips off one gold shoe, sets it on the cement, then reaches for the other ankle and takes that shoe off too.
“Don’t worry,” he says, picking up my shoes in one hand and placing his other hand on my elbow to lead me. “I’ll take care of them for you. This way you won’t trip and fall. I can’t bring you in damaged.”
I laugh at that, finding it unreasonably funny.
Until the meaning of his words actually hits my brain and I realize what he just said.
“What?” I say groggily.
He looks over his shoulder as he pulls me around a corner and smiles.
And that’s when I see the van.
That’s when I realize what’s really happening here.
He charmed me.
Drugged me.
And now he’s gonna take me.
CHAPTER THREE - MASON
She stops dead in the alley as fear floods past the drug I slipped into her champagne.
Some guys might panic at this. Some guys might worry she’ll scream and that the people on the beach, less than a hundred yards away, will hear her. Some guys… but not this guy.
This is what I do.
Her father hired me because I’m the best. And believe me, I’ve dealt with every kind of capture scenario there is. And all of them were big men, like me. All of them could put up a real fight. And none of them were stupid enough to accept a drink from a stranger in a fucking nightclub.
So I don’t panic and I don’t worry.
I just smile. “What’s wrong?” I ask. “You OK, princess?”
She makes a face at me. If she wasn’t drugged I might worry. Because I’ve heard how she reacted to the last guy who attempted to bring her in a few months ago.
“Where are we going?” she asks, swaying a little.
“Just right here,” I say, slipping my hands around her waist and backing up into a wall. Then I lean down into her neck and kiss her, whispering, “We wanted some privacy, right?”
She hesitates. Like maybe this isn’t what she thought.
It is, but she wants to believe me. They all want to believe they’re gonn
a get one more chance. One more day of freedom. That I’m not the one who brings them in.
I just need to string her along for a few minutes and let the drug overtake her. Then I throw her in the van, drive her up to some private country estate, and collect my payment.
So fucking easy.
“You don’t want to kiss me, Lyssa?” I ask. “Because I’m only here for one night. So… last chance.”
She tilts her head up. Eyes locked on mine. Smiles.
And then she knees me in the balls.
I am wearing a cup. I come prepared for all possible scenarios. But that shit still hurts enough for me to double over.
It’s one second. Just one.
But they don’t call her Wild Thing for nothing.
She turns and runs.
Bolts down the alley and I chase her. She’s mostly stumbling forward on momentum alone, but she’s still fast.
I dig down and stretch my long legs out, pumping my arms to gain speed. Then, just before she reaches the corner, I snatch her by the back of her dress. She crashes backwards into my chest, knocking me off balance a little.
She turns on me, teeth bared, eyes wild, and drags her perfectly manicured fingernails down the side of my cheek.
Oh. No, she didn’t.
We both stop, momentarily stunned.
And then she’s running again. This time in the other direction, right towards the van.
I go after her. It’s a long back alley. So even though people are so close we can hear them laughing and partying on the beach, they are on the other side of all these buildings.
I stretch my arm again, but this time the second I get a hold of the strap on her dress, she whirls around with fists raised.
This snaps the strap on her dress, and it falls down, revealing one of her large, round, naked breasts.
I’m more concerned about that than she is, because she doesn’t pause or even let out a gasp of rage.
She just punches me in the face.
And damn, that little fist packs some power. My jaw slides to the right a little and I stop to look at her.
She punches me again.
But I grab her by both wrists and pull her in to my body, then quickly turn her around. One arm around her waist, one hand cupped over her mouth so she can’t scream.
“You’re gonna pay for that,” I growl into her neck. Then urge her forward with my hips, kneeing her legs at the same time, letting her know we are walking now.
She’s screaming beneath my hand. Trying to bite me. And her body is wriggling and squirming. Her ass is pressing against my groin, and even though I’m wearing a cup, I can feel that.
I can feel all of that and my cock begins to flood with blood, finding this whole thing more than a little erotic.
“Stop it,” I hiss, more pissed at myself right now than I am about her struggle. Because this little fight with her is turning me on.
There is no doubt Lyssa Baylor is beautiful. She’s one of those golden girls, but at the same time, there’s a bleak tragic look to her. I like that look. Lost, dark, desperate, wild girls are kinda my thing.
Just… not this wild girl.
She continues to wriggle and my cock continues to grow. There’s also the added fact that her bare nipple rubs against my arm around her waist each time she bends forward, trying to shake me loose.
“Stop it,” I say again. “I’m not gonna hurt you.”
She screams in my hand, shaking her head back and forth like a wild animal.
I drag her towards the van. It’s very close. She really helped me out in that department. But she resists and fights every step of the way. Still kicking and screaming. Still trying to bite me and still rocking her body backwards and forwards until her fucking naked tit is cupped underneath my arm.
God. It’s so soft and squishy. Surprise, surprise, Mason. You were wrong—they are most definitely real.
That kinda turns me on too.
Get your head together. You’re in the middle of a capture job. Throw her ass in the van and get the hell out of here.
Right. Do not think about how one more tug on that dress will rip it right off her.
I finally manage to get her to the back of the van, amazed that no one has happened upon our little struggle, but then realize that whole thing probably took less than a minute.
It’s cool, I tell myself. It’s all good.
I unwrap my arm from around her waist, holding her tightly with the hand I still have over her mouth. She’s breathing hard into it. And her hair is covering her face and mine too as I reach for the handle on the van.
She writhes, breaking free. She’s already running when I take off after her and reach out, grab at her dress and then…
Yup.
I do it.
I rip it right off her.
She slows. Just enough for me to wrap both my arms around her, swing her around, stumble forward, and throw her into the back of the van.
She falls into it on all fours with a hard thump, her bare ass up in the air.
I reach in without thinking and slap her cheek hard. Hard enough to make her squeal and turn around, baring her pussy and her breasts in the same instant.
“My dress!” she says, weak and groggy.
Fucking drug is finally overpowering her.
I look at the dress on the ground, just a useless scrap of fabric now, and shrug. Throw it in as evidence. Because her father is gonna be pissed if she shows up naked.
“That’s what you get,” I say, breathing hard from our fight. “You little brat.”
I start to close up the door and she squeaks out, “My Choos!”
“What?” I ask though the crack in the door, thinking she’s just wasted now.
“My Jimmy Choos! My shoes!”
She’s naked, legs spread open to reveal her bare pussy, and her perfect tits are bouncing as she scrambles to sit up.
And she’s worried about her shoes?
I slam the door shut and I’m just about to walk around and get in the driver’s side when I spot the shoes on the ground where I dropped them after she ran.
“Fuck,” I say, walking over to scoop them up. I get in the van, open the little window to the back, and throw them through. “There’s your fucking shoes.”
Wild thing.
I sigh. Blood running down my face from her scratches. My jaw aching from her punches. My balls definitely unhappy, even with the protection of the cup.
And my cock is hard.
Because I’m a man and I can’t help it.
That shit was hot.
CHAPTER FOUR - LYSSA
I sit there in the dark after he slams the door closed. A few seconds later a window opens above my head, and he says, “There’s your fucking shoes,” as he tosses them through. One of them hits me in the head and the other drops into my lap.
I really didn’t need that. My head is already pounding and my vision is blurry. I reach down into my lap to push the shoe away and realize I’m naked.
I knew that.
I just forgot.
How? How did I forget that?
Oh, yeah. This charming bastard drugged my drink.
What a total fuckup I am. I know better than to drink anything at a club that I didn’t buy myself and didn’t have eyes on the whole time. I know better.
But he charmed me. Those eyes, and that smile. And his body.
What the fuck is wrong with me? Am I daydreaming about the man who just abducted me?
I try to turn around, intent on banging on the window. Demanding that I be let out. But I’m too tired. Too wasted.
My body slumps instead of sitting up and that’s when I realize I’m on a mattress and there’s a blanket. It takes me whole minutes to rearrange my body so I’m not only underneath the blanket, but lying down in a position that doesn’t make me feel like I was just dumped in a van.
For some reason my ass is stinging.
The motion of the drive is sorta soothing and I find myself nod
ding off. Too sleepy and groggy to keep my eyes open or even try to come up with an escape plan.
Besides, he said he wasn’t gonna hurt me.
Oh, Lyssa, that still-sober part of my brain says. You’re delusional.
No one abducts a pretty, young girl with no intention of hurting them.
“Yeah,” I hear him say on the other side of the window.
Mason. His name is Mason. I remember that much.
“I got her. I’m on my way now.”
Who is he talking to? Where are we going?
“A little bit,” he says. “Not much.”
Pause.
“You know. Typical girl fight.”
Girl fight? Did he just insult me? I think I did pretty good considering he’s like eight inches taller than me, seventy pounds heavier, and he drugged me.
I kicked fucking ass, is what I did. That was not a fair fight.
“She’s fine. We should be there in about three hours.”
Pause.
Three hours. I force my brain to think about what’s three hours away from Billionaire Beach and then I gasp. “Oh, no,” I moan.
“What?” he says. And for a second I think he’s talking to me. “That wasn’t the deal.” Then I realize he’s not. He’s talking to whoever’s on the phone. “Mr. Baylor—”
“What?” I gasp.
“—I told you my terms. I’ll be there in three hours and you had better be waiting. I’m a bounty hunter, not a goddamned babysitter.”
I make myself get up on my knees. And that’s not easy. I’m very drugged, but it’s not getting worse. It’s not getting better, it’s just not getting worse. So either he gave me something that isn’t supposed to completely knock me out, or he gave me a very low dose of something that is.
I pound on the window. “No!” I yell. “No! Let me out!”
“Yes,” he says. “That’s her.”
Pause.
“I didn’t give her much. Just enough to throw her in the van.”
Pause.
“Dude,” he says, clearly irritated with my stepfather. Because that’s who’s on the other end of this phone conversation. That’s who hired him to abduct me. “I’m a fucking professional. I think I know what I’m doing.” He hangs up after that. Mumbles, “Fucking asshole.”