Total pages in book: 91
Estimated words: 92160 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 461(@200wpm)___ 369(@250wpm)___ 307(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 92160 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 461(@200wpm)___ 369(@250wpm)___ 307(@300wpm)
The needle’s in my hand before she can react.
The sharp gasp she releases when it bites into her neck makes my dick hard.
She feels it.
The second the drug hits her system, her struggles weaken. I wrap my hand around the back of her neck, yank her mouth to mine, and kiss her. Hard. Claiming. My tongue touches hers, and her eyes flare with drugged shock.
I’ve had this drug particularly formulated to work with the pills she’s been taking under the guise of sleeping meds.
Her body betrays her instantly.
Her muscles lock, and the fight bleeds out of her.
Our lips are still connected.
She claws weakly at my shirt as we break apart, her voice laced with venom as she begs me to stop.
“Don’t,” she cries, her bravado slipping from her face. “Please.”
“Good girl. There we go.” I catch her before she slumps fully to the ground. Holding her against me feels easy. Natural.
Her body fits against mine.
Made for my arms.
It almost makes me feel soft toward her.
“You’ve been mine for a while, solnyshka.” I brush my lips against her temple, then her ear. “Your cunt. Your womb. Your whole fucking body was meant to be mine. And now, you’ll pay for what you’ve done.”
I carry her nestled in my arms like a baby to where the car waits, idling at the curb. I jerk my head at the driver, and he opens the door.
I slide her inside, tuck a blanket around her, and sit next to her.
Time to take my girl home with me.
Chapter 6
ANISSA
Sleep. Blissful, deep sleep. Until it isn’t anymore.
I open one eye, groggy. My head hurts and feels too big for my body.
I wake up slowly. The first thing I register is the cold bite of metal on my wrists. Tight.
The second is a smell that’s all too familiar—one that’s been in my apartment.
Leather. Whiskey. Pine.
My heart beats too fast as memory rushes back. Him.
I wasn’t imagining things. I wasn’t hallucinating. Lovely. My life’s become one long episode of a freaky reality TV psycho-thriller.
I did have a stalker—one who had me terrified and running for my life. My eyes snap open.
Where am I? It’s dark, and I’m… in a cage. A cage.
Oh my fucking god.
The space is dimly lit, one flickering ivory bulb barely cutting through the shadows, the walls bare. If there are windows, they’re sealed tight and covered.
It feels like the ground beneath me is swaying. Am I…moving?
Where the hell am I?
Am I in a truck? A ship?
I don’t know.
But I do know one thing—
This isn’t some damp basement. No duct tape around my wrists. I’m in a fucking cage.
I’m lying on a sleeping mat, with sheets beneath me and a heavy blanket over me, but it doesn’t change where I am—
A prison.
The very thing I’ve spent my entire adult life trying to escape. Bile rises in the back of my throat along with my fury, but I have to stay focused.
Calm.
My body aches.
The back of my head throbs.
I close my eyes, trying to remember what happened.
My head hit a concrete wall. My wrists are sore, trapped in heavy-duty cuffs. I’m no stranger to kink—I’ve played around with handcuffs in my past—but these? These are the real deal. When I tug experimentally, they don’t budge.
I open my mouth, licking dry lips.
At least I’m not gagged.
And then I hear it—
That same heavy, deep breathing that woke me in my apartment.
My voice is hoarse. “Who’s there? Why did I hear you in my apartment? Why are you doing this to me?” I don’t sound as angry as I feel. I could spit venom right now.
There’s a shift in the shadows. My breathing stills.
He’s here.
He’s sitting on the outside of the cage, arms crossed over the sheer mass of him, broad and inked and huge. His hair’s dark, unruly, and his eyes—those fucking eyes—blue-streaked gray, like fire and ash.
I hate the way my stomach clenches when he stares at me as if he… as if he knows me. Calculating. Assessing. Like I’m a problem that needs to be handled.
The cut of his jaw is too sharp, his features unforgivingly violent and raw, his mouth cruel.
A thick neck covered in ink that snakes down his chest and over his shoulders, the type of shoulders built for hard work and heavy lifting.
He leans forward, his body massive. Broad-shouldered, with a quiet intensity radiating from every inch of him.
But it’s the way he watches me that makes my skin crawl and burn at the same time. Like he already owns me. Like the chase is over, and he already knows exactly how this ends.
He has ten minutes, give or take, before I make him regret not kidnapping literally any other woman but me.
I should hate him. I do… I do hate him. But somewhere, under the hate, is something worse. Dangerous.
Something that feels like… fascination.