Chapter 8 Matei
MATEI
Istand in her living room, watching the second hand on my Rolex watch sweep past the three-minute mark. The apartment reeks of cheap vanilla candles and perfume. My men stand nearby, silent as ghosts, their weapons concealed but ready.
She's taking too long.
I walk back into her bedroom. She's dressed now in a skirt and a black midriff shirt with slip-on flats. Her hair is pulled back in a messy ponytail, and her face looks more vulnerable now.
Her hands clutch a small purse.
"I'm not going anywhere with you," she says, her voice shaking. I can tell even she doesn't believe what she's saying.
I don't respond. Instead, I close the distance between us and grab her arm, and she flexes.
"You'll either walk out," I say, "or I'll carry you out."
She looks at me for a moment, then relaxes her arm.
I drag her out and toward the front door, her feet stumbling to keep up. She's lighter than I expected, her body all lean muscle and nervous energy. She twists and jerks, trying to break free, but I don't loosen my hold.
"You're insane!" she says. "Someone's going to hear me! Someone's going to call the cops!"
I glance at her as we pass through the doorway. "If they want to live, no one's going to help you."
Her face pales, and for a moment, she stops fighting. But only for a moment.
By the time we reach the stairwell, she's back to wiggling, so much so that she almost trips on the first step. I catch her, my arm wrapping around her waist to keep her upright.
She screams, a raw, desperate sound that echoes off the concrete walls.
"Help! Somebody help me!"
The sound grates against my nerves. I tighten my grip on her and lean in close, my lips brushing her ear. "Scream all you want, fluture. No one's coming."
She jerks her head away from me, her elbow slamming into my ribs. The impact is sharp, unexpected, and I grunt, my fingers digging into her hip in response.
We're halfway down the stairs when she goes limp, her body sagging against me like dead weight. It's a trick. I've seen it before. She thinks I'll loosen my grip, give her a chance to run. Instead, I hoist her up, draping her over my shoulder.
She screams again, pounding her fists against my back, her legs kicking wildly. One of her shoes falls off and tumbles down the stairs.
"Ridic? asta," I say, pointing to it, and one of my men bends down and grabs it.
We get to the bottom of the stairs, and she starts up again.
"Put me down! Put me down, you fucking psycho!"
I adjust my hold on her, my hand spreading across the back of her thighs to keep her steady.
The SUV is parked at the curb. One of my men opens the rear door as we approach, and I shove Jordan inside. She scrambles backward, her hands bracing against the opposite door, her eyes wild with panic.
I slide in after her, and she lunges.
Her palm cracks across my face, the sound sharp and stinging. My head snaps to the side, and a smile pulls at my lips as adrenaline and a bit of pride for this girl flood through me, raw and primal.
I grab her by the shoulders and slam her back against the window, my hands wrapping around her throat.
Her eyes go wide, her mouth opening in a silent gasp. Her hands fly to my wrists, her nails digging into my skin, but I don't let go. I'm not squeezing like I could, but she doesn't know that. The fear in her eyes tells me so.
"Relax," I say, my voice low and steady despite the fury burning in my chest. "It'll be easier if you do."
She claws at me, her fingers scraping against my forearms, her body thrashing beneath mine. "You're not going to touch me!" she screams, her voice raw and broken. "You're not."
I push her more firmly against the window, cutting off her words. My face is inches from hers now, close enough to see the flecks of gold in her hazel eyes.
"I don't plan on it," I growl, my grip tightening just enough to make her gasp. "No one's going to touch you. Not anymore."
Her body stills. The fight drains out of her all at once, leaving her limp and trembling. I hold her there for another moment, making sure she understands, before I release her.
She slumps against the window, her hands flying to her throat, her chest heaving as she gulps down air. The SUV pulls away from the curb, and I settle back into my seat.
The adrenaline is still coursing through me, making my pulse pound in my ears, and dammit if this isn't turning me on.
She doesn't look at me. She just stares out the window, her body pressed as far away from me as the confined space allows.
The silence stretches between us, and I can hear her breathing. It's shallow and uneven.
I lean forward and grab a bottle of water from the cup holder. I unscrew the cap and hold it out to her.
"For your throat," I say.
She doesn't move. Doesn't even glance at it.
I wait, the bottle extended between us, but she just keeps staring out the window like I'm not even there.
"Take it," I say.
She doesn't, so I set the bottle on the seat between us and lean back.
Minutes pass. Maybe five, maybe ten.
Finally, she moves. Her hand reaches out, slow and hesitant, and she grabs the water bottle. But instead of drinking, she hurls it at my chest.
The plastic bounces off me and lands on the floor, water leaking out.
"You're not going to drug me," she says, her voice stern.
I can't help it. I laugh.
The sound is low and dark, and it fills the SUV. Her head snaps toward me, her eyes blazing with fury and confusion.
I lean forward, pick up the bottle, fully unscrew the cap, take a long drink, then hold it out to her again.
"If I wanted you unconscious, you wouldn't be awake to ask," I say, my voice steady. "I'm not evil."
Her lips curl into a sneer. "Oh yeah? What the fuck is all this?" She gestures around the SUV, her hands shaking. "You kicked in my door, destroyed my stuff, dragged me out of my apartment. What the fuck do you call that?"
I don't answer. She doesn't understand. She can't.
How do I explain that I'm saving her? That she's safer with me than she ever was in that shithole apartment selling herself to strangers?
I can't. Not yet.
And not to mention she has to give me some answers about those blue vials.
So I just stare at her, the water bottle still extended between us, and wait.
She doesn't take it. She just turns back to the window and scoffs.
I set the bottle in the cup holder again and look away. The city gives way to winding roads, the lights growing sparser as we climb into the Hollywood Hills.
Jordan shifts in her seat, her gaze flickering to the window as the landscape changes. I can see the moment she realizes where we're going, the way her shoulders stiffen, the way her breathing quickens.
"Where are you taking me?" she asks.
I don't answer because I don't owe her an explanation.
The SUV turns onto a private road, the gates to my estate looming ahead. They swing open as we approach, and the vehicle glides through.
"This is your house?" she asks.
I glance at her. "It's where you'll be staying."
Her head snaps toward me, her eyes blazing again. "Like hell I will. This isn't some hotel visit, if you hadn't realized. It's a kidnapping."
I ignore her, opening the door as the SUV rolls to a stop. I step out, the cool night air washing over me, and wait for her to follow.
She doesn't move.
I lean back into the car, my patience wearing thin. "Get out."
She crosses her arms over her chest, her chin lifting in defiance. "No."
I sigh, my jaw clenching. "Don't make this harder than it has to be."
Her eyes narrow. "Or what? You'll drag me out like you dragged me down the stairs?"
I reach in and grab her arm, pulling her out of the SUV. She stumbles, jerks away, and falls to the ground.
I bend down to help her, and she slaps my hand away.
"Don't touch me."
Of course I ignore her and pull her up. "Let's go inside."
She looks at the house, then back at me. "And if I don't?"
I don't answer. I just gesture toward the front door, where two of my men stand waiting.
She hesitates, her gaze darting around like she's looking for an escape route. But there isn't one. The gates are closed, the driveway is too long to run, and even if she made it to the end, my men would grab her.
Finally, she moves, and I follow a few steps behind, my hands in my pockets, my gaze fixed on her.
I suddenly feel a sense of relief. She's here. She's safe.
Safe from what, it doesn't really matter. If I say she's in trouble, she's in trouble.
And I say, whether she realizes it or not, she's exactly where she belongs.