Chapter Nine
In which introductions are made and Sloan is never drinking again.
Sloan…
I’m never drinking again, I swear to god.
Waking up with a hangover from hell, I groan, squinting and ignoring the bolt of pain while I try to focus.
I was out on stage… that auction… a million Euros? That can’t be right… Drifting off to sleep again, I’m soothed by the low hum of the jet’s engines.
Jet engines!
I’m on a jet. That rat bastard bought me, made me come three thousand times, and then kidnapped me! Oh, god who is he? He’s taking me back to my asshole stepfather.
This can’t happen. I’ll die first. I won’t let him find Nate.
I’m wrapped up in a silky cashmere cocoon in a comfortable leather chair, the swivel kind you see on a corporate jet with a low table in front of me. There’s a bottle of water sitting there and I am suddenly aware that my mouth feels and tastes as if a rodent crawled in there to die.
When I try to reach for the water, I’m yanked back by a handcuff around my right wrist that’s fastened to the seat. Resting my head against the seat, I look up and force myself not to cry.
After everything I’ve done, all the running, it’s over.
My only comfort is that I’d already transferred the money to Carmella right after the auction because I’m pretty sure I’m never going to see her or Nate again. This bastard’s going to give me back to Gavin and if my stepfather can’t get Nate’s location out of me, he’ll kill me himself.
“Ah, you’re awake already. Stubborn wee thing.”
“You fucking son of a bitch bastard face motherfucking evil bastard!”
“Ya already said bastard,” he says, seating himself across from me.
“It bears repeating,” I hiss. “Why are you working for a piece of shit like my stepfather anyway? Whatever he’s paying you, I’ll double it.”
He smiles pleasantly. He’s changed into a tight pair of jeans and a black sweater and still looks amazing. His sleeves are pushed up and I can see an elaborate scrollwork of tattoos up both muscled, veiny arms.
“Sloan Masters. Twenty-three, graduated with honors from Columbia University in Literature. Only child of Marilyn and Gavin Masters-”
“That piece of shit is not my father! He’s my stepfather.”
“-fluent in Italian, Spanish, German, and French,” he continues, unperturbed. “You’d just started a job at the United Nations in New York when ya disappeared fourteen months ago. You’re working as a barmaid, so I’m thinking ya don’t have millions of dollars to back up that promise of yours.”
He’s lounging in that chair like he’s a dark lord of the underworld, fingers linked as he looks me over, an unsettling visual examination that makes me feel stripped bare. His eyes are such a dark brown that they’re almost black, like the pits of Hell.
“Now why would a nice girl such as yourself, an accomplished lass take a runner? Your Da-”
“He’s not my father!”
“-your stepdad is sounding all kinds of worried about ya.”
“You’ll have a better chance of converting me to Scientology than convincing me he’s filled with fatherly concern,” I say bitterly, “but I guess if he flashes enough money in front of a man like you, it really doesn’t matter, does it?”
His head tilts, still conducting that visual circuit, lingering on my face. “Tell me lass, if it’s not fatherly concern, why is your Da- ah, your stepdad wanting ya back so badly?”
“Why don’t you tell me, Michael , if that’s even your name. How you are suddenly sounding all ‘wee and begorra’ on me now?” My accent is terrible and he laughs.
“That’s Irish, lass. I’m Scottish.”
Rubbing my forehead, I curse my dry mouth and what feels like a thousand hornets attacking my cerebellum.
“Oh, an undercover slimebag who kidnaps women. Very cosmopolitan.”
He frowns, “Ya need to drink that water. I have some painkillers too. That night-night juice packs quite a punch.”
“Then maybe you shouldn’t have held me down and stabbed me with that needle.” I’m looking at the water bottle, beads of condensation on the sides. I’ll bet it’s cold. It would taste so good… “Did you drug the water, Michael?”
“I would’na tell ya if I did, but I dinna drug it. It’s clean. I had to get ya out of there as quickly and quietly as possible, and ya were not interested in playing along.” He picks up a little bottle off the bar and shakes out two white pills, handing them to me.
“Do you blame me?” I ask sullenly.
He gives me a half grin that’s too attractive for a kidnapping lying bastard. “I suppose not. Still, I dinna want ya to suffer. Take the pills.”
Taking the tablets and opening the bottle, I’m relieved that I hear the crack of the plastic seal as the lid twists off. Not that he still couldn’t have drugged it, but it being sealed makes me feel better.
Oh, my god nothing has ever tasted better than this water, blissfully cold and clear. I gulp down half the bottle before I force myself to stop.
“So, who are you really, Michael?”
“Since I’m taking ya home with me, I’ll tell ya. Ethan MacTavish, at your service.”
He has the audacity to lean over, offering me his hand like we’ve just met at a garden party or something. In return, I wiggle my fingers on the hand still cuffed to the chair. “What do you mean, you’re taking me home?”
“When your father- ah, stepfather contacted my clan to track ya down, his instructions were disturbing. My Chieftain wants to speak with ya.”
“What were his instructions?” I clutch the water bottle to my chest, like that’s going to protect me.
“He said, “If you canna extract her, kill her.”
I’m instantly light-headed. I knew the evil prick wanted me dead, but to send someone after me to do it…
“Put your head between your knees, you’re gonna pass out.”
“I am not,” I still let him push my head down, taking some deep breaths.
“I will not, as he requested, be killing ya. The MacTavishes dinna kill women,” he says, lightly stroking my hair until I sit up, pushing his hand away.
“Then let me go!” I plead, “If you send me back, he will kill me. He was probably just too much of a pussy to do it himself and hoped you’d take care of it.”
“What do ya have lass, that he wants badly enough to put out a kill order?”
Shrugging, I take another careful sip of water. “How do I know? He hates me. Now that my mother’s gone, I guess he wants me wiped off the face of the earth, too.”
It’s amazing what the man can convey with a single raise of his eyebrow. Surprise. Amusement. Disbelief. “I canna help ya if you’re not honest with me.”
“Yes, you’ve been a huge help. You buy me, kidnap me-”
“Dinna forget making ya come hard enough to pass out,” he interrupts.
“It was forgettable,” I lie, and now I can add incredulity to his raised eyebrow gamut of emotion. “My point is, there’s nothing you can do, Ethan. Please just…” To my horror, tears well up in my eyes. “Let me go.”
He leans forward, his black eyes intent on mine. “How long do ya think ya can run from him?”
“Until he gives up,” I said, angrily wiping my wet cheeks. “I kept away from him for a year and a half. I’ll keep running.”
“Sorry darlin’ but he’s not giving up. He may have tried searching for ya quietly, but if he’s desperate enough to contact my clan to extract ya, the next call he’ll make will be to someone with no scruples about killing a woman… after extracting the information he wants.”
I’m lightheaded again. “Th- that’s not your problem. Please, just let me go. Tell him it was a false sighting in Italy.”
His eyes sharpen, intent, as he leans over the table to cup my face in his palm. “I never miss a target. Masters knows this. We’ll be landing soon. Try to relax.” He rises gracefully, heading toward the cockpit.
“When in the history of the world has a woman relaxed when a man told her to!” I shout after him. He doesn’t bother to answer, and I hear him chuckle before the door shuts.