Chapter 6
Gorgeous Masked Kidnapper
CALLIE
The briefest pain flickers over Wes’s face, and then it’s gone.
But I don’t have time to wonder about it because the plastic digging into my wrists is killing me.
I won’t be able to slip out of it, so I should just stay still and wait for this admittedly very attractive but dangerous man to reveal his plans.
This is all my fault. Shane doesn’t want to be found. He’ll reveal himself when he damn well pleases. Involving someone like Hawk in this was an obvious mistake. Thanks, Jake.
I can hear my best friend in my head. But you actually followed him to his isolated Maine cabin, Callie. Shut up, Lola! Also, I should’ve listened to her, my best friend who did not grow up in a crime family.
“Are you okay?” Wes asks, his voice dripping with what must be fake concern.
“What?” I snap out of my reverie and can’t help but stare at his exposed arms, covered in bulging muscles and damn, those tattoos.
Seeing them up close is intoxicating. His right forearm has ivy and roses covering all of the skin, snaking up into his sleeve and reappearing at the crook of his shoulder and neck.
It’s beautiful. His other forearm has a skull with a dagger through the eye and a thorny vine without flowers disappearing into his hoodie sleeve.
I got a tattoo after my father died. It was the start of my road to freedom from my family and Shane, and represents strength and transformation.
It’s a giant phoenix with its wings spread, ascending while facing upward, the image starting below my right breast and stretching out along my right side and onto my hip.
Shane disappeared before he even realized I had it.
That’s two fucked-up men I’ll be free of soon.
My brother, the third? I can’t bring myself to cut him out of my life. Not yet, anyway. I don’t think he’s a bad person. He just needs to reassess his priorities.
“You just had about a million expressions cross your face,” Wes says, again with the kind voice. He’s examining my face as if he really wants to understand me.
“What, so you’re an emotional mind reader?” I snap at him. Fuck him! He has me zip-tied. Zip-tied!
The asshole has the nerve to grin.
“I have been told I have a very high emotional IQ.”
“Told by whom?” What on earth is he talking about? Emotional IQs? I almost forget to be mad and scared.
Wes shrugs, and we stare at each other for a full minute, him with an infuriatingly adorable little smirk on his full lips, and me giving my best scowl, but I’m sure it’s coming off as confusion.
He’s got a sharp jawline and icy blue eyes that look almost clear.
Broad shoulders, sinewy forearms hinting at muscles for days. He is truly a beautiful man.
“Alright, Callie Callahan,” Wes says in a soft voice, licking his lips as he watches me examine his face. He sits up and crosses his arms, his shoulders pushing against his sleeves. “Why don’t we talk about finding your husband?”
“Huh?” I twist my wrists, but the plastic bites into my flesh even more.
“You messaged me to meet up. Said you wanted me to find your husband—”
“Ex husband, as soon as I can make it happen.” I interrupt him because I hate referring to Shane as my husband, even though it’s technically true. And it feels important that Wes understands that.
“Right. Okay.” Wes nods thoughtfully. “So let’s talk about that.”
“I don’t want to work with you anymore.” The nerve of this guy? I scoff. “Is this how you handle your business?”
But of course it is. Criminals and all.
Still, I kinda wish I hadn’t just said those words. If Wes doesn’t help me, then who will? I’ll just head back to Jake’s apartment, head hanging, and continue to wait for Shane to show up?
Wes raises an eyebrow, then glances at the fire, which is still glowing warm against my back.
“Why don’t you think about it for a few more minutes before you make that decision? I need to grab more firewood.” Wes nods outside. “We’ll need it tonight.”
“Tonight?” My voice is high-pitched, but when I glance out the large window, I have a sinking feeling, like an anchor slipping from my lungs to my gut.
It’s dark, but an outside light illuminates the fact that there’s a freaking blizzard outside.
Wes is already zipping up his jacket. He pulls on black gloves and a full black balaclava. When his hand is on the front door to the cabin, he turns to me. Only his eyes are visible, and I can see the blue from across the room.
Oh my god. Why do I find him so hot right now?? Is it the freaking mask? I never knew I had a mask kink. I don’t! No mask kink. No zip tie kink. No kink for bad-boy kidnappers. I’m not one of those girls.
But this makes me wonder if maybe I am? Because I like what’s happening right now way more than a boring-ass good girl should.
“Don’t go anywhere. I’ll be right back.” Then Wes fucking winks.
“Hey!” I shout, but then he’s out the door.
At least his absence gives me a second to think, like he suggested.
I shouldn’t have followed him home. I shouldn’t have even contacted him. Of course he’d do something like kidnap me.
I get that I was on his property. Technically, I broke the law first. But he stabbed me in the neck with a needle, dragged me into his cabin, and—wait, where’s my jacket?
I spot it on the couch, my beanie neatly placed on top.
He took my jacket off and then tied me up.
In front of a nice, warm fire, which I have to admit feels wonderful.
He even tucked an airplane pillow around my neck, which is now on the floor a few feet away. I mean, he didn’t have to do that.
No! The kidnapper is not thoughtful. And I should not ask the kidnapper for help finding Shane.
But… what are my options? I have basically no survival skills thanks to my refusal to engage with my family’s business.
I should’ve checked the weather.
I should’ve brought a friend.
I should’ve hired a normal private detective, not accepted a recommendation from my criminal brother. But I know I couldn’t have done that, because it would expose myself and my family to extra scrutiny.
I’d happily throw my father to the authorities. I should’ve. But that would endanger Jake and most definitely myself. And I’m not like my father. I care if people I love are in danger.
When I was a freshman in high school, there was an incident at our house.
Ever since my cousin had been murdered, I’d tried to steer clear of my father and his business.
One night, Dad had a few associates over for some kind of meeting that involved a lot of alcohol and cursing and obnoxious laughing.
As usual, I stayed away, quiet, and was getting ready to go to bed when one of the men cornered me in the upstairs bathroom, where he shouldn’t have been.
I smelled the liquor on his breath as he pressed me up against the wall—his disgusting erection pressed against my belly—and whispered vulgar things in my ear.
I managed to kick him in the balls and slip out of his grasp as he doubled over in pain.
I didn’t bother telling my father. Instead, I first told my brother, then sixteen, and he paled and said he’d install a deadbolt on the inside of my bedroom door and the bathroom.
He did that, but was too chicken to confront my father.
Aren’t families supposed to stand up for you?
My father and brother should be the ones protecting me.
Maybe they weren’t the ones that threw me under the bus, but they’re definitely the ones that left me on the road.
I told my mother, and she at least tried to help. She picked a fight with my father about it and tried to leave him, but my father said I could go with her but not Jake. Mom relented, a sorrowful look on her face. She wouldn’t leave her son. But I felt like I was being sacrificed.
That was an early lesson on how no one in this family would choose me first. Not even my mother.
So I have to choose myself.
Movement outside the cabin window catches my eye, and my jaw drops as I watch Wes stride over the snow-covered ground back toward the cabin with two arms full of firewood balanced on his shoulders. My mouth actually waters, and I try to swallow, but my throat is so dry I almost choke.
Fine. I might have a mask kink. And it would be even closer to my sort of new fantasy if he were shirtless. If Shane wore a mask and tied me up, I’d be terrified. I’d never have asked him to do that. I would want to experience it in a safe way, which sounds fucked up.
I can unpack that at a much later date. Or never.
There’s a sound of firewood hitting the porch boards, then cold air and snowflakes rush in when the front door opens again.
Wes drops the remaining wood on his front mat as he strips out of his jacket, slips his boots off, and turns to me. Is he going to leave the mask on?
And maybe take off his shirt?
Shut up! Dammit.
I roll my eyes and look away from him, but out of the edge of my vision, I see him pull the mask off and run his hand through his longish dark hair.
Wes carries the logs over to the fireplace, and by the flare of fire and crackling sound behind me, I’m guessing he added one to the fire.
“My wrists hurt,” I say. Not that my kidnapper will care.
“Hmm.”
I feel his presence approach my back from the fireplace, and I turn my head to look over my shoulder.
“What are you doing?” He’s close. So close. I can smell him, fresh air and smoke from the fireplace and some other woodsy scent. A shiver runs down my spine, and I feel his hands on my wrists, gently touching.
“That is red. I’m sorry.” His voice is low and warm and close. And he sounds sincere.
I half expect him to cut the plastic strips off me, but he doesn’t. A kind kidnapper is still a kidnapper. Instead, he heads to his kitchen, which is within my line of sight.
“Want coffee? Hot chocolate? Tea?”
“You’re offering me a beverage?” I huff. “What the fuck kind of kidnapper are you?”