CHAPTER FIVE
MADDOX
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I know you’re a good girl, Kyra.
I’m not...good.
The flush on her cheeks when she replied made my cock jolt upright. Which is sick as fuck, given I’d just kidnapped the girl.
I don’t know why. I don’t like submissive women. But there’s something about this slight young woman that has my skin buzzing. If I’d thought Kyra Fox was beautiful in her photos, it was nothing to seeing her in the flesh.
She’s got no makeup on, her hair is tangled—I was going to blow dry it for her while she was unconscious, but that just made me feel way too Jeffrey Dahmer, thank you very much—and she’s only wearing a robe. And still, she’s the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen in my entire life.
Beautiful and suppressing her sexuality, if I’m not wrong. Or perhaps not aware of it yet.
She’s young...but not that young.
I appreciate she’s fearful of her life right now, but telling me she’s a bad girl had me itching to cross the room, part her legs, and make her tell me the truth about just how good she really is.
I wasn’t expecting to react like this to her. I remind myself that Kyra is here for one reason only: to assist me in destroying my father.
Not for my pleasure.
But from the moment she was delivered to me, I felt a pull in my chest I didn’t understand. To be fair, I’ve never had a person kidnapped before. I opened the door to my penthouse apartment, and she was in his arms with her robe slid up her thighs, exposing the curve of her ass.
Fury slammed against my rib cage, and I took her from him, carrying her to the sofa where I placed her down carefully, arranging her robe so she was respectfully covered.
“Boss wants the funds transferred,” the man said gruffly.
If this wasn’t so fucked up, I would’ve had personal security with me, but obviously I don’t want anyone knowing about this.
For my safety and so I don’t drag anyone else into this.
Running a fight club as a teenager with the boys is one thing—cough, and a few years beyond—but we’re not members of a fucking criminal organization.
It’s true, we don’t play by society rules all the time and we’ll need to break a few to take revenge on our fathers—proof in point—but otherwise killing and kidnapping have been outside our playbook.
Until now.
I’m not worried. I would kill to save my own life and there was a gun in the back of my waistband. The guy only wanted the money for the job he’d done, and I had it.
There was no risk.
“Forget my face,” I said as he stepped back in the elevator.
“Never saw you,” he muttered as the doors closed.
The amount I paid, I’m sure he won’t remember.
Then I headed back to the living room where Kyra was lying unconscious.
“Fuck,” I ran a hand through my hair and contemplated what I was doing, then carried her into the room/prison I’d set up for her before I changed my mind.
She was innocent, but unfortunately for her, my father had chosen her as his bride.
Now she was an integral part of my plan.
I tucked her under the covers and brushed her wet hair off her face so she didn’t catch a chill.
So considerate.
Now, after my first confrontation with her I am tense with desire for my captive and the knowledge that I am going to fucking hurt her.
She knows it and I know it.
“Shit,” I slam my palm down on the marble counter in the kitchen.
So, this is what he feels like to be a monster.
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I’VE ADVISED MY housekeeper that I have my young cousin staying with me for a few weeks. That she’s not very sociable and not to bother cleaning her room.
She won’t be able to unlock the door, anyway.
“You know teenagers. Just let her come and go as she pleases.”
I almost snort at the irony.
Kyra won’t be going anywhere.
It’s a calculated risk. I don’t have time to clean my apartment or cook. Plus, Alma is in the United States illegally, so unless she hears any screaming or fucked-up stuff, I’m almost certain she’ll turn a blind eye and just keep doing her job.
Almost certain.
Pulling the baked salmon dish out of the oven, I place a serving in a bowl and grab a fork out of the drawer. Then glance at it for a second.
Nope.
I crouch down to dig through the utensils for a safer option.
When I open the door, Kyra is curled up in a ball staring at the wall.
“Dinner,” I say, placing the bowl on the cabinet, lifting the plastic fork into the air. “Good luck hurting yourself with this. But if you come up with any other dumb ideas, just know I won’t be back in here until morning.”
She sits up and glares at me.
“I’m not suicidal. My father will pay the ransom or whatever you want.” She snorts angrily. “But nice to know you’ll let me bleed out.”
Kyra is right.
It takes a person a lot more than being kidnapped for someone to want to take their life. But she’s a trust fund baby with parents who love her. For all I know, she’s a fucking attention-seeking princess.
I’m setting boundaries.
I snort back pointedly. “I’m not your daddy, sweetheart. You’re here to serve a purpose. Don’t expect your usual silver service, and you can forget throwing out any demands.”
“You don’t know me.” She hisses with a little more sass than I saw from her earlier.
Interesting.
I drop the fork back into the bowl and take my time lifting my face once more. “I don’t need to know you. Stay quiet. Stay alive. Then you might just make it home safely one day.”
She wraps her robe tightly around herself, hiding all the creamy skin on her decolletage that I was trying to ignore.
And failing.
While I’m being honest, it was the soft curve of her small breasts I was eyeing. Although I wouldn’t mind running my palm over her decolletage to grip her little neck while I’m slamming my cock inside her.
In another life.
Today, she’s my captive.
Kyra’s voice is quiet and shaky as she asks, “And if I’m not quiet?”
Goddamn her.
I open the door, step through it and then turn. “Don’t pretend you have the courage to find out, Kyra. We both know you’re a compliant submissive.”
I pull the door closed.