Locked in Wonderland

Chapter One

Two weeks wasn’t much of an anniversary, but it was enough that I’d booked a table to celebrate it.

When Warren White walked into the restaurant and smiled the moment he spotted me, I remembered exactly why I’d begged my boss for two week’s annual leave instead of returning home when my scheduled list of jobs in the area had ended.

He was unfairly handsome, with his white-blond hair with the slightest curl, pale blue eyes, lips with a cupid’s bow, and a compact body I’d become increasingly familiar with over the past fortnight.

On top of being handsome, he was also sweet. It was like winning the gay lottery. It wasn’t like me to fall so quickly, but fall I had—and I wasn’t mad about it.

“Hi,” he said once he reached the table. “I hope you haven’t been waiting long.”

I pulled him down for a kiss. Nothing X-rated that risked driving any of our fellow diners into a homophobic tirade—just a statement of intent for later. Long eyelashes hid his eyes for a few seconds as he sat, color flooding his cheeks. He blushed more prettily than anyone I’d ever met.

“You’re adorable,” I said, and meant it. “If I had waited a long time, it would still be worth it.”

The blush grew more intense. Normally, I’d exhibit a great deal more chill, especially this early in a relationship, but there was something about how open Warren was that had me refusing to censor myself.

The waiter’s arrival with the wine I’d already ordered afforded Warren a chance to compose himself. He smiled once we were alone again. “You say the nicest things, Lysander.”

“Me?” I laughed. “Sweetheart, I’m not the nice one. You are.”

Warren turned his head to stare out of the window. The restaurant’s prime coastal spot offered an unobscured view of the island across the sea. “Have you ever been?” he asked.

I followed his gaze. “To Wonderland?”

He nodded. “I’ve heard it’s so much fun people never want to leave.”

“I’ve heard it’s a retreat for rich pricks who have too much time on their hands and nowhere better to spend their money.”

The words came out sharper than I’d intended.

It wasn’t that I wanted to hide the more cynical parts of myself, but we were still in that honeymoon phase where I preferred Warren seeing my better side.

“No, I’ve never been,” I added more softly.

“This is my first time in the area and I don’t imagine I earn anywhere near enough. ”

“Me neither.” He turned back to face me with a bright smile. “I brought you a gift.”

My eyebrows rose. “A gift? In aid of what? It’s not my birthday.”

He shrugged. “I don’t know. In aid of you being a great guy and me being thrilled to have met you.”

“See,” I said as I took the box he pushed across the table, “you’re far sweeter than I am. You even wrapped it.” I gave the box an experimental little shake.

“If you don’t like it, then…”

I gave him a mock glare. “Whatever it is, I’ll love it, because it’s from you.” I unwrapped a jeweler’s box and lifted the lid. Inside, on a cushion of red velvet, lay an expensive-looking watch. Way too expensive.

“I can’t accept this.” Placing the box back on the table, I pushed it back his way.

Warren stayed my hand. “Of course you can. You know I sell them, so it’s no big deal. Anyway, I had it engraved, so it’s not like I can give it to anyone else.”

Plucking it from the box, I turned it over. Lysander, time with you is precious. Love, Warren x. That was so damn sweet that I was speechless for a few seconds. “That’s―”

“It’s too much, isn’t it? Shit! I’m such a—”

“No!” I pressed my hand over his and waited until Warren lifted his gaze to mine. “I love it. It’s a beautiful watch, and the engraving makes it all the more special.”

“Put it on. I want to see what it looks like.”

I dutifully unfastened my old watch, which was an absolute piece of crap in comparison, and replaced it with the new one, holding it up to the light.

“It looks great,” Warren said with satisfaction.

“It does,” I agreed.

“Are you mad at me?”

I shook my head. “No. I just feel bad that I haven’t gotten you anything.”

“You can buy dinner.”

“Deal.”

I spent the night at Warren’s, just like all the other nights before. His flat was nicer than the hotel. Plus, it had him in it. Sex was both sweet and passionate, Warren’s reticence with certain sexual acts making it all the hotter. It made me want to corrupt him in every way possible.

We’d stayed awake late, discussing the future and how a long-distance relationship might work.

Warren had pointed out, without prompting, that he could work from anywhere.

The warm glow of his near-enough agreement to move in with me carried over into the next day.

When we discovered there was no milk for breakfast, I offered to get some, whistling all the way to the supermarket a few blocks away.

I talked to far more people in the queue than I usually did, my good mood making me more social.

Christ! What kind of person was I going to become if Warren and I became something permanent?

He was going to change me into a squishy marshmallow.

Not the worst thing in the world, but unexpected when I’d only traveled to the area for work.

When I returned, a black van was parked outside Warren’s building, Wonderland emblazoned across its side in bright red lettering above a flamingo logo.

Men for whom the phrase “you wouldn’t want to meet them in a dark alley at night” had been invented for were loading something into the back of the van.

Four of them. At first, I thought they were loading a rug.

Then the ‘rug’ shifted. The realization that it had feet came a second too late. And spotting the shock of white-blonde hair took what felt like an age. Too long. Far too long. Once it had, adrenaline kicked in.

“Hey!” I shouted and began to run, the milk slipping from my hand.

I barely got halfway before the van doors slammed shut with a hollow, final clang, and it accelerated away in a scream of tires. I tried to chase it, but in a race between me and a van, there was only ever going to be one winner.

Still, I ran.

My lungs burned. My legs screamed. The van didn’t slow.

I skidded to a halt, then pulled a U-turn to head back to the building.

It wasn’t Warren. It couldn’t be. I’d head to his flat, and he’d be there, exactly where I’d left him less than twenty minutes ago.

We could go to the police together and tell them what I’d seen.

Either that, or I’d realize it had been a prank.

People didn’t get kidnapped from buildings in broad daylight.

Maybe in films—but this wasn’t a film. It was real life.

My optimism lasted until I reached the right floor. Warren’s door hung off its hinges. The inside was even worse, bearing the marks of a frenzied search. Drawers hung open, and someone had strewn papers across the floor. The bed I’d woken up on had been ripped apart, the mattress shredded.

In the bathroom, the mirror was cracked, and the cabinet stood open, its contents dumped into the sink. Towels lay sodden on the floor, and the shower curtain had been wrenched halfway from its rail.

They hadn’t just taken him. They’d torn through everything. Like they were looking for something. Or making sure no one else could find it.

The word what? kept resounding in my skull. It wasn’t long before why took its place.

I slid to the floor, closing my eyes and concentrating on breathing. I hoped that when I opened them, everything would have gone away.

One breath. Two. Three.

It hadn’t. The place was still a mess.

And there was still no Warren.