Chapter 2 #2
“Good,” he mutters, voice scratchy, a grin spreading as he leans down, tilting his head. His hand rises, calloused fingers brushing my cheek. I jerk, trying to pull away, but I can’t move. The pad of his thumb drags over my lips slowly, intimately, as if tasting them with his skin.
I want to vomit.
Revulsion coils in my stomach, tears burning at the back of my throat. I twist my head to the side, but he cups my jaw firmly, forcing me still. His thumb presses harder. My lips part involuntarily on a sob.
“Pretty little thing,” he murmurs.
I recoil, the taste of his skin lingering. My voice cracks. “Don’t touch me.”
He chuckles like my resistance is cute, fingers trailing down to skim the hollow of my throat. My heart slams against my ribs. No. No, no, no.
But before his hand can wander further, another voice cuts through the silence.
“Quit it.”
I freeze. That voice—deep, controlled, but laced with authority—vibrates through the room.
My head jerks toward the shadows, and another man emerges.
He’s taller. Broader. Clad head to toe in black.
Boots, pants, gloves. A balaclava conceals his face entirely, only his eyes visible.
Cold gray eyes, steel-like, narrowed on me.
Tattooed Vest straightens instantly, stepping back like a soldier reprimanded.
I stare at Gray Eyes, every cell in my body screaming to bolt even though I can’t. He radiates menace without moving, the kind of power that doesn’t need to shout to be obeyed.
“Who are you?” My voice cracks, high and desperate. “Where am I? What do you want?”
“Shut it,” he snaps, his tone like a blade.
I flinch. My pulse races so fast I think I might faint again.
But my mouth doesn’t know how to stop. Words tumble out in choked sobs. “Please, someone help me! Please, I didn’t do anything! You’ve got the wrong person! Just let me go!”
“I said shut it.”
His gloved hand slams against the back of the chair, inches from my head, making the wood rattle. I gasp, shoving back as far as the restraints will let me.
The hours that follow blur. Minutes stretch, crawling across my skin like fire ants.
My throat aches from crying, from begging, from screaming myself hoarse.
They don’t answer. They don’t explain. They just exist around me, shadows moving, sometimes watching, sometimes gone.
The overhead bulb hums relentlessly, every flicker dragging me further into panic.
And then it hits me. A different kind of pressure. Low in my abdomen, sharp and humiliating.
Oh God.
I’ve been sipping soda all day—cheer practice, the convenience store, even in the car before everything went to hell. Now it’s catching up to me. My bladder clenches painfully.
No. Not this. Not here.
“I… I need the bathroom,” I whisper. My voice is small, brittle. Neither man answers.
I lick my dry lips, desperation spiraling. “Did you hear me? I need to go. I’m serious, I can’t hold it. Please.”
Silence.
My pulse skyrockets. “If you don’t let me, I’ll just… I’ll do it right here. On this chair. Do you want that? Because I swear to God I’ll—”
“Shut up.” Gray Eyes’ voice is rough now, frustrated.
“I mean it!” I shout, hysteria clawing at my throat. “I’ll pee on myself, and it’ll be your fault. You’ll regret it! I’m not joking!”
A curse rumbles from behind the balaclava. His hands curl into fists. He strides forward, grip locking around my arm as he unties me roughly. I yelp from the burn of rope against raw skin.
“You better not do anything stupid,” he growls, dragging me up to my shaky feet.
Relief and terror collide. My knees buckle, but his grip steadies me, iron around my elbow.
The world outside is darker, the air colder, damp night clinging to my lungs. He pulls me behind some bushes, gravel crunching under our steps. I can’t stop shaking.
“Where’s the bathroom?” I demand, voice wavering. “This is insane. You expect me to just squat out here? Like I’m some animal?”
Nothing. No reply.
“Answer me, damn it! I’m not peeing in the dirt!”
He exhales heavily, the sound muffled under the mask. Then he huffs, turning his broad back to me.
My stomach twists. He’s actually giving me privacy.
Hands trembling, I yank my skirt up, underwear down. My whole body burns with humiliation. But the pain in my bladder overrides everything. The hiss is loud in the quiet night, echoing in my ears. Hot tears slip down my cheeks as I relieve myself, hating every second, hating them, hating me.
But then an idea sparks. Stupid. Dangerous. But it’s all I’ve got.
Run.
I finish, yanking my underwear back up, yanking my skirt down. My heart slams so hard it hurts. My eyes dart to the dark stretch of trees. Freedom is right there.
I bolt.
Gravel scatters, my sneakers slipping as I lunge forward. My lungs burn instantly, adrenaline propelling me faster than I thought possible.
But I’m not fast enough.
“Fuck!” His voice cuts the night as he whirls, boots pounding behind me.
I barely make it ten yards before he’s on me. A weight crashes into my back, knocking the breath out of me. I scream, high-pitched and raw, as his arms clamp around my waist, hauling me up like I weigh nothing.
“Please! Please, let me go! I won’t tell anyone! Just let me—”
“Shut the fuck up,” he snarls, dragging me backward.
My hands claw at his wrists, nails scratching, fighting like an animal caught in a trap. My vision spins, tears blurring everything. And then I see ink peeking from beneath his glove. A black line, sharp and deliberate, snaking up his wrist before disappearing under his sleeve.
A tattoo.
It sears into my brain like evidence. A clue. Something I can hold onto if I survive this.
He notices. He curses viciously, yanking my hair so hard I cry out.
“You didn’t see shit,” he hisses, lips brushing my ear through the fabric of his mask. His breath is hot, furious. “Keep fighting and I’ll put a bullet in your head. Right fucking now.”
I sob, my body going limp in his hold. I can’t stop trembling.
He throws me over his shoulder like I’m weightless, my stomach colliding with the hard plane of his back. The world flips upside down. Blood rushes to my head. I’m hanging, dangling, helpless.
The smell of him fills my nose—leather, smoke, something sharper, metallic almost. My fists beat at his back but it’s useless. He’s a wall.
Then a sharp sting lands across my ass.
I freeze, feeling the pain radiate.
He just spanked me.
The shock reverberates down my thighs, up my spine, settling low in a place it has no business being. My skirt rides up, the cool air brushing bare skin. Shame prickles hot across my body.
“What the hell is wrong with you?” I cry, horrified at the way my voice shakes.
He doesn’t answer. He just does it again.
Another sharp smack.
And the traitorous jolt that follows has me gasping.
No. God, no.
I hate myself instantly, loathing the way my body reacts. The way something deep inside twists with each hit. The way heat pools traitorously in my core even as I’m terrified.
“You asshole,” I sob, fury and confusion tangling in my chest.
He laughs, low, bitter. And his palm lands again. And again.
By the time he slams me back onto the chair, I’m shaking uncontrollably, my face wet with tears. Rope bites into my wrists once more as he ties me tighter this time. My mouth is gagged with rough cloth, silencing the sobs that keep spilling out anyway.
And yet, it’s not the pain of the ropes or the gag that destroys me.
It’s the horrifying realization that part of me responded to him. That under all the terror and nausea, something else was there. Something I should never feel for some random guy who just fucking kidnapped me.