Chapter 2
Taste of Blood
Jade
The car sped into the unknown, darkness and someone’s arms enveloping me whole.
It smelled of cigarettes, car, and—what fucking language were they speaking?
Who was bold enough to kidnap a U.S. Attorney’s daughter?
Because my status was stuck to me like a scarlet letter—Sebastian Moretti’s daughter.
But then a sudden and petrifying thought ran through me: maybe this was Xavier's doing. A heartbroken and unstable ex-boyfriend was a dangerous thing, and I was probably incredibly stupid to even show my face outside the house so quickly.
Yet when I saw my tormentors, it all clicked in—I was on my own. I’d never seen these men before. One was blond, dressed like a finance bro about to ask me about my portfolio, and the other one…well, the other one looked like he gambled with people’s lives for fun.
Overwhelmingly tall, jet black hair and clothes, tattoos on his arms and hands, and a glare that incinerated me whole. But the joke was on him—I was already on fire, barely comprehending my own actions.
So when he smothered me like that, when he put his fingers over my mouth, when he showed me he was the one who decided when I would take my next breath, well then…then I bit him.
Warm, salty liquid slithered onto my tongue, the taste metallic and unpleasant.
The dark-haired devil man stiffened and squeezed his eyes shut, his mouth falling open in a silent scream of pain.
I bit harder, wedging my incisors into the soft part of his tattooed hand, his fingers still tangled in my hair.
But his moment of weakness was short-lived. His jaw flexed and he regained his composure immediately, yanking my hair back and ripping my teeth off his flesh.
A half-second later, his face was an inch away from mine, his glare promising murder, matching the storm inside me. “You’ll fucking pay for that, you bitch!”
His eyes blazed and his nostrils flared, but it didn’t feel enough. I wanted more; I wanted to show him I wasn’t his fucking prey. What was he going to do? Bite me back?
My adrenaline was numbing me to the danger staring me in the face. "Ew. Your blood tastes spoiled."
He tightened his grip on my hair and got even closer, lowering his voice. “You run your mouth a lot.” His gaze fell to my mouth while I dragged my teeth over my bottom lip, sucking in his blood. “It’s best you learn how to shut—"
But I didn’t let him finish. As if it were an out-of-body experience, I spat.
Right in his face.
The effect was instantaneous. The demon shuddered at the action, his shock turning him human for a millisecond. He stared at me and I at him, watching my saliva slide down his Adam’s apple.
“What were you saying?” I whispered, determined to have the upper hand in this nightmare. “Does my father know I’m in Miami? He does. Want to come over for dinner? You’ll bring the zip ties?”
I wanted him to say something stupid—tell me I should be careful, that I didn’t know who I was dealing with, or that he’d lock me up in some dungeon, but instead, he did something far scarier than that.
He laughed. His chest shook and he smiled wide, showing me that perfect set of white teeth. Probably the ones he chewed people’s hearts with.
“Do you know which one you are? Daring? Or a fucking idiot?” he murmured, still holding onto my hair.
I didn’t like that. I wanted him to let go.
Let go of my hair! “When are you calling your daddy next?” the demon asked right as a hot drop of his blood landed on my knee, but my hair—it was still in his clutches.
“Let me go!” I gritted, but of course, his response was a smirk. Repulsive. Dominant. Such a blatant display of power. He embodied everything that was wrong with men. Smug, self-assured, overconfident, physically powerful, thinking he was on top of the world.
Unsinkable.
“Ask nicely,” he taunted, pulling my head back. “When are you calling him next, preziosa?”
That word. Clearly, this guy wasn’t a moron—picking a nickname that played on my first name and my Italian heritage.
It was building inside me, that inimitable mix of rage and panic, a feeling I’d known all too well. It was going to spill over at the worst. Possible—
“Go fuck yourself.”
Moment.
I said it. His hand still cradled the back of my head, but I got right in his face—right in the face of the man who fucking kidnapped me—and told him to go fuck himself. In the silence, it dawned on me that I was way out of my depth and that also, perhaps, just maybe…
I had issues.
His eyes widened like he’d just found a treasure, and my heartbeat sped up when I realized…I’d just fucked up.
“Right here?” He tilted his head, his gaze trailing to my bloody lips once more. “You going to help me, firecracker?” he whispered, his brown eyes sparkling with excitement, and my stomach dropped into my heels.
Wrong.
I’d taken the wrong path. I wasn’t daring or an idiot; I was being reckless, and he got off on it. I pressed my thighs together and shut my mouth, ignoring the hot tears pouring down my cheeks.
The smug asshole finally released my hair and straightened out, brushing me off as if I was trash beneath his feet.
"That's not why you're here, Jade,” he said coldly. “No one wants to fuck you. Especially when you look like a working whore in that outfit."
This was like fucking whiplash. This man infuriated me in the span of one single breath. This dress was classy and beautiful! It was pulled up a little too high and barely covered what was between my legs, but that wasn't my fault—they shoved me into the chair!
"I'm not a whore, you fucking asshole! Do you get off on kidnapping young women and verbally degrading them? What the fuck kind of sick bastard are you?!" Adding injury to my insult, I did the only thing I could in the circumstances; I kicked up my foot and drove the heel right into his shin.
He didn't even flinch. He just stood there, hands in his pockets, looking down at me with that same reality-warping smirk, basking in all his over-inflated power.
But I wasn’t done because fuck it. Fuck these guys! "But even if I were a whore, it’d still be more respectable than whatever the fuck it is that you do. Fuck you! I’m not scared of you."
I wasn't going to cower, even if I was zip tied to a chair. I'd been through too much to bow down to these low-lives. I may have been kidnapped, but I wasn’t a victim.
I’d never be a victim again.
“Yeah, I see it.” He nodded enthusiastically. “Really leaning into the feral thing there, Preziosa.”
“Stop calling me tha—”
“Alright—enough!”
Another voice cut in suddenly and I snapped my head to the source—the blond guy. He stepped closer and joined the dark-haired demon in front of me, who tried to hide his little smirk—hide the way he melted in glee.
“Jade Moretti,” the blondie began so formally.
“You’re going to stay here for the foreseeable future.
You’re allowed to swim at the beach and go for walks.
No phone, no laptop. There’s twenty-four-hour security stationed outside the house and throughout the property.
Don’t run away, they’ll catch you. If something happens, like you slice your hand with a knife or something, security’s here for you. "
Dear Lord, what the actual fuck was going on? I had so many questions and no idea where to even begin. The blond guy seemed more reasonable and normal than the Sasquatch, so I posed a pathetic question, "You're not going to touch me?"
The disbelief in my voice echoed between us, and while the normal man said nothing, my personal tormentor got in my face again, his smile wide and joyous.
"You want me to touch you?" he whispered with his deep, velvety voice, suggestive notes almost dripping from his red cherry lips.
It was bubbling inside me again—that anger. That rage. I wanted to jump on him and strangle that long and thick neck. I wanted to push my fingertips into his throat. Dig my nails into his filthy skin.
“Uh-huh. You want another bite?” I smiled through my tears and he did too, nodding.
“Only if you lick it clean after. I don’t like mess.”
I blinked at him, gulping down whatever that was in my throat. Fear? Surprise? The thirst for more of his pain?
The maniac slowly straightened, shoving his tattooed, bloody hand right in my face. I glanced at the bite, satisfaction pumping through me. It was deep and blood-streaked over his knuckles and down his thumb.
“Go on. Fucking lick i—"
“You can’t make me fucking do anyth—"
But my zip ties were cut at that moment and my arms fell forward, interrupting my thought. The blondie was unexpectedly behind me, setting me free.
Should I run? Into the darkness? Into the unknown.
"Come on,” the blond guy piped up, “and keep your teeth to yourself.” He was really growing on me.
I stood, facing the devil himself, his gaze still eating me alive. In my heels, I was just tall enough to see the way my saliva still glistened on his chin.
He stepped closer.
I stepped back.
"A fucking unhinged brat, aren't you?" he muttered, staring straight into my soul. I gulped, unsure whether that was a compliment or a threat.
“You bring it out.”
Using all my self-control, I ignored his stare and the lightning in my legs and turned toward the blond guy, tugging down my dress.
"Obviously, living room, dining, kitchen, guest bathroom." He listed off what we saw in front of us, like we were on a house tour to purchase this quaint little piece of oceanfront property.
My head was spinning. I forced my feet to move, acutely aware of how absolutely batshit crazy this was.
These fuckers kidnapped me. Full, real psycho style—shoved me into a car, gagged me, tied me up, and dragged me into an unknown location.
And yet, here we were in a cozy seaside home, styled in coastal grandma vibes.