Chapter two
Tilly
“Untie me, you absolute moron,” I scream at the jerk who just physically removed me from the party. “I’ll be telling my Uncle Hunter about your treatment of me. He’ll fucking cut off your balls then feed them to you.”
The man driving the car doesn’t respond. Greyson acts as if I haven’t spoken. His arrival wasn’t a surprise but much quicker than I had hoped. My plans hadn’t been finalized like I anticipated they would be. This Christmas, I was taking my life back and stopping the insanity of my family’s demands.
“He’ll kill you,” I shout to the back of his head. “Once I tell him how you physically restrained and assaulted me, he’ll put you against a wall and throw knives until you bleed to death.”
From my half-laid position in the back seat of the car, I notice the tops of black iron gates. We must be leaving the estate. Once we’re clear of them, he pulls onto the side of the road and stops the car.
“Why are we stopping?” Again, he doesn’t answer.
He merely switches off the vehicle and steps out, then slams the door closed.
I wrestle my way to a sitting position, and as our eyes lock, so do the car doors.
This man is fucking infuriating, and I’ve only been in his company for ten minutes.
There’s no way I am traveling back to London with him.
On top of that, there’s no way in hell I am marrying a man three times my age next summer, for the family or not.
My ovaries are not being held hostage for the good of everyone else. Fuck them all.
I watch as Greyson pulls a small yellow tube from his shirt's breast pocket and a lighter from his jeans.
He walks over to a small stone wall and sits down before pulling the cigar from its packet and lighting it up.
As he puffs on the cigar, he runs a large, tattooed hand through his short, dark hair and closes his eyes, obviously enjoying the addictive taste.
I’ve only smoked once in my life, and it was disgusting.
His habit makes him even more unlikeable.
For ten minutes, I glare at him through the car window.
He acts utterly oblivious to my presence, maintaining a distracted focus on either his cigar or his phone.
His eyes flick up, and my gaze follows him; we both clock the large black SUV traveling in our direction.
Greyson stands and strides back over to the driver’s door as the window on the SUV lowers. The muzzle of a gun comes into view.
“Get down,” Greyson roars as he throws open the door, jumps into the driver’s seat, and the car bursts to life.
He turns as I throw myself onto the floor of the rear of the car.
“Stay down, Miss. I’ll get us out of here.”
The next thing I know, he’s thumped his foot on the accelerator, and we shoot off in what seems like the direction the SUV came from.
As we rush through the twisty Scottish country roads, the car rolls from side to side. Above me, all I can see is deep green conifer trees whizz past the window, their spiky branches swaying violently in the wind.
“What’s happening?” I call up to my kidnapper, who bizarrely now feels like the only one who could save me. “Were they after you?”
“Not me,” he replies, deadpan. “You.”
“Me?” I squeal. I can’t see his face from my position behind the passenger seat, only his shoulder and the rear of his head. “Who would want to shoot me?” As the question leaves my lips, I know it’s a ridiculous one.
“Anyone who wants to hurt your family. Stay down. None of us want to see you killed, Miss.”
“Are they behind us?”
“No, I think I lost them.” We take a sharp right turn, and the car bounces brutally as if hitting uneven ground. My body lifts then collides with the floor, and with my arms still tied, I’m unable to save myself.
“Ouch,” I wail, and Greyson glances over his shoulder.
Concern flits over his face as he takes in my appearance.
As my whole body begins to ache, I become acutely aware that my dress has ridden up to my waist, exposing my barely-there thong.
His focus moves to the pathetic material then back to my face, and I scowl. He clears his throat.
“I’ll stop and let you sort yourself out, Miss,” he says, and I glare at him.
“Don’t fucking look at my body again. It isn’t for your enjoyment. Keep those pupils to yourself.”
His cheeks flush a soft pink, which is kind of attractive in an older, seemingly in-control man. It’s then we hit the tree. Too busy looking at my underwear, he wasn’t fucking keeping his eyes on the road, and we come to an abrupt stop. The airbags deploy and suddenly we’re surrounded by white.
“Fuck,” he shouts, ripping his focus from me and slamming both hands on the steering wheel.
He pushes open his driver's door and climbs out.
Looking up, I can see a darkening sky filled with sinister branches.
I panic that he’s going to leave me here in a crashed car with my arms tied—easy prey for both my pursuers and wild animals alike. I’m not sure which end I would prefer.
“Let me out,” I scream. “Untie me, you bastard.”
The door nearest me flies open. A furious-looking Greyson appears above my head. He glares down and narrows his eyes menacingly. He looks freaking dangerous.
“Are you trying to get yourself killed?” he hisses. “A car filled with hitmen shot at us, and you’re shouting at the top of your lungs. You may as well let off a fucking flare.” He takes a breath then adds, “Miss.”
“I thought you’d left me,” I shoot back.
“If I did that, I would be writing my death warrant,” he mutters, then leans down, pushing his hands through my underarms, and sits me up.
He pulls me backward while lifting me out of the car.
I scramble my now-bare feet to stand as the freezing Scottish air hits my skin.
“Are you okay?” he says as an afterthought.
“I don’t know.” Tears prick my eyes, the sudden realization that someone tried to kill me hitting home.
His warmth disappears as he lets go. The ground is wet, and mud slides between my toes as sharp sticks stab at my naked soles.
He releases the rope binding my arms. It falls to the ground beside my painted red toenails. I turn to face him.
“Your dress,” he prompts. My eyes drop to my now badly stained white garment that’s hitched up to my waist. I pull it down roughly as Greyson places a thick black jacket over my shoulders; I have no idea where it came from.
He leaves me standing beside the bashed-up vehicle as he walks to where it has struck the tree. His strong, wide body tenses as his eyes run over the damage. I wander up beside him to look at the now crumpled hood.
“How can there be so much damage?” I ask in shock. “We were moving slow.”
“Sometimes it’s just how the impact occurs,” he says, distracted.
He looks around where we stand, but there’s nothing but forest and dark lanes.
He returns to the driver's side and reaches in for something, reappearing with his phone.
“Fuck,” he snaps as his phone comes into view, small pieces of glass falling from the screen.
His focus slips to me. “Do you have your phone?”
I lift my arms and shrug my shoulders.
“Where in this dress do you think I would store a phone?” I say. “You didn’t exactly give me time to collect it when you kidnapped me.”
“I did not kidnap you,” he retorts, and his face darkens. “I’m doing my job, Miss.”
“Miss,” I raise an eyebrow as a smile plays on my lips. “I do like how that sounds in your accent, Greyson. Keep calling me that. It’s the best pet name anyone has ever given me.”
“It’s called being polite, Miss. Not for your gratification. And it’s certainly not a pet name.”
“We will see about that,” I say, then stalk off toward the road we drove down.
“Where the fuck do you think you’re going?” he shouts as I hear the thud of his boots breaking the icy branches on the ground. I keep walking, trying to ignore the pain in my feet. He catches up with me as I step onto the rough roadway, his hand catching my shoulder. I stop.
“Who is shouting now, Greyson?” I purr, flicking him a glance over my shoulder. “And I do love it when you call me Miss. Make sure you add it to the end of every sentence.”
I lift my fingers to where his sit on my shoulder and push them away before returning my eyes to the road ahead.
He releases me, and I begin walking once more; Greyson maintains my pace but keeps an arm's length behind me.
I’ve no idea where I’m fucking going, but it's nice to feel in charge.
Just then, the same dark SUV rounds the corner ahead.
A firm hand comes to my waist and pushes me sideways.
“Drop,” he orders, and I let my body fall into a small ditch covered with the long roadside grass. His muscular frame collapses on top of me, covering me completely. “Keep completely still,” he whispers, his lips at my ear. “If we survive this, you’re fucking doing as you’re told from now on.”
“Do you think they saw us?” I ask, panicked.
“We’re about to find out.”
The SUV's headlights get closer, the yellow light passing across the murky, damp ground.
The car stops close by. We both hold our breath.
I wait for the sound of a car door opening, footsteps, or the shot of a gun, but nothing comes.
The next thing I hear is the sound of tires on stone, and it passes by us and disappears into the night.
I wriggle, the weight of a large man on my petite body making my body ache.
“Stay still,” he growls. “We need to be sure they’re gone.”
What feels like hours pass before he removes himself from on top of me.
Most likely, it was probably only minutes.
I can’t see him in the dark, but I feel his hands on either side of my head as he pushes himself up to stand.
A large hand takes mine from the dirt, tugging me upward.
“Come on, we need to find shelter and a phone.”
We clamber out of the ditch and back onto the road. He stops, turns his back on me, and crouches. I can only make out the outline of his shadow in the moonlight. I blink at him and he glances over his shoulder.
“Come on, Miss. Climb on my back. It will be quicker than you hobbling along in bare feet,” he sighs. “Please.”
“This is not how I expected my evening to turn out,” I mutter before pulling my dress up again and climbing onto my supposed savior's back.