“By the way, how’s your knife collection? You have one, right? Dark romance guys always have one. Or guns.”
My knife collection?This girl is certified insane. Is this what drew Eli to her? He needed a little insanity in his life? I chuckle to myself. I can imagine all kinds of misfits this girl can get into. A wave of unexpected jealousy washes over me. I can’t pinpoint if I’m jealous of therelationship or that he hasher.I don’t know what it is about her but there’s just something I can’t seem to put my finger on.
I can’t even remember the last time I’ve been on a real date and connected with someone. Medical school doesn’t leave much room for that kind of thing. And no one has ever caught my attention enough to make me want to put in the extra effort. Most nights, I’m too tired to care. My brain is always half calculating, half worrying—exams, rotations, volunteering. The late nights of studying and the early morning rotations all blur together into one long, exhausting string that has become my new normal.
I wish I had a special someone constant in my life. Someone I can come home to and let all the bad from the day melt away with. I want someone who’s there when I walk through the door—ready to listen to the gory details after a long shift in the ER, excited about the newborn I helped deliver, and willing to lend a quiet ear when I lose a patient to lung cancer.
Her over-the-top sigh pulls me back to our conversation. She’s leaning back on the headrest, the picture of relaxation. “This is kind of romantic. Just you, me, and the open road. Classic captor-captive setup. Ten out of ten. No notes.” The way she giggles at her own commentary has me shaking my head at how ridiculous this whole situation is.
I come to a stop at the intersection as a young family is making their way through the crosswalk. A tall, skinny guy, likely my age, is trying to keep his toddler from touching the hood of my car as they pass by. I hold my breath, hoping they don’t glance in too deep and notice the girl with the sack over her head. Luckily for me, the dad is too distracted trying to keep his toddler in check to even look my way.
Desperate to appear nonchalant, I turn my body to the back seat, avoiding eye contact with any more pedestrians. If I don’t see them, they don’t see me. It worked with playground hide-and-seek, so it should work now.
There’s one flaw in my decision to avert gazes from passersby; I’m now looking directly at my captive. I was too focused on executing the mission earlier that I didn’t really have time to see her—and now I can. Her face is breathtaking, there’s no denying it. But her body is just as alluring. I can’t help but notice every curve of her body. Her oversized sweater slips off one shoulder, revealing the delicate line of her collarbone, and all I can think about is pressing soft kisses there. The thought hits me hard and unwelcome. What the hell? This isEli’s girlfriend.
I turn back around, avoiding dissecting into why I was checking out Eli’s girlfriend when I notice her fidgeting out of the corner of my eye, her body anglingtoward the window, like she’s trying to make a break for it. I click the lock button to confirm she’s secured in the car. I try to think of anything but the girl tied up in my back seat but like a moth to a flame, I can’t help but steal glances at her from my rearview mirror. Even under that oversized sweater, I can tell she isn’t stick-thin like the fitness-obsessed girls at the gym, but soft in all the right ways—curves that hint she doesn’t shy away from dessert, and small, perky breasts that would fit perfectly in my hands.What has gotten into me? Who has thoughts like that about their best friend’s girlfriend?
The cars are inching forward at snail’s pace. At this rate, I’ll be late meeting Eli at the drop-off. This girl continues to chatter about mafia boyfriends and Taylor Swift, oblivious to my internal turmoil. The more she talks, the more I can’t seem to shake this uncontrollable feeling that draws me to her, like the irresistible pull of the tides. As if she can feel me staring, she shifts her posture to angle toward the front. “Are you glaring at me right now? I bet you are. You’ve got that whole silent, brooding aura. I can feel it. Ooooh, are we doing the enemies-to-lovers thing? That’s the ultimate trope.”
I bite back a laugh at this girl’s bravado. Here she is getting kidnapped, and yet she’s acting like it’s a normal Saturday morning to be tied up in the back of someone’s car.
“I just want you to know, I’ve always been ready for this moment. Like, spiritually prepared. Some girls dream about prom or their wedding day. Me? I’ve fantasized about this exact scenario. Tied up by a mystery man in the back of his car on the way to what I hope is a remote cabin—preferably one with Wi-Fi, so I can still download my Kindle Unlimited books. Honestly, it’s a dream come true. Who doesn’t want to be locked up in a remote cabin with no one to bother them and unlimited amounts of reading time? I mean, the sack could’ve been silk instead of burlap, but I’ll let that slide.”
Hearing her say she prepared for this causes a wave of protectiveness to roll through me. The thought of her being tied up in the back of another guy’s car has my grip on the wheel tightening, my knuckles turning bone white, and I exhale through my nose, sharp and uneven. My heart is sprinting like I’m back in basic training.
She sighs happily, settling back against the seat.
“Don’t worry, I’ve read so many mafia romances. I know exactly how this works. You threaten me, I sass you, you brood, we kiss—boom. Instant bestsellers!”
7
Charlie
As discreetly as I can, I fumble for my phone, my fingers brushing over the smooth screen before I awkwardly pull it from the tote. Dropping it on the outside of my thigh near the door, I hope he can’t see it from his angle.
Okay. Step one, secure lifeline—done.
Now what? I didn’t think this through; I still have this sack over my head. How am I supposed to use facial recognition? I hate that the new upgrade to this phone took away the Touch ID recognition feature. I should definitely write a strongly worded letter about how that feature could save my life—better yet, if I get out of here alive, I will sue.
My nose itches under this sack. He couldn’t get a better material? I mean, you would think the Russianmafia could afford a silk sack. Wait, is he Russian? I guess since he’s not talking to me, I can’t tell what ethnicity he is. If only he would take this off so I could hover my face over my phone. By now, I’m sure I’ve sweated through it, and my mascara is smearing. No way would facial recognition pick up a trash panda—aka raccoon—as the owner of this phone.
Okay, time for plan B. Or as my favoriteFriendscharacter would say,“PIVOT!”
Our car lurches forward, then abruptly stops. We’ve been in this pattern for a good five minutes. I bet traffic is already a nightmare this morning with all the preparation for the festival. With out-of-towners coming in and the locals getting their storefront ready, I’m guesstimating we’re still crawling down Main Street. I’m internally praying someone sees me, jumps out in front of this car, and stops my captor. Keeping my voice casual, trying to hide any panic, I start my next mission to remove this scratchy sack.
“Alright, let’s get into something important—murder. Be honest. Have you, or have you not, killed a man with your bare hands?” I say, knowing this question would rattle anyone, even a seasoned mafia enforcer. The car jerks just slightly. Bingo. I grin underneath my sack.
“Don’t worry, I’m not judging,” I say sweetly. “In fact, I’m hoping for a yes. Because, babe, if you haven’t atleast snapped a neck or two in a dimly lit alleyway, you’re not really commitment material.” I sound ridiculous even to my own ears, but I’m committed now; I have to figure out how to get out of this situation.
I can feel the irritation thrumming from the driver’s seat. We’re at peak annoyance.
“Ugh, traffic,” I groan, letting the complaint roll out like I don’t care. “This totally ruins the vibe. Can’t you just swerve onto the shoulder and do something illegal? You’re supposed to be a dangerous man, right? Break some laws for me.”
I can hear the faint melody of Christmas music—probably coming from one of those pop-up speakers the town installs every holiday season. Confirmation of my theory that we haven’t gotten far.
The scent of roasted pecan and cinnamon sugar sneaks in through the vents. The situation is almost absurd. Outside, people are probably sipping cocoa and taking selfies under twinkling lights, while I’m tied up, covered in a sack, and sitting behind a man who could either be my captor or a plot twist waiting to happen.
I refuse to be the damsel in distress.
