“Hey, what are you doing?” I struggle against him desperately, searching for an escape.
He opens a door and shoves me in with so much force I fly across the plush carpet. I blink back up at him, my body trembling all over. Beside me is an oversized bed covered in white linen, also not a torture chamber, but that doesn’t mean I’m not terrified of what’s coming next.
“It’s late, get some sleep,” he replies, a no-shit tone to his voice.
Cruz follows us in with my bag, my clothes spilling out over the top from where he’s shoved them back in. He places it on the bed, a cruel smirk twisting his lips as he looks me over, like a predator with my body all sprawled out on the floor.
Jagger glares at him. “You’re on the sofa,” he snips in his brother’s direction, then leaves us alone together, his heavy boots stomping back through the hardwood floors of the apartment.
I suck in ragged breaths, not sure what the hell is about to happen. Cruz kneels beside me, the back of his hand brushing gently down the side of my face, then he runs his thumb over my bottom lip like he did in the car earlier. I’m not sure why, but I don’t flinch away, even though I know I should. But his touch is soft, caring, and slightly sensual. It wakes something up in me I thought was long dead. Desire.
I have no idea why, but I press my body closer to his. It’s as if I’m drawn to him, aching for him to satisfy a need I never knew existed until this very moment. The way he looks at me with so much heat in his eyes makes my stomach flip-flop and a pool of arousal coat my panties instantly. Who the hell is this guy? I swallow the lump in my throat. “Get your hands off me,” I finally snap, my brain winning the battle.
“Sweet dreams, little darlin',” he sing-songs like he’s taunting me, then moves away, leaving me staring at the back of his imposing figure as he closes the door, locking me inside the bedroom alone.
I wait a minute, too frozen to the spot where I was thrown to move. What on earth was that, and why do I want his hands back on me? I shake my head, trying to get rid of the strange sensation now coursing through me. I pull myself up to standing using the bed for support, then check the bedroom door. Sure enough, it’s locked. I’m trapped in this bedroom.
I scan the room, looking for a way out. The window is an obvious choice, but as I approach it, I can already see it’s one of those that doesn’t open, just like in the living room. And when I look down to the street, I see why; we are at least six stories up. There is no way out of this hell.
I slide down the wall and bury my head in my hands, trying to suck in deep breaths. A weight bears down on me, compounded exhaustion from the flight and bus ride mixing with the mental fatigue from the ordeal I stumbled upon in the back of that alleyway. All I wanted was to have a fresh start, to have a life of my own, but I have gone from one prison to another.
Fresh tears spill from my eyes. I don’t bother to stop them; what’s the point? For five years I prayed for a better life, begged for a way out of my horrific marriage. The past week, I had a small sliver of hope that I might have just found my way out. How wrong I was.
Chapter 3
Kiss
Sunlightfiltersintotheroom, rousing me from my restless sleep of tossing and turning in sheets that smell of Cruz, cigarettes and leather. It shouldn’t be sexy, but for some messed-up reason it is on him. After one slightly terrifying but brief encounter, I shouldn’t know what his scent is, but in that short time, he invaded my senses. The car ride on his lap with his arms wrapped around me was enough to stay with me for way longer than I want it to. My guess is this is his bedroom, not Jagger’s or a spare room where they keep their prisoners; it looks too lived in. A jacket and crumpled T-shirt are slung over the chair in the corner. The bathroom is stocked with men’sshaving products and a hamper of men’s dirty clothes, and there’s a packet of open cigarettes and a lighter on the bedside table. Yeah, this is his room for sure.
Last night, after pacing the room trying to work out how I could escape, I eventually went looking for my phone, wanting to play some music to help me chill the hell out. That was when I realized one of them had it. I guess I should have been concerned with finding it earlier, but who can I call? I don’t want my parents or brother to know where I am; the cops wouldn’t be able to help me, and even if they did, I would end up shipped back off home to my family — not an option. What would I say, anyway? Some bikers called Jagger and Cruz have abducted me? They haven’t actually hurt me, they just locked me in a stylish bedroom and told me to go to sleep. The only person I want to speak to is Sloane. She’s the only one who can help me now, but I don’t have her number.
Exhausted, I fell in a heap and must have crashed out eventually in the early hours of the morning. But it wasn’t a comfortable sleep; it was haunted. Part of me was terrified that one of them would come back and… and I don’t know what. Kill me in my sleep, rape me, every dark and disturbed thought I could possibly have has entered my mind in the last few hours. But after they left, I didn’t hear another peep from either of them.
A knock sounds at the door, and I sit up in a rush, pulling my coat around my middle tighter. Yes, I slept in my clothes. As uncomfortable as it was, I wasn’t changing out of them. They were like a protective blanket, a barrier keeping Cruz’s sheets from touching my skin. It’s not that I find him repulsive or anything like that. In fact, it’s the complete opposite. I’m intrigued by him, fascinated in a way I know is dangerous. But it was the way he touched me, the way he spoke to me, calling me little darlin' like I was something special to him, thathad me unable to look away. And thinking about him long after the door was closed and I was alone.
The knock comes again. “You awake, flower? I have breakfast,” comes Jagger’s deep voice, probably the lesser of two evils. Probably. But at this point, who really knows? He just seems less psycho.
“I’m not hungry,” I mutter back, not wanting him to come in here with food, even if my stomach protests loudly. I haven’t eaten since my flight yesterday. Truth is, I only had enough money for my bus ride, so food had to wait.
Abruptly, the door swings open, the sudden intrusion making me flinch back up the bed. Jagger comes strolling in like he owns the place, I guess because he does. The fresh scent of his body wash wafts past me, and I can’t help but follow him across the room with my eyes. He’s in a dark, almost black T-shirt that’s rolled up at the sleeves, showcasing his massive biceps and ink. He leaves a mug of coffee and a couple of slices of toast and a banana on the bedside table. The view of him from behind is almost better than the one from the front, his dark jeans fitting his ass in a way that has me wiping the drool from the corners of my lips. He might be a scary-as-all-hell biker, but he’s an attractive one.
When he turns back to me, I glance away.
“Eat something,” he grumbles.
I shake my head, blinking back at him as I wonder how easily I could run past him right now when his guard is down.
He raises an unimpressed brow, giving me the kind of look my brother does when I’m annoying him. “You’re going to want to eat before your flight,” he snaps.
My head whips up to meet his dark gaze, a sinking feeling coming over me. “What flight?” My voice trembles.
His lips form a thin line, and his eyes narrow in on me. “You’re going home.”
I sit up taller, my body tight with tension as sickness washes over me. “No, I can’t. I don’t want to go home.”
“It’s done!” He pushes off where he was leaning into the wall and turns to leave the room.
With my heart in my throat and my pulse racing like mad, I jump out of bed and run after him. My hand comes to his shoulder, and he stops dead in his tracks, making me regret touching him immediately. I quickly retrieve my hand. “Jagger, please, you can’t send me back home.”
