No, I don’t have any idea who I am at this point either. I’ve never really cared about anyone other than my brothers before. But, honestly, wanting to care for a twink who’s hung me upside down by my ankles and knocked me on the temple with my own dagger before putting me in the trunk of his car isn’t the strangest thing I’ve done.
And technically, I put myself in the trunk. I’m caring like that.
With nothing else to do, I wonder idly where he’s taking me. The why is obvious—it’s either to extort money or because of The Firm.
Either way, my family will be involved. But not until I’m ready for them to be. I’m not sharing Ansel just yet.
He’s mine to play with first.
Although, he’s still calling me by the fake name I gave him. It suddenly occurs to me that perhaps this is not connected to my family after all.
Huh. If he chose me randomly, or if this is all a coincidental mix-up, then that makes it even more fun.
The poor man probably thinks he’s in charge, given he’s the one doing the kidnapping. Unfortunately for him, that’s not really how I like to roll. But I’m happy to let him think he’s in control.
For now.
Where we’re going, though…that’s the question that lingers in my mind. I hope it’s to his place. I’d love to see where he lives and peel back another layer of the conundrum my butterfly presents. Either that or a cabin in the woods. That’s more fitting. Kind of romantic, too. Somewhere where no one will be able to hear any screams.
Screams of pleasure or pain. I don’t give a fuck which. Both are fun for me.
I can make it fun for Ansel too, if he’s game. He might be a little shy, but that just makes it all the more interesting.
I’ve always loved a challenge.
The beat of a song filters into the trunk, and my lips lift in a smile.God, I love Savage Garden. I start to sing along, but barely make it through a line before the radio station switches. An upbeat pop anthem replaces it, making me scowl. “Hey! What the fuck? Switch it back.”
The volume is shut off. Ansel’s voice is a mix of confusion and amusement. “You can’t seriously want that old shit on.”
For the first time since this all started, I’m filled with indignation. “Music from the nineties is notoldshit.”
“I wasn’t even born then.”
Curiosity replaces the indignation. “How old are you?”
Ansel sniffs. “I don’t think I’m supposed to answer your questions.”
I smirk into the darkness. None of this is going how it’s supposed to, and I’m so here for it. “Well, you have to be legal if you were in that bar. I know they ID.”
Not that I used my real ID to get in. Being a Buckingham comes with many benefits—anonymity isn’t one of them.
Maybe Ansel didn’t either. I wince in horror. “You arelegal, right?”
There are some muttered words I don’t catch before he sighs loudly. “I’m twenty-five.”
“Are you really?”
“No, not really. I’m twenty-one.”
“For fuck’s sake,” I murmur, even though my dick is getting hard at how sassy he is. I’d love to fuck that right out of him. Just for a minute, but still.
“Just kidding. I’m twenty-three and a half.”
I grunt.
“What the hell am I doing? Why am I giving him a fake age?” I hear him murmur to himself. “I’m really twenty-five. I’m not lying this time.”
“Okay, so the point is, you weren’t alive in the nineties, but that’s not excusing bad taste.”
