Perfection.
“Oh, that little shack over there? How very unassuming.”
Ansel purses his lips and then reaches down and grabs my bicep like he did earlier. I flex it so he can feel how strong I am, but he’s seemingly unimpressed. He just tugs and grunts, those little sounds of frustration really doing it for me, until I swing my legs out of the trunk and hop up. My hands are still tied behind me, and I pretend like I can’t undo the knot he used. It really isn’t a suitable one for the shirt restraint he has me in. What would have been better is zip-ties.
But he’s young and acted impulsively.
He’ll get it eventually. If he’s serious about doing this as a career path, I can teach him all the ways. Just call me the Mr. Miyagi of kidnapping. Wax on, wax off, rub me all over.
I step around him, brushing against his side as I make my way to the small dilapidated cabin. He inhales shakily but doesn’t say anything.
I pause and glance back over my shoulder, seeing that he’s still standing by the car. He’s staring at me, blinking in confusion. He’s probably wondering why I’m going willingly. To be fair, I’ve never kidnapped anyone who walked themselves into their own prison, so I understand the narrowed, suspicious gaze.
But listen, if he knew who I really was, he’d throw me right back where he found me.
And I’m not ready to go. Not yet.
I want to know more about this man who kidnapped me, put me in his trunk, and took me to a sex shack.
Fuck, I sure hope it’s a sex shack.
I should also try and find out exactlywhyhe’s brought me here. Even if he meant to kidnap “Brad” instead, I should work out what’s going on. Wylder will have my head if I don’t.
Work can come later though. Ideally, right after both Ansel and I have.
“You coming?” I call, trying to hide my bemusement. From how Ansel scowls, I think I’m unsuccessful.
“You have something up your sleeve.”
I flex my biceps again. “Literally have no sleeves on right now.”
I grin widely as he stomps forward. He gets right up in my face. Well, he tries. Even on tiptoes he barely clears my chin.
“I don’t trust you.”
“Hey, now.” I pout. “I’m not the one kidnapping people at bars. I’m innocent.”
Internally, I giggle. I’m definitely not innocent. Not at all. If he knew half the things I’ve done, he’d run. And, like I said, as I’m not ready for this to be over, I’m keeping quiet.
“Come on,” he mutters and pulls me forward. I almost skip inside, taking in the broken floorboards and the cobwebs in the corners. There’s a fireplace, a rickety bed with a dusty quilt on it, and a desk and chair. A doorway leads to another small room that looks as dilapidated as this one. A second doorway reveals a clean but tiny bathroom.
In terms of nailing the atmosphere, my butterfly gets top marks. The only way to make it creepier would be to have a table where torture instruments and bondage materials are on display.
Did I say creepier? I meant sexier.
He lets go of me and pulls the chair out, pointing to it. “Sit.”
I land so fast on the chair that I nearly topple over. Part of mewonders if I should reel myself in a bit, but I’ve never been very good at that. I have to mask enough in polite society that I don’t want to do it during my private time.
Especially not when I’m sharing said private time with someone as intriguing as the guy currently in front of me.
Ansel hasn’t moved. His head is cocked to the side as he studies me. I’m clearly not behaving how he expected. Either that, or he genuinely doesn’t know what to do next.
“Tie me up, butterfly,” I say with an encouraging smile. “Rope, if you have it.”
Ansel rolls his eyes. “I’m doing that. Jesus. Don’t micromanage me.”
“I’m not micromanaging. I’m teaching.”
