Floss puts her hand on his leg and murmurs soothingly to him, ‘You’re doing great, babe. Just drive at the speed you feel comfortable at.’
I roll my eyes.These two are too cutesy for words,Ithink to Hester. But she wisely stays out of it, head down, scrolling on her phone.
I’m aware that not having my morning dose of Elliott’s blood is making me more of a bitch than usual. I missed his arms around me, feeding from his neck and chatting afterwards. All I’ve got now is the comforting buzz in my head that tells me he’s alive. He’s my glue, and without him, I can feel myself starting to become unstuck emotionally and mentally. Ihaveto keep it together, for Elliott’s sake.
Chapter 10
Elliott | Edinburgh, 1983
There’s a dull ache in my shoulders, which my brain tells me is from the busy day I had yesterday setting up equipment for the band. But as I come to slowly, I realise I can’t move my arms or my legs, and I’m not in my hotel room. I blink in the grey light filtering through the curtains. Where the hell am I? As I struggle to sit up and see what’s restraining me, a slim hand with pearly pink nails is laid flat on my stomach.
‘Lie still,’ says a husky voice that sends a frisson of fear to my gut.
Chest tightening in alarm, slowly, I turn my head to meet a pair of arctic-blue eyes. Fuck, it’s Sadie, the crazed fan from last night. She’s lying stretched out next to me in a pink T-shirt and black skirt. Her head is propped on her hand, and she’s surveying me coolly.
Panicked thoughts start flooding my brain.Oh no, I’m still here at her flat! It wasn’t a bad dream that shekidnapped me! Thank God my clothes are still on!
Sadie gives me a carefree smile, as if it’s completely normal to have kidnapped someone and tied them to their bed overnight. She lifts her hand from my stomach and waggles her fingers at me.
‘Morning, sleepyhead.’
Declining to reply, I yank at the arm restraints. Twisting my head, I can see my wrists against the bedposts. There’s nothing there, yet I’m held tight. How can that be? See-through plastic or something?
‘What the hell are you doing?’ I croak. ‘Let me go. I’ve got to get to the hotel. We’re driving to Leeds this morning.’
Sadie casually looks at her watch. ‘It’s coming up on nine. I think they’ve probably left without you by now.’
I blink at her. My brain is now starting to comprehend how fucked I am. No one knows I’m here.
‘The band will tell the police I’m missing. I’m an important member of the crew ...’ I gabble. ‘They’ll be out looking for me.’
‘Hmm, will they, Elliott Blythe?’ she purrs, raking her gaze down my chest. Something about her voice is seriously sexy, and I feel my dick stirring in my jeans, which shocks me. Surely, I’m notattractedto my kidnapper. That’s mad. I’ve been kidnapped for one night, and already I’ve got Stockholm syndrome!
‘I phoned your hotel first thing this morning and asked to speak to the band manager, Mick,’ she continues. ‘Gosh, was he grumpy! Certainly not a ray of sunshine at 7 a.m.’
‘How do you know my name and where I’m staying?’ I ask suspiciously.
She shrugs. ‘Not hard. There was a name badge and a folder with your itinerary in the van. Anyway, back to Mick. He was even grumpier when I said you weren’t going to be able to continue with the tour because you had a raging case of genital herpes. You were too ashamed to tell him yourself or face the band. So you’d caught a flight back to London last night and asked your mother to phone him.’
My mouth falls open. ‘My mother!’
She hits my arm playfully and giggles. ‘It wasn’t your real mother, silly. It was me pretending to be her. You don’t want your mother knowing something like that!’
I shake my head in confusion. ‘So they’re not looking for me?’
‘No, but you’ll get paid up until Christmas. He wasn’t too happy about your behaviour.’ She wags a finger at me and clicks her tongue. ‘Naughty Elliott, you’re not meant to sleep with the fans. Now you’re on a course of antivirals.’
‘But I didn’t sleep with anyone!’ I cry, yanking uselessly at the restraints. ‘And I don’t have herpes! You’re a sick and twisted woman. You’ve cost me the best job of my life. I’mDuran Duran’s roadie, for fuck’s sake.’
Sadie lifts an eyebrow. ‘Not anymore, I’m afraid. Now you’re working for us.’
While I’m gazing at her with my jaw slack, Sadie says the exact specifications of what this job entails will be explained to me after I’ve had a shower and some breakfast. Somehow, I’m released from the bed, and my legs march promptly into the bathroom. A clean towel is thrust at me, the door is closed and locked, and I’m left to my own devices. After checking that there’s no window from which to escape, I sink onto the toilet seat and bury my head in my hands. Fuuuuuck, I’m in a big pickle.
But after a few minutes of wigging out, my pragmatic side kicks in. First, I don’t think Sadie is going to murder me, which is a huge relief. Second, I think she’s given me a strong drug that is making me more inclined to do what she says. Third, I’ve got the skills to cope with this exact situation.
There’s a reason why I was hired to make sure Duran Duran’s live concerts run smoothly: I can problem-solve and keep my cool under pressure, I’m physically strong, and I have excellent mental endurance.
All I have to do is go along with what she says for the moment, keep my wits about me, and wait for an opportunity to make a break for it. It shouldn’t be toodifficult. Easier than fixing a sound system failure mid-performance anyway.
