I still hesitate though, because honestly, I’m not much of a target.
But I beat my fist against his back half-heartedly, the solid wall of muscle not yielding even slightly under my knuckles, my eyes glued to the perspiring, shaking form of old man Vitale, eyeing me from under the bench.
The candles on the altar are still burning, flames trembling in the draft from the open doors, throwing long shaking shadows across the pews.
His brown eyes nearly bug out of his head as he chants his thanks—to God, I'm assuming, for saving his hide. It’s clear he feels not even an ounce of sadness at the prospect of losing me.
Throwing all caution to the wind, I lift my hand and give him the finger.
Marco often tells me I’m too naive for my own good, too optimistic, too sunshiny for the violent world we live in. And maybe I am. Maybe this kidnapper’s going to do untold things to me. Maybe a worse fate waits for me.
But as I scan the church one last time, my eyes find Marco’s.
Something glitters there as they light on me—satisfaction, even relief.
I frown, but there’s no chance to linger.
The giant carries me out of the church. Crisp May air hits the top of my thighs. With the sound of gunfire fading behind us, I can’t stop feeling that I’ve been saved.
2
ELIAS
Iknow the drive to my cabin, set deep in the Black Pine Mountains of western Montana, like the back of my hand. I know the view through each season, every crevice and frost-split rock on the land, the meadows that flood gold with arrow-leaf balsam-root come July, and the lodgepole pines that line the road like sentinels all the way to my door.
The view of the sky deepening to dusk over the peaks with the last of the winter snow clinging to the higher ridges is my one companion.
And yet, as I maneuver the four wheel drive up the rough, winding mountain roads, everything feels different in an unsettling way.
Thanks to the woman out cold in the passenger seat, my unwanted guest.
I’ve lived alone in the cabin for more than a decade. Aiden, Adam and a couple of my military boys helped me build it when I wanted something far from civilization. When I wanted to escape the world that used me up and chewed me out.
I grow vegetables and fruits in the summer, have a freezer for meat and make runs to the nearby town maybe once a month.
The isolation suits me, even though it hasn't quite healed my nightmares. Fifteen years of service, one bad call, and more bodies than I can count on both sides of the fence. They gave me a medal for it. Called me a hero. Hauled me out at ceremonies like a trained dog and asked me to perform. I lasted eight months before I told them all to go to hell.
Now, for the first time, I’m bringing someone to my cabin. An intrusion into my space.
A woman in a wedding dress.
A woman that looks like a sweet angel with her round face and rounder curves. An angel I want to corrupt and drag into the darkness with me.
The fact that she’s out cold in the passenger seat should have let me focus on what I’m going to do with this unwanted baggage that’s suddenly fallen into my lap.
It doesn’t. I keep sneaking glances at her, like I can’t get enough of her. Like I have to do all my looking now before she wakes up and figures out my sudden obsession with her.
Long gossamer-wing like lashes, silky soft pale skin, pillowy lips, long straight jet black hair fanned out against the headrest. She's young, made of thick curves that make me pant like a dog being offered a treat, with an up-tilt at the corners of her eyes that says she’s half Asian. It’s as if the universe decided to create a woman that ticks off all my boxes and then sent her to me as torment.
Fuck, I don’t even remember the last time I had sex, much less being hit with lust this badly.
I run a hand over my face and nearly miss a huge pothole.
The bodice of her wedding dress is tight around her chest and every time I hit a patch of gravel and the jeep bounces, the tops of her breasts bounce too.
Apparently, I’m also a tits man and hers are a goddamn work of art. I can just imagine the weigh of them in my hands as I squeeze and knead until the tip stiffens.
My blood runs sluggish and hot and my stiff cock reminds me I'm not as dead inside as I thought. The dying light catches the curve of her neck, the bare skin of her chest, turning everything gold and soft. Her head lolls against the window and my heart does something stupid in my chest.
