I don’t remember any storm last night, but I was pretty distracted by everything that happened.
The van turns onto a narrow dirt road that leads deeper into the forest. Trees crowd close on either side, branches scraping against the windows as we bump over ruts and potholes. My anxiety grows with each passing mile. This can’t possibly be a shortcut to the marina.
“Bruce,” I say, my voice tight. “I really think we should turn around. This doesn’t seem right.”
“We’re almost there,” he says, his tone suddenly sharper. “Just hang on.”
“Almost where?” I demand, one hand already reaching for the door handle. My heart’s pounding, and I can hear it in my ears. “Please stop the van. I want to get out.”
He laughs, the sound sending ice down my spine. “We’re at our destination, Jessica. Or should I say, Anya?”
My blood turns to ice.He knows my name.
I yank on the door handle, but nothing happens.
Bruce swerves the van onto a small clearing and slams on the brakes, sending me lurching forward against the seatbelt.Is this how it ends for me?
“Stay put,” he growls, pulling a knife from his pocket. The blade catches the light from the dashboard, gleaming wickedly. “Or this goes in your pretty throat.”
I freeze, my heart hammering against my ribs. “What do you want?”
He gets out of the van and opens my door, standing before me still holding the knife. His friendly smile is gone now. “Mr. Keith wants you.” He reaches across me, grabbing my wrist ina grip like iron. “Now, we can do this the easy way, or the hard way. Your choice.”
I don’t hesitate.
I bring my knee up hard, aiming for his groin, but he’s expecting it. He blocks with his free hand, then backhands me across the face. The blow snaps my head to the side, my vision exploding with stars as pain lances through my cheek.
“That’s the hard way, then,” he says cheerfully, reaching into the back seat for a roll of duct tape. “Mr. Keith did say you might be feisty.”
I scramble for the door, trying to push past him, but he grabs a handful of my hair, yanking me back, then slaps a piece of tape across my mouth. The adhesive burns against my skin, making me gag as I struggle against his grip.
I twist and kick, trying to break free, but he’s too strong. He secures my wrists with more tape, wrapping it around and around until my circulation is cut off, my fingers going numb. Then he binds my ankles together with the same ruthless efficiency.
“There we go,” he says, sounding pleased with himself. “Much better.”
He reaches into the back again and pulls out a filthy rag, reeking of sweat and gasoline. My eyes widen in horror as he peels the tape from my mouth just long enough to stuff the rag between my lips, then slaps the tape back into place. The taste is vile, making me retch, but the rag absorbs the sound, turning my screams to muffled whimpers.
Fuck!I try to separate my hands, but he’s put on so much tape it’s impossible.
Bruce throws me over his shoulder like a bag of potatoes. My stomach lurches as he starts walking, each step jolting my bruised face against his back.
“Mr. Keith’s been looking for an omega for his specialclients for months now. And here you are, just falling into our lap.”
I try to scream again, but the rag reduces it to a pathetic mewling sound. I twist and buck, trying to break free, but his arm is like a steel band across the backs of my thighs, holding me firmly in place.
“Quit squirming,” he snaps, delivering a sharp slap to my ass that makes me yelp in pain. “Or I’ll knock you out and carry you the rest of the way unconscious. Your choice.”
I go still, tears of frustration and fear streaming down my face.How did this happen?One minute I was escaping, the next I’m being directly delivered to Keith.
Seventeen
ANYA
The rag in my mouth tastes like gasoline and sweat, making my stomach turn as I bounce against Bruce’s shoulder with each jolting step. My head throbs from being upside down for so long, blood rushing to my face, making it feel swollen and hot. I twist, trying to see where we’re going, but all I can make out is the occasional flash of trees and what looks like a gravel road beneath his boots. My wrists and ankles burn where the duct tape cuts into my skin.
Bruce tightens his grip on my legs, his fingers digging into the backs of my thighs.
“Feisty little thing, aren’t you?” he says, his tone almost admiring. “Mr. Keith’s clients are gonna love that.”
