Page 8 of His Keepsake

3

EMME

I couldn’t breathe. Coughing was hard enough and threatened to suck dirt into my lungs, with my face being pressed against the ground. The weight from his knee crushing my back and the palm of one hand hurt like hell.

I’d called him an asshole, and his silence as he held me down scared the fuck out of me…even as it also, somehow, made my pussy throb.

His boot was resting between my legs, and I was tempted to rub against it.

Proof I was definitely losing it.

I eyed a glittering piece of glass. He’d moved me away from that. As if he cared.

Or just didn’t want me bleeding here.

I’d wondered what it would be like to have a man really try to do this. I’d wondered why women didn’t get away from their abductors. Now I knew. If a man was ruthless, it was impossible to move, let alone resist. This might as well be a boulder pinning me.

I spat some dirt from my tongue.

“Stay still,” he growled. He moved his knee off me but held me down, and I groaned in relief.

He stripped off my trench coat but pinned me by my neck. As he maneuvered the coat off my arms, the single attempt I made to escape brought a spat threat and a harder grip. Then he twisted both arms to the small of my back.

Efficiently, he wrapped something around my wrists, locking them together, tighter and tighter. Not rope, not artisan-made leather cuffs. The loops bit into skin, and numbness spread through my fingers, until he did something before knotting it. He was careful not to cut off blood flow.

Shit. My phone was in my coat pocket. If this wasn’t Charity’s friend, I was so screwed.

Was it him? The Dom? Was playing with me by not saying the first-contact word we arranged?

“Run and I’ll cut you.”

That sounded convincing. Fear seesawed.

In front of my face, a knife materialized in his hand with moonlight shimmying down the blade.

I stared at it, at his hand in the crisp white cuffed shirt.

He hauled me to my feet and hustled me toward the black sedan parked across the road. I’d seen that car—checked it out thinking maybe it was him. Eventually discounted it.

Would that mistake cost me my life?

In a last second decision, I pretended to trip, and as a fallback clue for the cops, I left my shoes behind.

That car… He’d been waiting for me before I arrived. He must be the Dom?

“Why did you do that?” He gave an exasperated sigh even as the trunk popped open. “In.” Then he manhandled me inside, seemingly uncaring of the scrapes on my knee and the thud as I landed in there. My shoes thumped in beside me. Fuck. But he was still holding my purse and coat.

I blinked up at him, wide-eyed. The trunk light glared down at me, shadowing his face. My heart ratcheted up at this first partial look at my abductor.

Did he look like a dominant or a psychopath? Maybe both. He looked like a businessman—handsome, with money. I tried to let that calm me down, but the gleam in his dark eyes hinted at a man on the edge of losing control. An expensive haircut didn’t make a man incapable of murder.

“Who—”

The slap to my face landed unexpectedly, stinging.

“Shut the fuck up.”

I pinched my lips together, stared, defiance simmering, and ready to bite back despite my burning cheek. What could I say?

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