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I went for my phone, but it was dead. I jerked around and spotted the charging cord on my nightstand. I rushed over and plugged it in, waiting for the phone to get enough juice to turn on. A minute or two and I’d learn if I was crazy or if I’d really been taken. What the hell had happened? Why had I been let go?
Did I dream up the magnetic man with the demanding voice and hot as fuck body? My phone came to life, and stunned, I sat there as the date was three days in the future.
I picked up my phone to call the police and then stopped myself. What would I say?
As the potential conversation played out in my head, I had genuine soul-searching to do.
Me: I’d like to report a crime.
Officer: Tell me what happened.
Me: I was taken three days ago by two men.
Officer: Were you harmed?
Me: Yes. He pinched my nipples after I punched him in the balls.
Officer: Ma’am, you realize that’s a crime?
Me: Exactly.
Officer: No, against you. Did he do anything else?
Me: He fed me out of a dog bowl. He made me get naked, saying he didn’t want me to harm myself.
Officer: Were you about to harm yourself?
Me: I don’t know. He eventually let me go.
Officer: Do you want to report this? Do you know where you were taken? A description of the man who took you? If we find him, he could press charges against you for battery.
Me: But he took me. It was self-defense.
Officer: You said you hit him first.
Me: Well yeah…
Had a crime been committed? Yes. But what had King done to me? He’d returned me to my apartment unmolested. He had me naked, but he hadn’t taken advantage. The only time he’d hurt me, I’d hurt him first.
And honestly, I had little to go on. Even if they caught him, was there enough for a jury to convict? If they heard my story, would they really be sympathetic, or would I look like a crazy woman?
They’d take one look at him, and women everywhere would be on his side. My life would be picked apart piece by piece while people decided on my innocence over his.
I had to envy women with the strength to come forward and tell their truths. And if he’d done more to harm me, hurt me in any way, I would fight like hell to bring him to justice.
Instead, I wondered if there was more going on. King had maintained from the beginning that he was protecting me. Who had the voice been that had replaced mine?
It had sounded like they’d used me to get information. Or maybe I just wanted to believe King wasn’t an evil man. Oh, there was a darkness in him, for sure. But it was controlled. I’d been drawn to him like a moth to a flame.
I went to call my friend to see what she thought and remembered she was out of touch, having gone to an island with her family.
That was the hard pill to swallow that I had no one. I’d be on my own if I wanted to start a battle when I did not know what the war had been about.
A reminder pinged on my phone. The interview with Connor King.
Should I go to that or the police?
EIGHT
Sitting before the man was as daunting as the first time I’d seen him. He was just as imposing and still one of the sexiest men alive.
Connor King had unveiled himself to me even when he didn’t have to. He was the driver of the van. There was obviously a reason, but what reason could exist?
His family was elusive to the media outside of his mogul father. I had no idea one of my captors was a King.
“You’re wondering why I didn’t cancel your interview?” he asked.
I bobblehead nodded, likely looking as goofy as the namesake dolls because I’d almost missed my interview. Though he rightly knew the reasons why, I wouldn’t have known he did. Somehow revealing himself anyway won him points in my mind.
“You have questions.” When I opened my mouth, the man only had to give me a look to have me close said mouth just as quickly. “You deserve answers,” he said. “To save us time, I’ll begin.”
I fidgeted in my chair as I anticipated hearing why I’d gone through that experience and, most of all, survived.
“You were targeted.”
Shocker, I almost said snarkily, but managed to keep that to myself. King, as he’d called himself, seemed amused by my insolence. Connor King didn’t seem like a man who would find my sarcasm even slightly funny.
“And not by me,” he added.
That was surprising.
He touched a screen in front of him and shortly after, an image appeared on the large monitor behind him. I was transported to the day I, a New Yorker, made the mistake of being neighborly and helping a stranger. Something I didn’t think I’d ever do again, given what happened.
