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Chapter 2
Oriana
As soon as I wake up, I know something’s wrong. At first, I can’t put my finger on it. The mattress beneath me is harder than mine, and there’s a fresh, peppery and decidedly masculine scent in the air that I’ve never smelled in my bedroom.
When I open my eyes to unfamiliar surroundings, the memories come rushing back and I jump up, heart thundering against my ribcage. I bolt toward the door, but it’s locked. Biting back a scream of frustration, I slam my fists against it. Shit. Shit shit shit shit.
What the hell am I supposed to do? I’m so stupid. My father was right. The world is a dangerous place. And I never should’ve gone outside without Keith. All of this is my fault. My father will be so worried about me. I have to escape, I just have to.
I look around the room frantically, trying to find another way out. There. There’s another door. I stumble toward it, and to my surprise, it opens easily. I half-fall through the door, adrenaline pumping through my veins. But this isn’t a way out. This is a damn bathroom.
A strong hand clasps around my arm. “Hello, Oriana.”
I spin toward the deep, rumbly voice and my scream gets stuck in my throat. The man who has an iron grip on my arm is enormous. And he’s only wearing a towel.
Despite everything, heat floods my face, and I avert my gaze. The man is—I don’t even have words for what he is. I’ve never seen anyone like him before.
“There’s no way out of this room, so don’t waste your energy trying.”
His low, rough voice makes goosebumps rise on my spine, and almost against my will, I look at him again. His piercing blue gaze holds mine, and I can’t look away. His eyes are mesmerizing. Hell, everything about this man is mesmerizing. His handsome face is angular and rugged, with high cheekbones and a powerful jaw covered in salt and pepper stubble. And his body—holy hell. Not only is the man tall, his powerful body is thickly muscled, with tattoos covering much of his arms and torso.
I shake my head, trying to clear it. “How do you know my name?” I manage. “What do you want from me?”
He ignores me. He just continues staring at me. I can’t interpret the look in his eyes. He doesn’t look angry or like he hates me. No, he almost looks—hungry.
Only when a knock sounds on the door does he break our stare.
He lets go of my arm. “Stay here.”
As if. But I nod, demurely lowering my lashes. I wait until he’s at the door. As soon as it opens, I run.
Before I can even reach the door, he spins around, his towel dropping to the floor, and grabs me around the waist, pressing my body close to his and kicking the door shut. He holds me so tightly I can feel everything. Everything. His taught stomach and strong pecs, his powerful arms holding me like a vise. And his penis hardening against me. A thrill of desire shoots through me. Still, I struggle against his grip. He kidnapped me. My body shouldn’t react to him like this.
He carries me to the bed and throws me onto it, his eyes flashing with annoyance. Suddenly, true fear grips my insides. He might be the most attractive man I’ve ever seen, but if he wanted to, he could kill me with his bare hands. “Please,” I gasp. “Don’t hurt me.”
A look of disgust flashes over his face. “I’m many things, Oriana, but I don’t hurt women.”
He takes a step back, giving me a full view of his naked body. God help me, this man is stunning. The strongly muscled arms covered in tattoos, his ridged abdomen—and his penis jutting out proudly. I force my gaze away. What the hell is wrong with me?
I swallow drily. “You kidnapped me. What was I supposed to think?”
His lips draw into a thin line and he shakes his head. “You’re right. I’m sorry.”
My eyes widen in surprise. He doesn’t seem like the kind of man who apologizes often. “Who are you?”
“My name is Flint.”
He stiffens almost imperceptibly, as if he hadn’t meant to share his name with me. Then his shoulders relax and he picks up the towel, wrapping it around himself before sitting down on a chair next to the bed with a sigh. “I take it your father never told you about me?”
My brows furrow. “My father? Wha—no, he didn’t.” What does my father have to do with this? Is he the reason Flint kidnapped me?
“Your father used to be a good friend of mine. He was engaged to my sister, got her pregnant. What I didn’t know was that he hit her. He was good at keeping it a secret, only hurting her in places that her clothes would hide. But then he lost it. He kicked her in the stomach and she lost the baby. That’s when she finally told me the truth.”
I shake my head, bile rising in my stomach. “No. It must have been a misunderstanding. My father would never do something like that.”
He continues speaking as if I hadn’t said anything, a far-away look in his eyes as if he’s reliving his memories. “Three years. It took three years for my sister to get back to normal. I didn’t hear her laugh for three fucking years. She was an empty fucking shell. Your father took my sister from me, so I think it’s only fair I take you from him, don’t you think?”
I don’t want to believe him. Don’t want to believe my father would do something like that. My father can be cold and calculating, yes. But I’ve never seen him be violent. I take in a shuddering breath. “Even if what you say is true—how is it fair to me?”
