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“Has anyone ever told you you’re an asshole?” I sneer back.
His thin, cool smile widens. “Oh this is me being nice, sweetheart,” he growls. “I could always cuff you to the fucking bed again if you’re so eager to push my goddamn buttons.”
“And I could just pee myself?”
He grins. “Well if you do, you let me know and I’ll grab a webcam. Never underestimate the weirdos out there on the internet who would pay good money for that.”
My nose wrinkles. “That’s disgusting.”
“You’re the one itching to piss the fucking bed, baby.”
“Fuck you.”
“Now is that any way for a mob princess to talk?”
“Sorry, I meant go fuck yourself!” I yell back.
He smirks and turns away abruptly. Something in me finally snaps. “You don’t have to be such a dick, you know!” I yell after him. “I mean you took me off the fucking street, gagged me, threw me in a freaking serial killer van, and drove me to your little creepy hideout! I think I’m allowed to talk however the fuck I want!”
He turns back to me. I hate that I tremble at the way his gaze sweeps over me. “Talk however you want.” He shrugs.
“And I’m not a fucking ‘mob princess,’” I mutter.
He chuckles. “Whatever you say.”
“You don’t know a fucking thing about me aside from who my dad is!”
“If I’m curious about who your favorite contestant on the Bachelor is, I’ll be sure to ask,” he says dryly.
He turns again, and I snap. Hard. I’ve spent my whole life with my father talking down to me, and dismissing me, and treating me like a delicate little flower. And I’m over it. My kidnapper walks towards the door, and I jump into action.
There’s a small wooden stool next to the bed. I grab it, swing it over my head, and bring it down with a smash over his back. He roars in pain and stumbles to his knees. For a second, I’m shocked that I actually just did that. For a second, I think about bolting past him and making a run for it.
But suddenly, he’s up. He turns on me with fury in his eyes. Oh shit. I tremble as he rushes into me. His big hands grab me tightly, and I gasp. He pushes me backwards until my back hits the wall behind me, and I gasp breathlessly.
He growls darkly, pinning me to the wall with his muscled, big body. My heart races with a mix of fear and something else. But I know that something else is “excitement,” and I blush. I know it’s wrong that I’m tingling all over at his touch. I know the way he’s just slammed me into the wall shouldnotmake my core tighten with heat.
I know I should be screaming in terror, not staring at his lips.
“Let’s get something crystal fucking clear,” he snarls lowly. He’s so close to me. My heart races at the nearness of him. And I can feel the heat of his body against my skin through the sundress.
“You’re mine now,” he growls. “You’re here, and you’re fuckingmine. And while you’re here and mine, you will fucking behave yourself. Is that understood!?” he hisses.
I’ve had men talk down to me my whole life. But this doesn’t feel like that. It’s almost as if he’s talking to me possessively. Not like he’s above me, but like I’m really and truly his. It’s nothing I’ve ever felt before, and it makes my pulse beat faster. But I’m not shutting up that easily.
“And if I don’t?” I sneer quietly in response.
He stares at me. For a second, he looks surprised that I haven’t clammed up yet.
“Do you know what they say about bad girls who go looking for trouble?”
The words “bad girl” from his lips are like a trigger for me. It’s like a magic spell that makes my skin tingle and my core melt. I look up into his gorgeous eyes with defiance. But I’m barely hanging on. I shouldn’t feel this way about this man. But it’s like I’m slowly drowning in his eyes.
“Why don’t you fill me in?” I sass.
He smiles thinly. I gasp when he leans so damn close to me and opens those perfect lips. “They always, always fucking find it.”
“And let me guess, you’re ‘trouble?’”
