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They shared wine.
Fucker wanted to get her drunk.
That did it. No way in hell was I going to stand there and watch as another man made moves on my girl.
She never knew I was there. That’s the beauty of the badge. Without it, I’m not Officer Burns. I’m Mace—but Angela hasn’t met him yet. She only knows the cop. Her hero.
I saved her tonight. I’m not sure she’ll ever see it that way. I mean, I went back to my place, traded my street clothes for my uniform, and grabbed the sedative I prepared because—shit—I knew this day was coming. I waited until Willows dropped her off, then made a big display of arresting her so that, in case anyone was watching, they wouldn’t start asking questions when Angela disappeared.
The drugs worked fast. She was out by the time I had her in the back seat of the cruiser. She had no idea I made a quick trip up to her bedroom, or that I rolled her for her phone. She was unconscious the entire trip up to the hills, and when I brought her to the finished basement of the hunting cabin where I plan on keeping her until she admits that she’ll never let another soul come between us.
Especially not another guy.
I’m a bad man. I do bad things.
I always have a reason, though. A justification. Even if only to myself, there’s a method to my madness.
And, in time, my angel will understand that.
Now that she’s awake and aware that I’m not about to let her get away from me, I decide to show her that I’m not the monster she obviously thinks that I am. I unlock the shackle around her ankle and coil up the chain keeping her tethered to the cot. I make sure to point out the closed door, showing her the basic toilet and shower stall that came with the finished basement. When I bought the hunting cabin, it intrigued me, almost as though I knew the darkness inside of me would one day lead me to needing a place to keep my pretty little angel.
For leverage, I leave the cuffs on her. She’ll still be able to use the bathroom or get a snack from the refrigerator while wearing them. For now, she’s my personal prisoner in a secret cell. The handcuffs aren’t a subtle way to hammer that message home, but I don’t plan on forcing her to keep them on for long. Just until she earns a little more freedom from me.
I’m not that much of a monster—but I won’t deny what I am.
Even better, I don’t have to hide around her. Not Angela Havers. By the time I’ve fully claimed her, my angel will know every inch of me the same way I will her. I got a head start, of course, but she just got a crash course on who Mason Burns is. Not just Officer Burns, with his badge and his gun and his pledge to “protect and serve”, but Mace the man.
Herman.
Taking her last night was impulsive. I’m still in the middle of my five-on, two-off patrol, so I’m due in to work by four. The sedative I gave her wore off by noon, just like I figured. Since my cabin in the hills is an hour’s drive out of Springfield, I wanted to make sure I had the chance to check on her before I headed in to work. I’ve got two more shifts, then two full days I can spend with her.
The hours drag. All I want to do is return to her, but I can’t let anyone suspect that I stole her.
Last night, after I got her settled in and prepped her for her mark, I covered my tracks. In the corner of Springfield where Angela lives, cops are a pretty usual sight; so is someone getting arrested on their doorstep. If anyone saw what went down, they probably developed temporary blindness so I’m not worried about that.
The prick sniffing around her was a bit more of an issue. Her boss, Louise, too. Good thing I got her phone off of her. A couple of texts later, and that was taken care of.
Just in case, I do my beat, parking my cruiser along the main, strolling around like I usually do. I nod at the shopworkers, decline a free pastry from the girl waitressing at the cafe I pass every day, and offer Louise a wave when I see the older woman manning the counter in the flower shop.
That’s right. It’s a regular, ordinary day. No one knows that my whole world has changed, and that none of them will ever see Angela again.
She’s mine. No matter what I have to do, no matter how I have to convince her… she’s mine, and the sooner she accepts that, the better.
* * *
I don’t even stopto change when I return to the cabin. Parking my cruiser on the dirt path next to it, I let myself inside, then head straight for the basement.
It’s dark. Well past nine o’clock by now, the sun set a couple of hours ago. There’s a single lamp in the basement, leaving a mellow yellow light washing over the space. It’s more than enough for me to find Angela curled up on the cot, chin dipped to her chest as if trying to hide from my searching gaze.
I give her a moment to get used to my presence. Pushing her too hard will only make it so that I have to keep her down here long. Neither one of us wants that. So, while she studiously ignores me, I look around the room.
The garbage pail by the fridge is knocked on its side. Something tells me she got up and kicked it in a fit of frustration, then left it where it fell. The thick book on flowers I bought for her is moved just enough from the center of the table that I’m sure she at least looked at it.
Score one for Mace.
The door to the bathroom is closed. Since the basement doesn’t stink like piss, she must’ve used it instead of spitefully soiling the cot like I might have done if I were in her shoes. Good. She’s not happy, but she’s adjusting to being my prisoner better than I could’ve hoped.
Nodding in approval, I move over to the pail. I pick it up, growing when I see there’s nothing inside of it. No wrappers. No bottle of water.
