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“Do you wish for me to remove these, sir ?” Mr. Carson questions with a British formality, gesturing toward my zip ties.
“Is that even a real question?” I retort. “How long is this charade going to play out?”
“Excuse me?” The handsome devil quirks an eyebrow.
“Look. My father is a very powerful man, but even so, I’m impressed at his commitment to take things this far. I’m not scared … I’m bored. If the point of this was to show me the danger I was putting myself in, then I got it. I won’t sneak away again, but he and I need to talk. He has to be willing to compromise. I’m not marrying Niccolò.”
“Sorry to enlighten you, principessa. I’m not one of your father’s associates, and this is not some orchestrated plot to teach you a lesson,” he says, his face hardened.
“So you’re …?”
“Your captor … your owner,” he finishes smugly.
I nearly laugh out loud because he can’t be serious. Nobody is this stupid. My father would kill him personally with his bare hands. “Okay, Mr. Captor. I’ll play along since you insist on keeping this lesson going. Why am I here? What is it that you want from me?”
He lowers his face to mine and levels me with an ice-cold stare—his breath a caress against my face and his eyes are an abyss of arctic blue. “Your virginity.”
My words falter as he stands and heads toward the door from which he came. “Bring her to her room,” he orders to the man who questioned whether to remove my restraints. I don’t swallow the lump in my throat until my beautiful“captor”is out of sight. Could this actually be real? Did I get this horribly wrong? I still want to believe that this is nothing more than an elaborate hoax, but my gut is starting to doubt again.
The sack from before is placed back over my head. My fight or flight kicks in and I know that I need to take this abduction seriously just in case. “I’m not going any-fucking-where with you,” I warn as I start struggling against his hold. I feel a sharp jab in my thigh followed by the burn of something being injected. I want to keep fighting, but as each second goes by, I can feel my legs weaken and then my entire body. I collapse into his arms and let the heaviness of my eyes fade to black.
* * *
I waketo the sound of unbolting locks in the near distance. I don’t know how long I’ve been out but quickly realize I soiled myself. The wetness adds to my growing suspicion that this may not be fake. I’m lying on a gray stone floor, the black matte walls a continuation in this room. Mere inches from me is the most modern bed I’ve ever seen, yet I’m still bound in zip ties and was left on the floor to recover from whatever Mr. Carson injected me with.
The handsome devil, who has laid claim to my virginity, walks in and looks around the room before casting those haunting blues down at me.
“Still restrained, I see,” he states. “I guess you’re still holding that defiance of yours.”
“Go to hell,” I attempt to spit, but it’s mostly frothy. “I’m so thirsty, and I’m likely dehydrated.”
“I’m already living it, A mhuirnín.”
He pulls a knife from his pocket, and it’s enough to distract me from his muscled thighs. I can see every chiseled inch of his physique through his black dress pants and collared, button-down black shirt. Nobody would ever mistake this guy for a low-level soldier. His accent isn’t as prominent as in the men from the van, but it’s there. That word he just used— he has to be Irish too. I flinch as he nears me with the blade, but he only cuts away the zip ties. I rub my sore wrists once they’re free.
“Stand,” he orders.
“I’m not Mr. Carson,” I refuse him. “I don’t want to.” Heat creeps up my neck from embarrassment. Can he smell the urine on me?
“Who the hell is Mr. Carson? You know what, I don’t care. That wasn’t a request. Stand now, or you won’t like the consequences. Your choice.”
“My choice is not to stand. Not with you in here.”
I barely have the words out of my mouth before I’m yanked to my feet. I feel a gush at that moment, and I know that pee is not my only wetness issue. The familiar metallic, copper-like smell assaults my nose, and I know he has to smell it too. Once he has me on my feet, he steps back—his face hardened again. He’s visually pissed.
“You still think this is a game and your father is behind this? I’m going to prove once and for all that he is not,” he says ominously, his voice slightly more elevated. “You had one thing right, though.”
“What is that?” I hear the shakiness in my voice. I somehow know that I only have minutes before my whole world gets flipped on its head. If this is not some fucked-up hoax, I don’t want to think about the alternative.
“You’re not going to marry Niccolò. I’m going to see to it.”
“Even you have to know how insane that sounds,” I retort, my hackles up.
“When it comes to you, what lengths has your father gone to groom you to be married besides holding you captive long before now?”
“Why does it matter?”
“Because I’m offering you the proof you need to finally get rid of the ridiculous notion that I’m in cahoots with him?”
