Captive

by Trevion Burns

  Mia landed on the wood with a yelp, hidden from view behind the bed, still holding the bath towel to her body as she looked up at him.

  “Get under the bed and don’t come out until I say.” He turned away from her without another word and moved to the door, checking the hallway one last time before stepping out of the room and disappearing from sight.

  When the sound of his feet pounding down the stairs boomed into the bedroom, Mia found her common sense once more. The common sense that had nearly been lost in the bathroom, moments earlier, when he’d slammed her against the wall and sucked the sensitive skin of her neck between his full lips. When he’d anchored her leg on his hip and pressed his hardness into her slick center. In an instant, she regained the common sense she’d lost in the heated moment she should’ve been using to get the sharp rivets of her sequin into his neck and not his hard dick into her pussy.

  When more gunfire rang out from downstairs, it didn’t scare her this time—it moved her. She shot to her feet, heart racing. Her wide eyes flew past the door of the bedroom and to the dead bodies still lying on the hallway floor before locking onto the bathroom. The bathroom where the laundry chute to freedom awaited her once more. Freedom not just from Malik, but from the beautiful man downstairs who’d almost stolen what little remained of her sanity.

  She raced around the bed, her lungs now gasping in desperation for escape as opposed to desperation for the beautiful man who was surely in the midst of getting himself killed in a shootout with Malik’s soldiers. Whether he won the gunfight or lost, she had no intention of being there when, or if, he returned. She could only hope Malik’s goons kept him distracted long enough for her to escape. For good this time.

  The thought of escape warmed her heart and put a hopeful smile on her face. But that smile was gone as quickly as it came when a shot of searing pain suddenly lit the bed of her foot on fire, shocking her so badly that she tripped over herself, fell forward, and cracked her skull on the black steel footboard of the bed.

  It was only when her entire body collided with the floor—the pain making it impossible to move—that she saw the large pieces of shattered glass that still littered the floor at the foot of the bed. The shattered glass that had gotten there the night before, when she’d spit in her captor’s face, angering him so much that he’d hauled the glass of water he’d been trying to give her across the room, breaking it to pieces. One of those pieces of shattered glass, she could only assume, was now lodged deeply in the bed of her foot.

  Her vision blurred.

  She tried to blink the haze away, but the flutter of her lashes only came more slowly—more sluggishly—with every second she tried to fight through her suddenly unfocused vision.

  Before she could think about how deeply that broken glass must’ve sunk into her foot, or about how profusely she must be bleeding, the blurriness taking over her body finally won over and her eyes fluttered shut, the entire world fading to black.

  18

  After emptying the rest of his clip into the chests of two men who’d met him at the top of the stairs, seconds after leaving Mia in the room, Linc pressed the magazine release button to free the empty clip from his gun. It slid out with ease, the stainless steel case thudding onto the wood next to the two newest bodies to hit the floor in the dark hallway. Linc stepped over them without a second look, the four assholes lying in his wake already forgotten. The vision of Mia’s terrified face in the bedroom remained etched into his brain however, and he could only pray that her hardheaded ass had done what he’d said and hidden under the bed. If her ridiculous actions up to that point were any indication of things to come, he wasn’t optimistic.

  Staying close to the wall, moving on a slow foot to ensure he could hear everything, he grabbed a fresh magazine from his back pocket and shoved it into the grip, locking it in place with a click that filled the hall. His jeans were still undone, hanging open below his heaving belly button. Jeans that the hardheaded woman’s soft, sweet fingers had just finishing tearing apart, mere moments before they’d been accosted in the bathroom. The flaps of the open zipper hung low, surely revealing the beginnings of the feathered patch of hair underneath, but he didn’t dare take a moment to zip them back up.

  One moment could mean his life.

  Heart racing against his bare chest, Linc peeked around the corner that led down the stairs, and the sight of a man dressed in all black, with a hoodie on his head, proved him right. Pausing in the middle of the staircase, with a gun primed right at Linc, the man immediately fired, the silencer screwed onto the barrel leaving the shot but a whisper as it zoomed past Linc’s ear and pierced the hallway wall.

  Linc returned fire in the same instant, and there was no silencer screwed onto the barrel of his gun, so all three shots screamed out, loud and clear. The man’s hands flew through the air, and he groaned in agony as Linc unloaded three rounds square into his chest. His knees buckled under him, sending him crumbling down the staircase. Linc descended the steps after him, following his lifeless body as it rolled down uncontrollably, stopping only when he caught sight of another black figure from the corner of his eyes—to his right—through the wood of the stairway railing.

  Linc froze in the middle of the staircase and swiveled toward the shadowed figure in his peripheral, catching sight of a man in his living room, standing with the round barrel of his silencer pointed straight at his head.

  They both fired, but Linc’s shot proved sharper, catching that goon right between the eyes. Blood spurted from the back of his head as the hit sent him stumbling backward into the wall. The gun still clenched in his hand thudded against the plaster as he collapsed against it, and his blood stained the white paint on the wall, leaving a long streak of red as his limp body sank slowly to the floor.

  Silence reigned. Gentle wisps of the rising sun peeking into the downstairs windows, serving as the only source of light in every scarce room. A scarcity that proved no one had really lived in that house in quite a while. No one to make a mess of things or hang family photos. No worthless trinkets taking up space due to sentimental value. No plush furniture to lounge in after a hard day. Barely any food in the fridge.

  The quiet persevered as Linc continued descending the stairs—each step creaking under his weight—slowly, carefully. His heart pounded faster every second. Never faster, however, than when he’d put Mia up against the bathroom door.

  Not even close.

  He would’ve laughed at how ridiculous it was that that maddening woman was still on his mind. Even as her husband’s—her husband’s—flunkies were surely saturating every corner of that house—each of them waiting to end his life with one well-timed shot. Clearing the stairs, he begged his dick to focus. He’d already taken down six of Malik’s men, but he knew there’d be more. If he were in Malik’s position—if Mia was his wife—there’d be way more. There’d be every man he had, and Linc knew Malik had an army.

  Still, as he made it to the bottom of the steps, climbed over the body he had left crumpled in a heap at the bottom, and peeked around the wall that separated the living room from the kitchen, he found it empty. The vegetables, pita bread, and hummus that he’d been too lazy to put away earlier that morning still sat on the counter. The butcher’s knife still gleamed there too.

  When the mirror hanging on the opposite wall shattered, fragmenting his reflection and leaving hundreds of tiny cracks racing out of the bullet hole in the middle, Linc swirled and raised his gun, firing one shot into the chest of the man who had crept up from behind. Linc waited for the man to hit his knees on the wood floor. Then he lifted the gun to the black beanie pulled low on his head and pulled the trigger again. The bullet sent his head flying back so hard it nearly broke his neck in half, blood spurting from the back of his skull and decorating the wood floors seconds before he collapsed.

  Linc’s nostrils flared with each violent breath as he faced the wall that separated the kitchen and the living room once more—his arms flexed straight, gun
clutched low. He peeked around the wall to ensure the kitchen was clear again, a soft gasp racing up his throat when a foot suddenly appeared from around the corner, moving too fast for him to react, and kicked the gun out of his hand. Linc cursed under his breath as his black steel pistol flew through the air, ignoring the instinct that told him to flail in an attempt to catch it before it clattered to the floor, knowing such a foolish distraction would earn him a bullet in the head.

  Instead, he kept his eyes on the wall, knowing the asshole who’d just left him unarmed would show his face soon enough. And he did. Also wearing black clothes and a black beanie, the man raced out from behind the wall, but Linc was ready for him, lifting his arm up high above his head before bringing it down like a gorilla, slamming the shooter’s gun-holding hand before he had a chance to point the barrel at Linc and fire. The unexpected blow caused the man to stumble forward, and Linc sent a fist into his esophagus in a neck punch, drawing a pained groan from him. The man bent forward at the waist in response to the blow and Linc used this moment of weakness to kick his feet out from under him, putting him on his back.

  The goon landed with a violent thud, flailing just enough for Linc to grab hold of his arm on the way down and turn him onto his stomach, craning his gun-holding arm behind his back. The pain made the man cry out, and Linc lifted his boot in the air, stepped on his elbow, and broke his arm in half, turning his cry into a gut-churning scream that drowned out the cracking of his bones.

  As he howled in pain below him, Linc snatched the man’s gun, bent down, and shot him in the back of the head at point blank range. The warmth of his blood exploded from his skull and saturated Linc’s face and chest, dotting his tanned skin with rivers of crimson red. He breathed in the blood’s metallic scent as it dripped down his cheeks and the bridge of his nose. A dot of it held onto the tip, tickling his flared nostrils and filling his body with the stench before dropping off like a leaky faucet, splashing against the knee of Linc’s jeans and soaking into the denim.

  Silence reigned once more.

  Hauling in each trembling breath, Linc stepped over the body and moved through the kitchen, green eyes darting back and forth, sure there was more to come. He searched the entire house. Every room. Even the garage. He checked the expansive stretch of land outside, but only saw one black SUV parked, which he assumed was the vehicle they’d all arrived in.

  As the rising sun licked at his skin, and the grass of his front yard crunched under his boots, Linc couldn’t help a smile. He laid his hands on top of his head, and that smile moved to a laugh.

  Malik Ali had really believed seven assholes would be enough to take him down.

  His laughter rose.

  Because Malik Ali was going to learn today.

  19

  “Mia!”

  Linc’s heart was in his throat and pounding a mile a minute. Not as an after effect of the plethora of bullets that had come flying at his head minutes earlier, but because, as he screamed Mia’s name, she wasn’t screaming back. He barreled up the staircase, side-stepping the bodies he’d dropped left and right, his mind running through several different possibilities.

  It was possible that, while he’d been preoccupied in a near deadly shootout, Mia had helped her skinny ass to the laundry chute in the bathroom once more. It was possible that, as he raced desperately down the hall toward the bedroom, jumping over the dead bodies there too, that he was moving in the wrong direction. It was possible that she was in the depths of the forest outside once more, running for her life, and this time, he’d have discovered her escape too late. If she was as fast a runner as her long legs suggested, it was possible she could have already made it halfway to the lone house that sat a few acres to the east. A house where he knew a bored, lonely old lady lived. A lonely old lady who wouldn’t hesitate a moment in calling the police the second the Princess Di of politics showed up at her door.

  This time, he might just lose Mia for good.

  By the time he’d barreled into the doorway of the bedroom, short of breath, eyes wide, and fingers digging desperately into the frame, Linc had prepared himself for the worst. He had prepared himself for Mia to be gone.

  But he hadn’t prepared himself for this.

  He hadn’t prepared himself for the sight of her, crumpled in a heap on the floor, motionless, much like the dead men that still littered the hallway behind him. He hadn’t prepared himself for the sight of her long brown limbs thrown astray and bent into uncomfortable angles that could only be maintained when one had taken a fall accidentally and landed in an unnatural position. Leaving them unable to move in their unconscious state.

  For a moment, Linc was frozen. For a moment, he stopped breathing. For a moment, all he could do was gape at the white towel that had miraculously managed to stay tied at her breasts. Breasts that still rose up and down, with faint, but still present breaths. All he could do was stare at the broken glass that surrounded her comatose body. Glass that he himself had put there in a foolish moment of fury the night before. A moment he regretted with every fiber of him as his eyes landed on the largest shard of glass there was. Not lying on the floor, but instead embedded in the heel of her foot. So deep it had inspired a pool of blood almost as long as her leg to drip out from the impalement and create a stream that slowly seeped across the floor. Toward the tip of his boots.

  Linc charged across the room in one long stride. Not just because Mia was down and bleeding but because they had to get the fuck out of that house as quickly as possible. The wound in her foot was ugly and would surely leave her in a lot of pain, but it wouldn’t kill her.

  Without her, there was no Emma.

  So when Linc made it to her body, he bent down without a second thought, seized Mia’s wrist, and yanked her up from the floor. So quickly it caused her head to fall back. He bent down as he pulled so that her body crumpled onto the safety of his big shoulder, and then he stood, lifting her from the floor. Her lifeless limbs swinging on either side of him was reminiscent of the way they’d slung in the back alley on the night they’d met.

  This time, however, his heart ached at the feeling.

  He didn’t focus on that ache, however, too busy turning on his heel and racing out of the room.

  ——

  Linc fought not to look to his left—to the passenger seat of the car parked in the house’s garage, where Mia was still passed out. Still wearing that maddening white towel and nothing else. Still in the same position, he’d put her in when he’d eased her body into that seat, minutes earlier. Still percolating with the sweet aroma he’d once believed was perfume, but after her shower, now proved to be her triggering, provoking, downright dangerous natural scent. His jaw clenched and rolled when breathing through his mouth did nothing to ease the debilitating aroma that would never, not even for a second, allow him to forget that she was in that car with him, half naked, skin and hair still damp and dewy from their moment in that steam-filled bathroom. A moment when he’d been so lost in her, so disabled with need for the warmth between her thighs that he’d almost ended up dead.

  Almost lost Emma forever.

  The stark reminder of his imprudence—a reminder driven home when his dick continued to jerk at the memory of Mia up against that bathroom door—kept his eyes off her. Instead of looking at her, he licked his lips and gave all of his attention to the burner phone in his hand and the clock on the car’s dashboard.

  He waited until the clock struck twelve—then he dialed a number and put the phone to his ear.

  It only rang twice before it clicked, and Linc didn’t wait for the person on the other line to say hello before his deep voice was filling the car.

  “Send every flunky you got,” he spat. “But I’ve still got yours, and the terms remain the same. Emma for Mia.”

  Silence dominated on the other end of the line, followed by the unmistakable sound of someone drawing in a sharp breath.

  Malik’s voice finally came, his every word terse and clipped. “If anyth
ing happens to my wife, you have my word, you will pay in the most hideous way imaginable.”

  “If you send anyone else who isn’t my daughter, I’ll kill them on sight.” Linc hung up without another word—eyes still locked the clock on the dashboard just as it hit the twenty-second mark. Twenty seconds. Just long enough to get his point across and just short enough to ensure Malik couldn’t trace the call. Leaving Malik with no other option but to seethe and wait, with baited breath, for Linc to contact him again.

  This time, Linc allowed himself to look across the car to Mia. He kept his gaze on her, even after he’d turned the key in the ignition. Even after the engine growled to life and he’d yanked at the gearshift, putting the car in reverse. He couldn’t even break his eyes away after he’d he lifted his foot off the brake pedal and sent the car rolling backward at top speed.

  Only when he was sure he was seconds from killing them both, did Linc finally tear his eyes from her serene face, wrapping his arm around the back of her seat and craning his neck to look out of the rear window. He looked back just in time to turn the wheel sharply, narrowly avoiding a collision with the massive willow tree at the end of the driveway, guiding the car onto the dirt road.

  He slammed his foot on the gas, the rear wheels kicking up dirt as they sped away from that house, never to return.

  ——

  Malik hung up the phone with his jaw clenched and his eyes alight, biting back whatever storm was clearly brewing inside of him as he leaned on his desk with his fingers splayed wide.

  “Did you hear that?” he asked, meeting eyes with Hakeem, who was crouching at his laptop on the other side of the desk.

  Hakeem shook his head from the laptop that the phone was still plugged into. “I heard him, boss, but he hung up too quickly. Couldn’t get a trace. But it’s all good because his fingerprints are all over that house and we can—”