Captive

by Trevion Burns

  “How do you have an apartment in Venice? How do you afford it? You obviously don’t have any money.”

  He cut a look at her, pulled a gun from the back of his jeans, and cocked it. “Hurry up.”

  “I’m trying,” she grumbled, wrapping her head in the scarf he’d given her before pushing the sunglasses on her eyes.

  He stepped back when she stood away from the car and slammed the door closed behind her. Gun still at his side, his eyes traveled her body.

  Mia raised her eyebrows as he surveyed her. The shirt swallowed her whole, going all the way down to her knees, and devouring her hands completely, making her look like a little girl playing dress up in her father’s clothes. She saw the exact moment he realized she’d been right. That the shirt looked ridiculous—too ridiculous—on her, and would only draw unnecessary attention.

  With a huff, he moved to the back door of the car, threw it open, and grabbed something from inside.

  A glorious smile spread on Mia’s face when he came back up with one of the long black ties he’d used to bind her wrists and hands back in London, as well as the strappy gold sandals she’d worn to the gala. His face remained stoic as she took them from his hands with a beaming smile. She cinched his big-ass shirt at her waist with the black tie, making it look like a casual shirtdress, and then, he slipped her the four-inch sandals, which nearly brought them eye-to-eye. She met his eyes as she rolled the too-long shirtsleeves up to her elbows.

  He licked his lips as his green orbs searched hers, eyebrows rising high. “Happy?”

  He didn’t give her a chance to answer, circling her and pointing the gun into her back, drawing a stunned gasp from her lips as the solid steel barrel rammed into her kidneys. His massive body loomed behind her, angling himself so the gun was hidden from the view of anyone who happened to pass them.

  “And here I was,” she whispered. “Thinking, what a nice guy.”

  “I’m not a nice guy.” His voice was close. Warm in her ear. She could hear every fragmented shard in the bass. “I’m the guy who’ll end your life if you try anything funny.”

  “How have you not yet comprehended that a gun to my back isn’t a problem—but a solution? That my screaming for help would only guarantee that my husband is on the first train from London? That the last thing I want is for him to be on the first train from London? That the last thing I want is to be reunited with him, under any circumstance?”

  A long pause fell.

  “I can’t be your superhero.” The warmth of his voice tickled his ear once more. “So don’t try to make me one.”

  “Don’t worry.”

  He made a frustrated sound but still kept the gun at her back, pushing it deeper into her skin, harder, forcing her to stumble forward on her heel and begin out of the parking lot.

  He stayed right behind her, looking like an overprotective, horny boyfriend and not a kidnapper hiding his weapon from sight.

  As they made their way toward the arched bridge that led the way into Venice, where very few passerby were scattered, none of whom noticed their existence, all Mia could think about was the truth of the last two words she’d just said: Don’t worry. This man didn’t have to worry about Mia making him her Superhero. He didn’t have to worry about her waiting with baited breath for him to swoop in with his red cape blowing in the wind or fantasizing about their first upside down kiss as he hung from a skyscraper by the sticky web shooting out of his palm.

  No.

  Mia was under no illusions. Which was why, during their walk, she’d waited until he’d turn his eyes away—for a fraction of a second—before she discreetly adjusted the three-inch round head construction nail she was clutching in her sweaty palm. The random, runaway nail she’d found rolling around in the side compartment in the passenger door of the car during their long drive from London to Venice. The three-inch nail that had somehow ended up in his car, and subsequently in her fisted hand.

  The three-inch nail that tonight, she planned to drive straight into his neck.

  ——

  After a short walk through Venice’s unique streets, encased in the exquisite compactness of its ancient buildings, breathing in the dewy scent of its beautiful turquoise canals, and drinking in the stunning architecture that had spanned several centuries, Mia didn’t even care that her high heels were getting caught in the crevices of the cobblestoned walkways. Nowhere else in the world could the decay and grime eating away at the colorful stone structures that lined the streets still somehow maintain their beauty the way they did in Venice. Nowhere else in the world was a city neither land nor water, but something so delightfully in between. Nowhere else in the world could the melodic voices of gondoliers temporarily ease Mia into a state of tranquility as they paddled their oars through the lagoon. Along with the beaming smiles of the gondoliers who lined the streets, motioning invitingly to their boats in a silent invitation for her and her captor to hop on for a ride.

  Knowing the beast behind her surely had disdainful glare for every friendly smile directed at them, Mia made sure to give them all a genuine grin in return. In one short walk, she fell in love with the lacework canals all over again. With the domes and the gilded spirals. She even became enamored once more with the kiosks that lined the roads, selling colorful key chains, straw hats, and refrigerator magnets at ridiculous markups to tourists who didn’t know any better or simply didn’t care. Mia would always be one of the many who didn’t care. Always ready to surrender to that unapologetically vintage little island. So much so that she completely forgot about the construction nail still in her hand—the gun still at her back.

  A gun that remained at her back all the way to their final destination. All the way into the tattered, adobe colored Venetian building in the heart of the city. All the way up the winding staircase that went ten stories high, leading to the red door on the top floor. Only when he was forced to circle around her in the darkened hallway did he remove the gun from her back, placing it in the waistband of his sweats so he could fish a pair of keys from his pocket. He still clutched that yellow stuffed bear in his free hand, keys ringing out as he unlocked the door and pushed it open. He faced her and motioned for her to step inside before him.

  She held his eyes as she passed him, breaking her gaze away only to look into the small room that awaited her. A room that proved much less breathtaking and awe-inspiring than the so-gorgeous-it-hurt city still bustling beyond those walls. Nothing more than bare walls, a bed with white linens, and a small kitchenette in the far corner of the room.

  It reminded her of a discount inn that a frugal family of five would hire during a weekend trip to Disney World. Planning to do most of their cooking in their hotel room because eating out was too expensive. She remembered a time her own family had done the very same thing. Made the same plans. She remembered the chicken meal her mother had cooked after their first day at the iconic theme park.

  The flash of emotion that lit her up left her breathless, stunned as the memory hit her out of nowhere.

  Thankfully, the door to the room slammed closed behind her and snapped her out of it.

  She didn’t swivel on her heel to look at him. However, her eyes went wide when they landed on the only interesting sight—the double doors at the far end of the room. She kicked off her heels and yanked the scarf from her head, freeing her hair as she raced across the wood floors, limping the whole way to avoid putting too much weight on her bandaged foot. The sunglasses hit the floor next, the sound of them clattering joining in with the patter of her feet.

  Seconds later, she threw open the double doors. The space beyond them was too small to qualify as a balcony but too large to be just a window, with just enough space for her to step out of the room and immerse herself into the fresh air outside. She laid her stomach on the thick, concrete railing and took in the view. Lines of buildings were canned in tight in both directions. Each building a different height and painted in a different color. Below were the blue waters of a narrow can
al where a lonely gondolier floated by. Even though his boat went empty, the paddling gondolier still sang his heart out in his striped shirt and straw hat, putting on a free show to anyone who cared to step out onto their balcony for a listen. The Italian lyrics melted from his smiling lips like butter, slightly muffled every time he sailed beneath one of the many white stone bridges that lined the narrow passageway.

  Mia listened with pleasure, lifting her pointed feet from the floor as she gave the railing all her weight, her eyes fluttering serenely shut, letting the music enter her soul and warm it up like hot cocoa.

  A pair of big hands seizing her waist drew a gasp from her lips, and her eyes flew open, wide as saucers, as she was yanked back into the room.

  She tripped over her own feet and nearly tumbled onto the floor, so violently he’d just flung her back inside, but Mia managed to find her footing and stand tall. She faced him with her teeth ground, bosom heaving under his shirt as she took in the sight of his huge body standing before the open doors. The doors he clearly had no plans on allowing her to get near again. The three-inch nail in her hand felt heavier under her clenched fist than it had since the moment she’d picked it up. It’s sharp end dug into her palm as she met his hard green eyes across the small room. She returned the challenging look flashing across his face. Fantasizing about the moment that needle was digging into his skin instead of hers.

  The moment she took control.

  The moment she took her body—and her life—back, once and for all.

  22

  It was now or never.

  This beast wanted to fuck her—that much was clear. If the size of his desire pressing into her thigh against the bathroom door had been any indication, he wanted it badly. If real freedom was ever to be hers, she had to make her move now. Now, after he’d yanked her off the balcony rail and back into that room with the kind of fervor that had only betrayed his wanton need. Now, after he’d obviously been watching her, bent over the railing, getting an eyeful of her naked body beneath that shirt. Of her smooth brown thighs, the curve of her ass, maybe even the folds of her pussy. His rapid breathing said he’d seen it all. Maybe even pictured himself bent over behind her.

  As per usual, however, he fought his most basic need, tooth and nail, remaining on the other side of the room. His refusal to come closer solidified to Mia that she’d never be more powerful that she was at that moment. She couldn’t attack him while he was lucid. He was too much bigger and stronger. She had to make her move, now, when his green orbs were darkened with desire thanks to the filthy thoughts surely permeating his brain. Now, while he still looked two seconds from crossing that room and making his filthy thoughts a reality. Now, when his mind was too clouded with need to even see the nail growing sweaty in her fisted palm coming when she finally drove it into the pulsing vein in his neck.

  She knew it had to be now, so when he broke his shadowy orbs away from hers and stomped toward the door, toward the cell phone that he’d left on the foyer table next to it, Mia made a mad dash for foyer table first, limping the whole way. Even limping, she managed swiped up the cell phone she assumed he’d been on his way to grab. The phone he’d surely use to call Malik to remind him that he still had his beloved trophy wife. To set up the new terms for whatever it was he wanted. Terms that involved handing Mia right back over to that monster like a slave at an auction house.

  She refused to be enslaved anymore. As she swept up the phone from the foyer seconds before his big hand zoomed out to grab it too, he cursed under his breath and reached for her, but Mia saw the reach coming and bent down, dodging his long, thick arms seconds before he closed them around her. She raced across the room toward the small dining table in the kitchenette. His heavy stomps shook the floors behind her—right on her heels, and his arms came around her waist just as she reached the kitchen counter, pulling her body back to his.

  Mia gasped at his strength, managing to turn in his arms while craning the hand holding the phone high in the air behind her.

  Keeping one stocky arm in an ironclad grip around her waist, he used the other to try and reach for the phone, to no avail. Her limbs were slimmer and more willowy than his, but she was tall, so her arms were just as long. Every time he made a swipe, she angled her body to move the phone farther away, shifting her limbs along with his whenever he attempted to outmaneuver her, having no idea that, before her life had been stolen from her, she’d been a starting player on her middle school basketball team.

  “Power forward at Cashman Middle School—all three years,” she breathed. “Don’t waste your time trying to bypass me. Won’t happen.”

  “Give me the goddamn phone.”

  Her eyes ran his face, voice falling to a whisper. “Kiss me, and I will.”

  A cringe darkened his eyes just as a crack of thunder boomed into the open balcony doors and made Mia jolt. She didn’t know what had startled her more, the unexpected, heart-stopping boom of thunder coming from the previously clear skies or the fury all over his face at the conditions she had just set.

  As the residual shock from the crackling thunder left her panting, the sleeve of his too-big shirt fell off one of her arms, exposing the curve of her shoulder and collarbone, as well as the beginning swell of her bare breast. Mia didn’t bother to pull the shirt back up. Like a bee to honey, his eyes fell to take in the new patch of exposed skin.

  His throat bobbed, and the room suddenly darkened, hinting at the black clouds gathering in the sky outside, billowing in to swallow up the setting sun in the same way the dark yearning was swallowing up his green eyes. Making them look almost black with ardor and wanton need.

  “If you’re going to get rid of me, the least you could do is give me a proper goodbye.” She took advantage of those storm clouds in his eyes, covering his sinewy bicep with the warm palm of her free hand and caressing his skin slowly. She moved her soft touch across his shoulder, up his neck, and around his head, sinking her fingers into the soft strands of his hair. She made sure to move slowly, like a painter licking the canvas with his brush, ensuring he felt every inch of skin she stroked.

  She dug her fingers into his scalp and tried to pull him in.

  His eyes grew heated, and he snapped his head back. “Stop.”

  Still fighting.

  But when Mia leaned in a second time, brushing the tip of her nose against his, their panting breaths meeting in the small space between their parted lips, his eyes fell closed.

  Their lips brushed in a gentle peck. A peck that sent a hot ache blazing through her—surprising her as it raced straight to the velvety channel at the apex of her thighs, making it swell. The roughness of his beard prickling her upper lip was offset by the softness of his mouth, and the juxtaposition brought her to her toes.

  She gasped when he snatched his lips away—his eyebrows raised high. He reached for the phone.

  Mia craned it away, her center still pulsing as they shared a heated look.

  Her voice fell to a husky purr without her even realizing it. “A real kiss.”

  Something flashed across his eyes as he searched hers. Something that told her he still had a sliver of fight left in him even his shaft grew as hard as a rock against her thigh. Her chest heaved at its weight as he leaned forward and covered her lips with his again.

  When a heavy pant flared his nostrils, and he tightened his closed eyes, Mia wondered if she had him. When she tilted her head, parted her lips, and felt the soft wetness of his tongue sweep against hers, she suspected she had him. When a low growl wafted from his parted lips and warmed the space between their sweeping tongues, she knew had him.

  But when his trembling fingers traveled up her arm, their lips and tongues still exploring, and he seized the phone from her hand, Mia worried he might just have her.

  Phone in hand, he had what he wanted, but apparently not everything he wanted because he curled his brawny arms around her waist and pulled her body into his while tilting his head to deepen the kiss. A moan fluttered up h
is throat and got tangled between their battling tongues.

  Mia moaned too. A moan that moved to a soft gasp as his lips grew more demanding. More coaxing. Almost as hard and insistent as the bulge pressing against her stomach right then. She found herself grinding against it, circling her own arms around his neck to pull him in closer. To give her something to hold onto as she managed to get his solid flesh up against her clit. The aching bud between her legs exploded with nerves the moment the crown of his dick was pressed up against it, and she couldn’t help the choked wail that left her lips at the sensation. Before she knew it, her legs were spread, her splayed fingers traveling his body desperately before settling on the solid curve of his ass, pulling his hardness deeper into the valley between her legs, panting into the kiss he’d long ago taken as his own, her entire body shaking wildly from head to toe as she gave herself to him completely.

  The phone that, seconds earlier, he’d been so adamant about reclaiming, clattered to the floor. Neither of them broke the frenzied battle of their lips to see if the delicate device had survived the fall as his hands roamed her body desperately. His fingers splayed to touch every inch of her. The smack of their lips filled the quiet kitchen, along with their frenzied breaths as he squeezed the soft pillows of her ass, palmed her heaving breasts and then cupped her face, holding her steady as he tilted his head and took the kiss to another level.

  A level Mia hadn’t seen coming. One that almost drove her to drop the nail, still sweaty, in the tight fist of her left hand. A level that drove her right hand between their bodies so she could feel the giant rod grinding against her. The pulsating, wanton folds of her pussy squeezed and begged to become better acquainted with the hardness she stroked through his sweats.

  “Yes,” he wheezed into her mouth as she kneaded his dick, fighting for breath while seizing her waist, using his strength haul her out of the kitchen. Never breaking the kiss, he used his weight to move her across the room, heaving her toward the bed, the boom of rolling thunder outside now no match for the fervent smack of their lips, their hungry moans, and the inferno they had lit on fire between their roving tongues.