WYLDER

by Kristina Weaver

  He’s a criminal! I know I keep saying it, but it’s true, and I need to remind myself of that every time he smiles at me.

  Another shiver hits my spine, and I stiffen when he’s done with my hair, moving back and out of reach, very aware of the fact that I am naked beneath the robe.

  “You can’t keep me here forever, Mr. Wylder, and I won’t ever stop trying to go home,” I say evenly, breathing as evenly as I can when he rises, only the bed separating us.

  He’s so big. He must be close to Daddy’s height or taller, I think, and that height is so intimidating, along with the washboard abs and those big arms I can’t help looking at.

  He’s got tattoos on both arms, one a roaring bear that makes me roll my eyes—but, man, is it beautiful—and a weird symbol I can’t make out that looks like a shield with weird writing on it.

  His back has only one, across his shoulder blades, a word that looks to be something like ‘akicita.’ I have no idea what it means, but it looks beautiful, done in this weird lettering and surrounded by feathers.

  “Danny, I know you won’t believe this, and I totally understand your issues with this situation, but none of that will change any of it. You have to stay here, no matter how you feel about me or anything that has happened. Ask yourself, babe, what it would feel like to see your father dead, knowing that you could have stopped it from happening by listening to me.”

  “That’s not fair!”

  “No,” he says quietly, shaking his head. “But it is true, and I won’t lie about it. Your mom is long gone, and you don’t have any siblings, but what about that old aunt of yours down in Dakota and your cousin, Tammy? Do you want them all to be taken out because you want freedom? Because that will happen. Noni’s organization doesn’t fuck around. Even if they take you out, and that’s not likely because they can still make a buck off your body, they will kill your family as a lesson to any who think to cross them. Then they will come after me, and whatever you think of me, I have family too. I got four brothers, Mom, Dad, an aunt and uncle, and cousins. I would kill you myself before I let you endanger my family.”

  He says it quietly, regretfully, but I see the complete truth in his eyes and feel ice unfurl in my chest. This man may not want to kill me, if I can believe him, but he will. He’ll do it in a heartbeat and keep going without a backward glance.

  I don’t want to die, and more importantly, I don’t want my family to suffer or be killed because of me.

  This isn’t my fault. I acknowledge that and rail at the unfairness of the choice he’s trying to force me to make, but it’s one I will have to think about before I do anything hasty, because if there is even a chance that he’s right, I’d rather die than put my loved ones at risk.

  “I don’t want you to touch me,” I manage after a long pause and the indignity of having him peruse my body in the flimsy robe.

  That gets a grin from him.

  “Oh, come now, Danny. We’re going to spend years together, sweetheart. Be fair,” he chides, his voice filled with amusement when he glances down, and my own eyes follow to see his sex pushing lewdly at the fabric of his shorts.

  “No!”

  But Lord, the man is really nicely built, and my mind, never mind my body, won’t let me deny it. Bear Wylder is big, not as massive as that Marco or Wolf guy, whatever he likes to be called, but big. And muscular like freaking Vin Diesel and just…

  You know what blows about this situation? He’s exactly the kind of man I’d be attracted to in different circumstances, and how gross is that!

  His eyes go hard at the yelled refusal, and I find myself shrinking back at the coldness I see there. I don’t want to shrink. I want to fight and punch and scratch to relieve the fear I can’t shake loose.

  I want to attack him and do what Daddy told me to do. Run!

  But then what?

  “You need to be very careful about this, Danny girl, and listen. I’ll tolerate your nasty attitude in this room, but you will never talk to me that way in company, or things will go very badly for you. I’m a patient guy, and I can wait for you, but I am also not some pansy-ass who accepts disrespect.”

  The warning shakes me to the core because for just a second I forgot that he can hurt me, do anything he wants to me, and I have no way to fight him.

  I don’t know Wylder, I don’t know what he’s capable of or how he will react to my temper. What I do know scares me because he seems not at all fazed by the fact that I am here against my will, and even less bothered by the whole sexual element of my role in his life.

  For all I know, he’s a freak who enjoys beating women before violating them. Lori’s words pop into my head as I stare back at those cold blue eyes, and I feel tears threaten again when it hits home just how true those words could be.

  I could end up being taken by a monster, and all I’d have to cling to is survival. If I would even want that afterward would be anyone’s guess, but for right now, I will do whatever it takes to live and pray that I find a way out of this mess.

  “I don’t want to fight you or get hurt, but I don’t know that I can just submit to this without reacting. Think of it from my view, Mr. Wylder. I have been abducted and given to a man as a sexual gift. I was drugged and dragged from my home and left in a room, naked and terrified and starving. It’s been less than a day since I woke to this horror, and you expect that I should just, what, lay down and spread? I don’t know you. I’m afraid and hanging on by a mental thread here.”

  My words come out strong, only a little shaky, and I breathe deeply, praying that they haven’t been just a waste of breath. Like I said, I don’t know him, and appealing to some decency he may not have is likely a waste of time, but I have to at least try because right now the thought of him touching me makes my skin crawl, no matter how hot he is or how softly he is capable of smiling at me.

  That smile comes out though, and I steel myself against melting, wanting to believe that I just lucked out and got a decent captor.

  Don’t go Stockholm on me!

  I yell it at myself as I keep my eyes on him, taking in the shift of his powerful thighs and the way he seems to glow in the light streaming in through the window.

  “Okay, I get that. So, what, you want to date? Because, babe, I gotta tell ya, I don’t do that shit. The last time I dated a girl, I was thirteen and wet as a limp dog. I don’t do that romance shit.”

  The lightly drawled words make my eye twitch, and for a split second, I forget that he could be a mass-murdering psycho and glare at him in offended disdain.

  “So what! You think I should just screw you and be all like ‘hey, boy, that was great, thanks for not killing me today’?” I yell. “I am not a hooker. The least you could do is like buy me dinner or something just to make this feel less like a Jack the Ripper sexcapade.”

  He starts howling at my unreasonable shouts, and I blush down to my roots in mortified horror at that nonsense that keeps on coming.

  “Shut up! You just shut the hell up. This isn’t funny.”

  But God, it is, I think as hilarity tries to bubble up. I just…I just yelled the most ludicrous things at a man who could be a lunatic, a madman for all I know, and what am I doing now?

  Trying not to laugh because it is funny. It’s not really appropriate, but God, I want to release my tension and laugh with him if only to believe for one second that none of this is real.

  I could pretend that I am standing here with my man, my husband, and that he’s totally into me and not into blood sports with my body. I could tell myself that the softness in his eyes is because he finds my ridiculousness amusing, not that he’s eyeing up my boobs for some nefarious torture—gross!

  There are so many things that I could tell myself and possibly believe, but most of all, I want to look at this guy who is physically perfect and larger than life and say that he won’t hurt me.

  God, I want that so much because I need to believe it. I’ve never known fear in all my life. My mom died when I was young,
and we used to move around a lot before Daddy quit active duty and got admiral rank.

  My whole life was about moving around and change. I had very little friends, if I was lucky, because I soon learned that it hurt to make bonds with people I’d never see again come the next year.

  My life was lonely and not always great, but I have never feared anything in my life, because no matter what, Daddy has always been there and he never once let me down.

  I was not pampered, but I never had to worry about anything harming me, and now, now, that safety net is gone and I could get hurt or die and…

  “I won’t hurt you, Danny,” he says softly when all I can do is look at him and fight my tears again. “If I’d wanted to hurt you, I could have done it a hundred times over while you were asleep.”

  “You could be one of those weirdos who like screams,” I point out, wanting to trust his logic above my own strange skepticism.

  Wylder inclines his head at the statement, acknowledging the truth of the words, but shrugs too.

  “I could be, but I’m not, and I guess you just have to trust me when I tell you I’m not.”

  I want to! I may not know him or like feel anything but fear right now, but I want…if I’m here forever, I want a life and something that will make me happy and fill my days.

  It’s not reasonable, I know, but I’m one of those freakishly odd people who think all long term, and while the short-term goal is to live and keep all my limbs intact and in working order, I also think about what will come next, later down the line.

  I wanted a home and children. According to Wylder, this is my home now, and a good one it is, unless it includes blood-stained dungeons. What about the rest? Where’s the love I dreamed about since I was old enough to read romances I shouldn’t be reading?

  What about passion and babies and togetherness? I can’t see any of that in my future, and the thought makes my chest tighten and ache.

  This isn’t fair. I want all those things, and the chances of having them are zero because what’s the use in dreaming about them when the truth is that I could die tomorrow.

  “I can’t trust you.”

  I say the words, hoping he doesn’t get bent out of shape. I’ve never lied about how I feel. Daddy taught me that lying would get me hurt worse than making up some story that someone will pick apart.

  I could tell him I trust him, but the first time I flinch or can’t do what he wants me to, the first time he tries to touch me, he’ll know. Better just to stick with the truth and hope he doesn’t go mental.

  Wylder just smiles, another quirk of his full lips, and gives me a considering look.

  “I get that and I respect you. You’re not a pansy-assed female with fear pushing her every motivation. I like that, Danny, so I’ll do you a favor here and not remind you that I want more. I’ll wait and give you a chance to see that I can be a good guy, but it won’t last forever. The Slovaks are gonna be here in a month, and they expect you to be dead or in line. Whatever happens, you need to remember that I am willing to give you a chance here but only so far. The minute you so much as put me or mine in danger, you’re done,” he warns.

  Dammit.

  “Jesus, do you have to keep saying that shit? I’m never gonna be okay with you if I’m always worried about a machete to the leg or being chopped up and fed to the dogs.”

  Another grin replaces his scowl, and I roll my eyes at his sick sense of humor.

  “You be careful now, Danny baby. Don’t go giving people an idea they don’t need in their heads. You’re lucky I’m not a maniac or I’d have grabbed on to some of your suggestions.”

  Shit. So much for my intelligence.

  Wylder stares at me—uncomfortably long—before throwing on a shirt and strolling to the door, whistling under his breath as he unlocks it.

  “I’m gonna go get some breakfast or brunch and bring it up. Don’t get any ideas about jumping. I had a guy try that once, and he snapped both his legs so bad the bone punctured through his skin. He was real glad I was killing him then. The pain was outrageous.”

  He leaves with those words and his sing-song tone echoing in my ears, eyes wide at the mental image of my legs being shortened by my own body weight.

  Not out the windows, then. Definitely not out of the window.

  Chapter Four

  Danny

  Three days have gone by since I woke up in this place, and every day is longer than the last, the anticipation every time Wylder comes in here driving me crazy with nerves.

  All he does is eat with me and carry on a one-sided conversation that is met with my grunts and the rare mumble I give when he won’t let me ignore him.

  I sit up here all day, when I’m not sleeping from boredom or pacing with nerves, and just stare at the walls because the television won’t work no matter what I try and the reading material extends to a Bible that I won’t touch in fear of breaking down and praying for my soul before trying the window.

  I know, I know! I sound blasphemous, but honestly, I’m so freaking dead afraid that I’ll snap if I start reading it and try to go to heaven fast to escape my fate.

  So, I just sit and stare out the window, at the walls, at the ceiling, and think about how and why I got here. Okay, so I figure Lori and I are like the same.

  Sorta. There must be a reason we both have the same color hair, right? The rest is all different. My boobs are smaller, my face is more angular, where hers is soft, and her eyes are the color of a golden orange sunrise.

  We’re different and yet…

  The door opens on my musings, and I sit straight up in my seat, smoothing my shirt and the gypsy skirts I have to wear to ward off the heat.

  Wylder walks into the room with two trays balanced precariously, and I realize it’s lunchtime already, the morning having flown by while I was lost in thought.

  It’s a first and a bad sign that I’m starting to get despondent towards time.

  “Grab this for me, would you, babe? I need to go get the drinks in the hall.”

  I do as he asks because not to would be rude, and besides, I am starving.

  He comes back just as I put the food down on the little table by the window, and I sit as he pours ice-cold lemonade into two tumblers.

  Every day is the same. He comes, he eats, we talk, and then he leaves and locks the door behind him, never touching me though his eyes are more than a little busy as they take in my body.

  Three days is not a long time, but to me, for a woman who is in my position, it feels like a lifetime. Slowly I am starting to relax, and, if not trust Wylder, I at least feel secure enough not to try and steal the butter knife at every meal.

  Besides, I stole the spare toothbrush and melted it on the hot light bulb. Making a shank was really hard work, and I still have my doubts about trying to stab him with something that’s more bristle than blade. But that’s for later. If necessary.

  “You’re looking better today,” he says as he sits and starts digging into shrimp and some weird porridge-looking stuff that I don’t like but eat because I have to.

  “Thank you.”

  I start eating, having decided after the first twenty-four hours of starvation that I will never be fit for dieting. I thought I was going to die, and that was just three missed meals that I refused to eat in case he was trying to drug me again.

  The shrimp is spicy, garlicky, and full of butter, and I moan a little as I dig in, ignoring the looks he keeps throwing my way.

  “We need to talk, and for once, Danny, please answer me without a snark or silence.”

  That tone is back to commander-in-chief, and I sit up straighter and look over at him, hating the instinctive wariness that it elicits. Wylder is usually really laid-back, but he gets serious a lot too, and it’s at those times that I understand that he will never be some soft guy I can manage.

  It also reminds me that I’ve only been here a matter of days and could end up dead.

  “Okay.”

  “Your uncle, Jon.”


  That startles me, and I drop my fork, grimacing when he gives me a look and tells me to keep eating. Uncle Jon?

  “What about him?” I ask fearfully.

  My uncle, Jon, is part of the DEA back in Washington. I don’t have all that much contact with him or his wife, Sarah, or their three boys, but I love them. I see them over Christmas when they can make it out to Dad’s, and Sarah always sends me a gift card from Sears on my birthday.

  I love my family, and if this, this whole thing, is a way for criminals to get the drop on my uncle, I won’t say a word, no matter what they do to me. No matter how much it will hurt to have Wylder hurt me, I won’t give anything up.

  “He’s with the DEA in Washington.”

  “Yes.”

  “Last year, he ran an operation on the Hernandez cartel,” he says slowly.

  I frown, vaguely recalling Daddy saying something about Uncle Jon being mentioned for a big sting or something and how it was the coup of his career. I don’t know much, since most of my time was spent working at the dentist’s office part-time while pursuing my master’s in child development.

  Not that I was ever intending to use it since I didn’t really know what I wanted to do, but still—

  “Danny, I need you to focus here. Please,” he says loudly, giving me a harsh look. “Do you know if your uncle ever showed signs of overspending or living beyond his means?”

  “What? No! He and Sarah didn’t even make it to Easter last year when I invited them, because Sarah had to work! They live on two incomes, Wylder, and the man recycles bottles to stock up his change jar,” I protest, my palms sweating as I lay my fork down and push away my half-eaten plate of shrimp.

  Never. My dad and Uncle Jon are two of the best men I know. Uncle Jon gave up a budding career in private law to pursue his dream of cleaning up the streets. If he’d been all that interested in money, he’d have kept at it and been much richer by now.