As much as I try to play the cool girl, I can’t deny that I really, truly love my friends. I cannot stand the idea of anything terrible befalling them — especially because it would be my fault. I brought them here. It was my own arrogance that deceived the four of us into thinking we could just fly to another country and live out some Sex and the City fantasy. I rack my brain, trying to think critically about our predicament.
Megan is safe. At least I don’t have to worry about her anymore.
Lyssa is probably okay, since she is both smart enough and soft-spoken enough to stay out of the men’s way. She knows when to shut up and go with the flow when necessary. So unless one of the men has simply decided to indulge a sadistic streak or something, I’m fairly certain Lyssa has managed to evade the worst of it.
But Caitlin… she is the one to worry about. My best friend is both sassy and forward, and her sarcastic, biting wit has launched her into hot water many times in the past. She’s the one who always says what’s on her mind, who isn’t afraid to step on people’s toes — or even their heads — to get what she wants. I’ve seen her throw fits at restaurants when the waiter doesn’t refill her drink fast enough. She’s a hothead, and I know that kind of temper probably isn’t doing her any favors right now.
And I’m not even sure her parents can afford the ransom. I haven’t told any of our friends, or her, but I have a hunch that her family isn’t as well off as she pretends she is.
Hopefully she has figured out how to be quiet and stay out of the way since we’ve arrived here, but something tells me it would take something truly monumental to make her change her ways. Although, to be fair, being kidnapped and held for ransom in a dilapidated Spanish villa by a group of murderous Georgian mobsters should probably qualify as a monumental life event.
There’s a knock on my door and I swivel around instantly, being ripped out of my thoughts. Darios steps inside, holding a large bottle of water and a plate of bread and grapes. He lifts these objects up a little, giving me a questioning glare.
“What is this?” I ask a little suspiciously, folding my arms over my chest. “Poisoned food?”
Darios laughs and shakes his head. “If I wanted to kill you, do you really think I would waste a perfectly good meal to do it? Besides, you should know by now that you are more valuable to me alive than dead.”
“Oh, that’s reassuring. Thank you,” I reply, but to my frustration I feel just a hint of a smile trying to form on my lips. What the hell is wrong with me? A smile is not an appropriate response to a very thinly veiled threat on my life.
“Come. Eat. And tell me more about yourself. I am interested in hearing about your life, especially since you are so keen to preserve it,” he urges me, setting the plate down on the bed, patting the spot next to it expectantly. With a reluctant sigh I walk over and sit down. My stomach growls loudly, betraying the fact that I really, really do want to eat this food. Darios smiles as I begin to rip off bits of the thick, fluffy bread and eat. Immediately I am awash in grateful warmth, not realizing until now just how ravenously hungry I am.
“Well, I don’t know what else about my life you even need to know, since you’ve already stalked me on social media, apparently,” I quip. Darios simply stares at me, not bothered by my remark. “Fine. What do you want to know?”
“You seem different from the girl depicted on your accounts,” he begins slowly. “The Delaney Underwood who posts photos of her outfits and coffee drinks does not suit this version of you.”
“This version of me isn’t exactly living the same life anymore, thanks to you,” I reply sharply.
“I prefer this version,” Darios says, and I hate myself for blushing. I want to be angry, not flattered. I pop a grape into my mouth and shrug callously.
“I don’t care what you like,” I shoot back, but the look he gives me makes my skin crawl.
Darios leans in and whispers, “Yes, you do.”
I freeze for a moment, every cell in my body paralyzed with — what? Fear? Anger? Desire?
“Besides,” he continues, resuming his former cold nonchalance, “I believe that this is more like the real you, anyway. Nobody knows what they are truly made of until they are taken out of their element and broken down.”
“Wonderful. So all of this is just one big social experiment for me to ‘find myself’ or whatever?”
Darios grins. “If it pleases you to think of it that way, then so be it. It certainly seems to me that you are more clever than you let on. You are stronger than you want people to think you are. And you must admit, this experience is showing you more about who you really are than your easy, shallow life back home.”
“It’s not my fault everyone underestimates me,” I say softly, clenching my jaw. Darios reaches out and takes my chin between his fingers, his thumb tracing over my bottom lip.
Gazing powerfully into my eyes, he says, “They see exactly what you allow them to see. You give them no reason to believe otherwise. When was the last time you really worked hard for anything?”
Indignant fury bubbles in my chest as I spit out a reply. “Cheerleading.”
“Yes, and were you good at it?”
“I was the best.”
“And then what happened?”
I pause, not wanting to answer. But he prods me onward with a glance and I mumble, “And then I quit the squad.”
Darios releases me and stands back up, walking across the room to the door. “Exactly,” he says shortly. He winks at me and heads out into the hallway, his footsteps thudding faintly away.
I’m left sitting alone in my room, my appetite entirely gone thanks to our sour exchange. I hate being disproved. I hate learning that I’m wrong. And I hate the fact that someone like Darios can so easily dissect me and turn me inside out. He doesn’t know the real me. Nobody does.
I’ve made damn sure of that.
As I pick at the food Darios has brought me, I realize that he probably hasn’t done this for Lyssa or Caitlin. In fact, Darios has stopped in to see me multiple times a day since we first came here, and if he’s spending this much time with me, I find it hard to imagine that he could do the same with anyone else. This realization gives me a tiny thrill, which I immediately resent. I can’t believe how quickly he has gotten under my skin. It almost feels as though I want him to spend more time with me. I hate myself for feeling this way, for wishing deep down that he would come back and talk to me some more. I try to tell myself that it’s only a result of being locked away in here by myself. Anyone in this predicament would feel lonely, right?
But I can’t pretend it’s the same thing. Because instead of longing for the company of my friends, I’m sitting here wishing my dark, dangerous, handsome captor will come back.
How have I suddenly become so deranged? So broken?
As I’m pondering this morbid thought, the door creaks open again and I glance up, my heart hammering away in my chest. How could Darios have known I’ve been silently wishing for him to come back in? Can he read my mind or something?
But then my stomach drops when I realize that the man walking in isn’t Darios. It’s just some other big, burly guard, the one who has been lurking outside my door and bringing me my daily bowl of lumpy gray porridge. Only this time, he’s empty-handed.
He shuts and locks the door behind himself, slowly walking over to me with a predatory glint in his black eyes. I back away from him, shaking my head. “Wh-what do you want?” I stammer quietly.
Wordlessly, he bolts forward and in one swift motion he grasps me by the wrists, tugging me closer to him. I open my mouth to scream but he claps a hand over my lips, strangling the cry in my throat as he slams me back into the stony wall. “Mshvidad iqavi,” he hisses in a low voice.
He thrusts a knee between my legs, prying my thighs apart despite my attempts to struggle free, a cruel smirk on his face. “If you scream, I will bash your head in,” he growls as he releases my mouth to reach down between my thighs. Despite his threat, I immed
iately fill my lungs with air and scream.
The man wraps both hands around my throat and throws me down to the floor, pinning me with his enormous weight so that the breath is knocked out of my body entirely. “I told you to shut up,” he sneers furiously. As I struggle to breathe with his thumb pressed hard against my windpipe, he unbuttons his trousers and I begin to kick wildly.
Just as the man pulls his fist back in preparation to strike me, there’s the jostle of a key in the door and then it bursts open. My eyesight is starting to go dark while someone — some powerful force — rips the man off of me. I gasp for breath, coughing as I force myself into a sitting position and look around. As my vision clears, I realize with a jolt that the man who came in to save me is Darios. He’s knocked my would-be assailant to the floor and is pummeling his face with brutal blows, blood streaking his knuckles with each strike.
“Nabozvaro!” Darios bellows, strangling the man with both hands. “Filthy dog!”
The man’s eyes are bulging out of his head, his fingers scrambling helplessly to peel Darios’s hands off his throat, and I realize that if I don’t intervene, I may be about to watch a man die.
“Darios! Stop!” I try to yelp, still too paralyzed with shock to move. But my voice is weak, and Darios does not listen. I watch in mingled horror and gratitude as he pulls the man to a standing position and walks him backward to the window. I cannot move or even breathe as I watch Darios pull away the thin sheet which has been covering the window and kicks the man through the opening with enough force to violently shatter the wooden barricade. I let out a breathless shriek as my attacker falls to his death.
I can feel my entire body tingling, almost numb with shock as I somehow get myself to my feet and walk over to Darios, who is still standing by the window. I can feel his dark, blazing eyes on me as I approach, watching me. Wondering how I will react.
The truth is, I have no idea what I’m feeling, beyond a rush of morbid gratitude. Darios has saved me, yet again, from an absolutely dismal fate. I press myself into his hard, daunting frame, all but collapsing into his arms. He catches me, a flash of surprise on his face as I look up at him.
There is a still, silent moment in which the world around us melts away. Every sight, sound, and smell of the holding cell disappears. All that remains is the small, empty space between us. Without a second thought, without hesitation, I lurch forward and wrap my arms around him just as he bends to meet my lips in a biting, desperate kiss.
Adrenaline flooding my veins, I rip away from him just long enough to tear my dress up and over my head, casting it across the room. There are no thoughts behind my actions, no consideration for consequences. I’m filled with almost an animalistic need, and one glance at my captor tells me he’s in the same state.
Darios strips out of his shirt and frantically unbuttons his trousers, stepping out of them and pressing into me. He’s tall and broad, towering over me, and I can see the raising of his chest with his deep breaths, but he doesn’t touch me. His presence is enough, and I can feel it all over me as I shrug my bra off down to the floor, leaving me standing totally naked and exposed before this man.
This murderer.
His hands finally reach out and rove down my vulnerable, soft body with a hunger and ferocity that stirs something raw deep within myself, something I’ve never felt in all my life. I lean into his touch greedily, wanting him to run his fingers down every inch of my virgin flesh. I want him to mark me. Make me his.
I want him to ruin me.
Without a single word, he lifts me up and carries me to the bed, knocking the plate of food haphazardly to the floor with a loud clatter to make room. Darios wrenches my thighs open and I suck in a sharp breath, both terrified and impatient for him to make his next move. Looking up at me with his dark eyes smoldering, he plunges a finger inside of me with no warning, no preamble whatsoever. I shout out and buck into the pressure, having never had any part of another person inside me before. Darios stands up and crawls over me, nipping and sucking at my breasts while his finger works into me deeper and deeper. Just as I can feel myself building toward a powerful, indescribable peak, he withdraws his finger, raising it to his lips and sucking my own juices into his mouth.
He kisses me hard while he deftly removes his tight, black briefs, and his cock springs free, brushing against my thigh. Unable to stop myself, I reach down to grip his enormous, thick shaft in my hand, and I gasp at the surprising size. Darios groans and pushes into my hand for a moment, then pins both of my arms down above my head.
With his other hand he guides the head of his shaft to my slick, shuddering hole, then pushes inside. I cry out as a flash of horrible pain seizes my body. It feels as though Darios is splitting me in two, cleaving me straight down the middle! It feels like my insides are shattering. Darios is breaking me down and destroying me, utterly, but I want him to.
I need him to.
Quickly, he begins to thrust into me without any regard for my pain, his lips grazing my sensitive nipples, my panting mouth, my exposed neck. As he pumps into me fast and hard, I feel my own pain starting to give way to a new, shocking pleasure. I rock upward to meet his thrusts, clawing desperately at his back as I whimper his name over and over, starting to fully lose myself in the overwhelming combination of bliss and agony. Grasping the headboard to get better control, Darios straightens up and pulls my legs up over his shoulder, my ankles hooked around his neck. I feel my former flexibility as a cheerleader showing through, and the look on Darios’s face when I use this new position to roll my hips into him gives me a thrill of filthy delight. To reward me, he uses two fingers to stroke my clit in a circular motion as he thrusts into me, and my pleasure mounts higher and higher until I cry out, my climax bursting over me in an almost painful rush.
Darios groans his satisfaction at having brought me to orgasm, his rhythm becoming faster and more erratic until finally he shoves deep within me and releases a hot stream of seed. He bellows my name and bends to kiss me, his tongue forcing its way into my mouth as I feel his cream pumping into my cunt.
As we breathe raggedly against each other in the hot, sticky air, I murmur, “Promise me you will protect me. Promise me…”
“You are mine,” he growls, his forehead pressed against mine. “And I will always guard what belongs to me.”
He stands up, dresses quickly, then stalks out of the room without another word, leaving me to lie breathless and stunned on the bed with his seed slowly leaking out of me onto the sheets. I stare up at the ceiling, one thought piercing sharply through the fog of shock and confusion in my mind.
Have I fallen in love with my captor?
9
Darios
I wonder if the police find stakeouts this tedious.
I’m sitting in my car, engine off, across the street and down the block from the apartment of a small, well-to-do family who lives in the high-rise on the corner of the street. The father is a travel agent working for one of the top companies in the country, and the mother is an aerospace engineer working for a small non-profit.
And their daughter earned us several million in cash last year in ransom money.
I thumb to the next page on the Kindle I’m holding in my hands, re-reading some old mystery novel I bought to kill time for stakeouts like this. It also gives me a decent cover — few in Spain should mind a well-dressed man reading alone in his car.
I’m out here tonight because I know the father’s routine will soon have him walk out of his apartment, from where he’ll head two blocks down to the corner store to buy cigarettes. He knows his wife and daughter don’t approve of his habit, so he’s already self-conscious and jumpy on the way there. He lives in a safe part of Barcelona, though, so he’ll not be glancing over his shoulders for fear of petty criminals. I couldn’t have him in a better position.
There’s nothing wrong with him as a person, in the grand scheme of things, but I always keep track of my former clients, and I often entrust only myself with
the task of these little follow-up visits I choose to conduct.
When our ransom victims are safely in our grasp, we almost never have trouble with the parents going to the police. We’re highly selective of those we choose to abduct, looking for parents who are more apt to panic than to take decisive action against us. And those who do act often find their connections bribed or threatened into silence. I’ve gone so far as to show up at the houses of government officials with firm warnings.
I feel no remorse for my actions. These people wallow in the lap of luxury all their lives, while those under them, sometimes their direct subordinates, suffer on a daily basis. I’m only leveling the playing field however I can, and I make a little money while I’m doing it. This is my operation, and I won’t see it threatened by any heroics.
So I come by to visit the parents of past hostages to say ‘hello’ and make sure they’re still keeping our business arrangements quiet. Once the money has changed hands, it’s much more likely for the parents to try to go to the media or the police and try to expose our operation. Of course, many of them do so well aware that we continue to keep hostages, but I doubt they care much for the well-being of other girls. As long as their precious princess is safe and sound, the others couldn't matter less to them.
This is why we target groups of friends. If the parents know each other, it’s more likely they’ll cooperate and not go to the police the moment their daughter is safe — it would make for awkward dinner conversations if one family’s carelessness was directly responsible for another’s loss of a daughter.
And the media is always dying for the chance to make a circus out of a hostage situation like ours. I suspect rumors have gotten out in the past, so the news outlets keep ears out for us like some mysterious white whale, and the police are getting more and more willing to collaborate with them in the hopes of putting a stop to the threat to tourism we represent.
Hitman - the Series: A Bad Boy Mafia Romance Collection (Alexis Abbott's Hitmen #0) Page 81
