His Hostage: A Dark Romance

by Penelope Woods

  His Hostage: A Dark Abduction Romance

  Penelope Woods

  Contents

  About the Author

  New Release: Alien Mate

  Prologue: Caroline

  1. Rowan

  2. Caroline

  3. Rowan

  4. Caroline

  5. Rowan

  6. Caroline

  7. Rowan

  8. Caroline

  9. Rowan

  10. Caroline

  11. Rowan

  12. Caroline

  13. Rowan

  14. Caroline

  15. Rowan

  16. Caroline

  17. Rowan

  18. Caroline

  19. Rowan

  20. Caroline

  21. Rowan

  22. Caroline

  23. Rowan

  24. Caroline

  25. Rowan

  26. Caroline

  27. Rowan

  28. Rowan

  29. Caroline

  Epilogue: Rowan

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  Penelope’s Dungeon

  About the Author

  A Penelope Woods Production

  About the Author

  For more steamy and dark fun, be sure to visit and like my facebook. More fun awaits below!

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  Penelope Woods is a top 100 Amazon author who writes dark sci-fi, horror, fantasy and uniquely gothic romance novels. When she learned about smut, it was like a light bulb clicked on in her head. She started writing in 2016 and has never looked back.

  New Release: Alien Mate

  Once they claim you, you become their mate for life.

  One-Click!

  Prologue: Caroline

  Love doesn’t just happen. But when it does, it feels like an explosion. You don’t just give up on love out of nowhere.

  I was young and stupid. He made me believe I was in love. I thought I was in it for the long haul. Kids, a new house, grandkids. He wanted all that. With me.

  I was naive and believed all his lies.

  He showered me with gifts. Jewelry, spa treatments, and new heels were all things I welcomed openly, but I never asked for the princess treatment. It was like he was trying to buy me off. Within a year, I became his property.

  Now, standing here in this attorney’s office, I want to get on with my life. I keep asking myself, “Why do you keep falling for these assholes?”

  The answer is pretty simple. I must like the challenge. I like men who aren’t easy to crack. I don’t know why, but I keep thinking these guys will change. First, it was my boyfriend, then it was my husband, and now…

  Well, now I’ll just have to deal with living alone. I’m thirty-five years old. What man is going to want to marry a woman my age?

  My ex-husband told me, “You’re a fruit that’s far too ripe to eat.”

  I have to dry my tears and move forward because I’m sure as hell not going down the same route I went down before.

  Hell no. This time, I’m staying powerful and independent. I’m my own woman, not anybody else’s.

  Of course, I say all this crap in my head before I see my new neighbor. There he is, a tatted up, muscular beast, who almost never wears a shirt. And of course, he’s always just a few steps away…

  He likes to sit on his porch, drinking coffee and smoking cigarettes. I try to stay away. I stopped running in the morning.

  But he always waves at me with that brooding look in his eyes. When I turn around, I feel him staring at my ass. And he forever has that hungry look on his face.

  Who is he and why did he have to move to this small town in the Southwest?

  I can’t take it. Last week, my divorce was finalized and now I’m stuck next to this asshole. What am I going to do?

  1

  Rowan

  One week earlier…

  I came to this rural town to get away. Out here, I’m alone. No one to bother me, and, most importantly, there are no cops. I can sit and work in peace.

  Out here, I’m invisible. No one turns their head to look at me.

  There’s only one problem…

  I see her every morning. She goes on her little run during the early hours of the day, right when the sun peaks its head over the hills in the distance. Sure, she’s a little older than my usual type, but when I see her, my cock grows and grows.

  She’s got her yoga pants on. You know, the ones that hug tight around the waist. The kind of pants that make an ass bubble.

  And yeah, she’s got the workout top to match. It hugs around her tits a little too perfect, like she sat in front of a mirror before she left the house. When her cleavage starts to bounce, I’m done for. I breathe in the cold air and thank God I’m alive.

  She hates my guts. I can sense it. Most women do. But that’s only because she knows she wants to spend the night with me.

  I can sense it.

  After her run, she slows near her walkway. A smooth shine glistens her stunning face. Sweaty or not, she looks good as hell.

  “Morning,” I call out to her.

  Looking embarrassed, she sways a towel across her forehead. I give her my signature smile, and she just goes on ignoring me. Typical.

  “Morning!” I call out again. She closes the door.

  Well, so much for that.

  I miss the roads of southern Arizona. New Mexico doesn’t feel the same. Back when things were easier, I had the world under my fingers. I ran my gang well, and no man went against my orders.

  Women used to crawl to me. If I said, “beg,” they’d beg for me. Now, women shut the door on my face.

  Women like her. The next-door jogger.

  Figures. I was never someone who deserved anything special. I learned at a very young age that having a pistol, a bag of drugs, and a body like mine gets you pretty damn far in the world.

  But everybody pays a price. And that price for me, meant me leaving my home in Arizona.

  My friends, my family, and my gang have cut me off. Things are a little hot back home. Police are watching the streets, so I need to sit tight.

  This is just a temporary situation. I just need to give the crew a little space before going back into the thick of the business.

  Look, I know what people think of me. I know how easy it is to judge the wicked. But there’s always more to the story.

  When you start digging, things become a little more obvious. My mom wasn’t so great. Always chain smoking and telling me to get off my ass to get her another bottle of Jim Beam, she wasn’t winning any awards for good parenting.

  It’s not like my father was any better. He came and went as he pleased, and so did those bottles of booze. I always knew things were about to go sour when I’d walk into the kitchen to find him strewn across the floor with a Wiley smile on his face. You know, like he was straight out of a cartoon or something.

  My parents were my idols. Sadly, they were the people I wanted to be the most. I held them up on a pedestal, and all they did was let me down.

  So, like any man should, I decided to take things into my own hands. I loaded up on anything I could find.

  Sure, booze was a good fix for a while. After some time, it makes you numb and unsteady. So I tried the harder shit. Speed, uppers, pingers. Those pills got me going.

  That’s when I decided to arm myself and get a little gang going. The High Priests. That’s what we called ourselves.

  I delivered the sermon. My friends liked to dish out the communion. If you came at us, you’d be sent all the way down to Hell.

  Now, of course, I’m just the friendly guy next door. The one who wants to steal that freshly divorced ass. You think I gave a damn about age? Fuck no. With a curv
y body like hers, I’d gladly give her a wet mouth to sit on.

  Hell, I’ll become her throne if she wants to be a queen for a day.

  This ain’t Arizona. That’s for sure. But I’m starting to get my groundings here. I’m still stuck on that woman’s body.

  Hiding out from the law has never been so tantalizing.

  2

  Caroline

  Back to the present…

  I can’t believe I finalized the divorce. I escaped.

  I did what most women are unable to do. I got out, and he’ll never see me again. No kids, no responsibilities, no worries. It’s up to me to decide what to do next.

  I walk outside to smell the fresh desert air. It’s always so nice here in the fall.

  I never thought I’d end up so far away from home. As a Pennsylvania girl born and raised, I grew accustomed to the green trees, cold weather, and the waspy attitude the people around me tended to have.

  My friends called me lucky. “You have the best life,” they said. But, as it always goes, they had no idea.

  The truth was so ugly.

  They didn’t know that the nice doctor, my father, was an obsessive gambling addict. They didn’t know of his abusive tendencies.

  My friends weren’t there when he spent all my college money on one more game of blackjack. They never saw him hit my mother for trying to get him help.

  “You’re so privileged,” they said.

  I took that with a grain of salt. Of course, the anger bled through. I started to really believe everything they told me.

  When I graduated high school, I tried the whole college thing. I got through most of it, but when I ran out of money, I met him. Ron Smith, my ex-husband. The bastard who tried to rob me of my life, by giving me everything.

  I hear the daily call coming from the house next door. “Morning!”

  I turn to see my neighbor. That arrogant, cocky bastard who keeps staring at my tits. “You doing okay?” he asks.

  I haven’t addressed the guy, yet. To be honest, I thought he would just go away. When I moved in, I was told that people have been renting the house for years. It looks like he just moved in.

  Peace and quiet. That’s what was sold to me. Unfortunately, it looks like he’s not going anywhere. He’s practically turned his garage into a mechanic’s wet dream. To me, he’s one big nightmare.

  When I don’t answer his calls, he stands up and moves toward the edge of his porch. He’s shirtless again and covered in grease. He’s got his coffee mug and that smile, and when he leans against the wood edge, I feel my heart quicken a little.

  “Are you going to just keep ignoring me every morning?” he asks.

  “Morning,” I reply back.

  I don’t know what else to say. I don’t have anything in common with a guy like him. He reaches up and grabs the top panel of wood, and I can’t help but notice his biceps. They’re huge. I look away, feeling annoyed he’s accosted me like this.

  “There we go,” he yells. “Finally. A response. Weather’s been really nice these past few weeks. Why haven’t you been running lately?”

  Fuck. Now I’m in a full blown conversation with the guy.

  He swings off his porch and lands into the dirt. He’s wearing spurred cowboy boots and a tight pair of jeans that hug his butt. Leather, dust, and denim cause my mind to race.

  I’m not accustomed to people like him. I’m used to lace, silk, and pearls. I thought the desert would be cacti and creosote. I was told all the cowboys have gone and left.

  Guess not.

  I dig my heels into the dry earth. “Do I need to explain my running habits to everyone in a 10 mile radiance?” I ask.

  He gets to the edge of my porch, and he leans against my wood paneling now. He stays below the stairs, but I start to get a little worried. Is this guy going to invite himself in?

  “Nah. You don’t need to explain anything to a guy like me,” he sighs. “I mean, you look good as it is. I was just wondering, is all. I don’t get much action nowadays. The middle of the desert isn’t an amazing place to meet new people.”

  Just leave me alone, dammit. I was never good at shooing people away, but ever since the divorce, I’ve been pretty good at swearing people off.

  “Look, I don’t know who you’re trying to impress with the whole cowboy and no shirt routine,” I start, “but I’m married. And very happy. So, if you could take it back a few yards, that’d be great.”

  Very happy. Right.

  “Whoa,” he laughs. “Look, lady. I was just being a friendly neighbor. I thought I’d introduce myself, but—”

  “You thought wrong,” I interrupt him.

  Closing my eyes, I take a deep breath. My marriage has put me a little on edge. I shouldn’t say everything that’s on my mind, but I really don’t want a repeat of last time.

  I need to stay away from my temptations. But I have to admit to myself, his body is as frightening as it is tempting.

  “I came out here for peace and quiet,” I tell him. “I didn’t want to get interrupted and harassed every morning.”

  A sly smile. “Suit yourself, woman.”

  Great, he’s a sexist now too. He throws his hands up and turns back to his place.

  “Do you always talk to women like that?” I ask.

  He laughs. “Lady, you’re out of your damn mind,” he says. “Don’t worry. I’ll leave you to your knitting. Or whatever it is you do here. In case you’re just getting ahead of yourself, the name’s Rowan. ”

  He walks back to his porch, lights up a cigarette, and walks inside.

  I want to hate him, but damn, he does have a nice butt…

  3

  Rowan

  That woman is like a firecracker waiting to explode.

  She’s a fucking volcano. Did she really call me a cowboy? Me? Jesus, people are rude.

  I don’t blame her. I’m not exactly the type of guy you write home to your mother about. Still, I’m not asking for her hand in marriage. I’m just looking for a good time, or a few. That is, if she lets me.

  Truth is, once she opened her mouth, I knew I wouldn’t be able to stay away. She’s got enough fire to start up any engine.

  So, no, I’m not going to stay away from her. I’m going to be sitting outside every damn morning. Each day, she’s going to have to deal with me.

  Shit, it’s not like I have a steady job anymore. I took all the cash I needed and got out fast.

  My bike, however, is in need of some parts and labor. I figure, as long as I’m here, I can work on fixing it. I did a number on the exterior too. I’ll probably have to strip it down to the bone.

  Leaving home did a number on me. A month ago, I lost everything. Let’s just say a deal went to shit, and I couldn’t deal with the fallout.

  I don’t blame the rest of the High Priests for leaving me high and dry. That’s just the name of the game. If you fuck up a deal, you better disappear and keep quiet.

  If the cops find my ass, I’ll be doing some hard time in prison. But if the other gang sniffs me out, I’ll be dead.

  I fled fast when the deal went sour. Now I’m using burner phones and trying my best to cover my tracks. I’m just trying to blend in.

  I guess I’m not doing too great a job. That woman has me coming out of the woodwork too often. I still don’t even know her name.

  For the first time since I arrived, I head deeper into town. I figure I might as well get to know the place I’m living in. But Hawke Point, New Mexico doesn’t have much going on.

  There’s a place to get coffee, a place to buy liquor, and a dollar store to get some food. That’s about all you’ll find out here.

  Of course, a man like me enjoys surviving on the necessities. I don’t need much.

  I just need liquor.

  I walk into the liquor store to buy a bottle of Jack, but I have to pause. That woman is standing in the middle of the whisky aisle, deciding on which poison will best suit her.

  It’s my lucky day.


  “Go for the highest alcohol content,” I tell her.

  She turns and takes one look at me before her eyes fill with panic. She looks me up and down, and decides my fate almost instantly.

  “Are you seriously following me?” she asks.

  I nearly roll my eyes. “Honey, if I was following you, you’d know it,” I tell her.

  She leans back. “Is that a threat?”

  She glances at the man at the counter who stops his writing to check me out.

  It’s not a good omen.

  “Sorry, buck. We’re fine,” I tell him.

  “You fine?” he asks my lovely neighbor.

  She doesn’t want to nod, I can tell. She’s acting hard, but her tough exterior is humorous to me.

  “I’m fine,” she says.

  I try to behave as normal as possible. I don’t want to give her any excuses to bring any more attention on me. I’m trying to remain invisible out here, but this woman isn’t helping my situation.

  “Look, I was just trying to be helpful,” I explain.

  “Well, I didn’t ask for help,” she says.

  But the way she’s looking at my tattoos tells a different story. I’m thinking she needs a man around to help her out a little. You know, some neighborly assistance.