by Lila Dubois
Solomon shot to his knees and spun to face the man with the wolf hair.
“Let us go!” Solomon demanded.
The man, wearing a headset that was a twin to the one on Vivienne, pointed to it and shook his head, indicating he couldn’t hear over the sound of the helicopter blades.
Fine, Solomon didn’t need to talk to this fucker anyway. He reached for the man’s neck, more than willing to try his hand at strangling someone.
As he reached out, the man darted to the side, his reflexes and sense of calm giving Solomon the uneasy feeling that this man was not inexperienced at close quarters hand-to-hand fighting. Solomon’s momentum, and the sudden lurch as the helicopter lifted into the air, caused him to fall forward against the seat so recently vacated by Wolf Hair.
Something landed on Solomon’s head and he swatted out only to find his fingers tangled in the cable of a set of headphones. He was preparing to chuck them at Wolf Hair—they were heavy enough that they’d hurt. A spark of light distracted him. He glanced out the window in the door of the luxury helicopter.
The ocean sparkled in the early morning sun far below. Solomon’s muscles, tensed to continue the fight, released as a terrifying realization hit him.
They were trapped. Even if he managed to take out Wolf Hair, what the hell would they do then? The pilot and co-pilot were now the most important people in Solomon’s life because he had no idea how to fly a helicopter and zero desire to die in an ocean crash-landing.
They were trapped.
Heart racing, he slid on the headphones, positioning the mic near his mouth. Still on his knees, he turned to Vivi. Her eyes were wide, but not with the terror he’d expected to see. He didn’t understand her expression.
“I’m going to get us out of this, Vivi baby.”
Her gaze softened.
“Mr. Carter.” Wolf Hair was sitting casually, a pleasant smile curving his lips. “Welcome to your intervention.”
Solomon blinked, then blinked again. “My what?”
“Actually, it’s not just your intervention. This is for both of you.” He shifted his smile to Vivienne.
Solomon inched to the side, putting his body between Vivienne and the man.
Wolf Hair gestured to her. “You’re welcome to release her. I needed to focus on getting you into the helicopter; I didn’t want her to either bolt or say something that might prevent you from coming up to us.”
A little rude of the asshole to point out that Solomon had run right into their trap.
Solomon reached back with one hand, keeping his eyes on Wolf Hair as he blindly undid the bindings on her closest wrist.
He was struck again by the sense that he knew this man, or had seen him. Where?
“What do you mean, intervention?” Jalen had mentioned something, but this wasn’t a fucking intervention. This was kidnapping. He felt Vivienne moving as she used her now free hand to undo the other bindings.
“And where do I know you from?” Solomon demanded when the other man didn’t answer.
“I don’t think we had the pleasure of meeting in Paris.” Wolf Hair held out his hand. “Nerio Deniaud.”
“In Paris?” Solomon didn’t take his hand.
“He’s a member of the Orchid Club.” Vivienne’s voice came through the headphones. He saw her drop the straps and muzzle to the floor. Her trembling fingers landed on his bare shoulder. She hadn’t looked terrified, but her hand told a different story. She was pressing the tips of her fingers so hard against him that he might have bruises.
He wanted to turn and sweep her into his arms, but he wouldn’t turn his back on their enemy.
“I am,” Nerio said. “And I’m also the man who’s going to help you two save your relationship.”
“What?” Solomon and Vivienne asked in unison.
Nerio smiled. “As I said, welcome to your intervention.”
Keep reading with Paris Promise.
Paris Promise
Chapter 1
Vivienne held her hat in place with one hand, squinting against the sand that blew up from the downdraft of the helicopter blades.
Don’t look back, don’t look back.
Solomon was on the beach, wearing nothing but a pair of low riding, loose pants. He’d called out to her, and that stupid romantic part of her had wanted to turn around and run dramatically across the sand into his arms. Last night felt…different. Toward the end she'd felt more connected to him than she ever had.
And that was exactly why she had to leave.
The side door of the helicopter opened and a man leaned out. That surprised her. She glanced at the curved glass windscreen, confirming that the helicopter pilot was still in his seat. Perhaps this man was some sort of flight attendant.
“Mademoiselle Deschamps.” The man who’d opened the door from inside took off his helmet with connected headset, setting it on the seat behind him as he scooted forward.
He knew her name so this was definitely the helicopter Aldric had ordered for her. Why then, did she feel so uneasy? Her instincts were telling her that something was wrong.
“Did your cousin tell you I was coming?” he shouted. “It rather takes the fun out of it.”
“My cousin?” she yelled back.
The man smiled. He wasn’t unattractive—with sharp, angular features, and hair that seemed to be a mix of ten different shades, ranging from silver to a deep brunette. It wasn’t exactly salt-and-pepper hair, but it was a very distinct feature due to the coloring.
“Do you mean my assistant, Aldric?”
She wished the helicopter weren’t so loud; the whump whump whump sound of the blades was contributing to her anxiety, and having a conversation while yelling wasn’t helping.
“No. Ah, were you expecting someone else?”
What was going on? Vivienne narrowed her eyes. “Who are you?”
“A friend.” He smiled.
Vivienne took several steps back, ready to turn and run. Her instincts were now screaming at her that this was a dangerous situation, and she wasn’t such a fool that she would ignore that. She hadn’t gotten the confirmation she expected from Aldric, and that—combined with the way all the hair on the back of her neck was standing on end—put her firmly into flight mode.
“I’m going to take you someplace where you can make sense of everything.”
Take her someplace…
She was being kidnapped.
Kidnapping was something she’d been lectured on since she was a child, and was a very real threat to someone in her situation. Luckily, she was not so famous or high-profile that she needed a regular security detail. Back when she’d been traveling, when she and Solomon had been together, she would occasionally have to hire a local security firm depending on the kidnapping risk assessment of a particular country or region. But she’d lived in, and spent most of her time in, Paris, where there was a very low risk of being taken.
All those thoughts passed through her head, almost as if her logical mind was trying to reason away what her gut was telling her.
As she turned to escape, she saw the man leap out of the helicopter, arms reaching for her. Whatever disbelief she was holding onto, that sense of “surely this isn’t really happening,” evaporated the instant he moved.
She screamed and started to run. Without conscious thought, she started racing down the beach towards Solomon. He was her safety.
Strong arms wrapped around her middle, trapping her elbows against her sides.
Her attacker lifted her off her feet and she kicked back, hoping to take out his knee. He grunted in pain as her heel connected, but it wasn’t enough to make him release her.
Her attacker hauled her backwards toward the helicopter.
Solomon was running towards her, but he wouldn’t make it. Good. She wouldn’t be able to live with herself if he was hurt trying to save her. Kidnappers, despite needing their victims alive, too often, and too early, became killers. Not that long ago Carolina Herrera’s nephew and his part
ner had been found dead after being kidnapped. The families paid the ransom, but that hadn’t been enough to keep the men alive.
She knew once her kidnapper got her on that helicopter, her chances of surviving were slim. She didn’t want Solomon’s blood on her hands too.
“No!” She screamed to Solomon. “Go back!”
He kept coming. Had he heard her? The sound of the helicopter’s engine and the displaced air from the rotating blades drowned everything else out.
Even if he had, she doubted he would listen. After all, in his heart he was, and always would be, a knight, ready to defend and protect.
Her kidnapper managed to keep a hold of her as he climbed into the helicopter, dragging her with him. She braced a foot against one of the four plush seats and pushed back, slamming him into the edge of the door.
The man’s breath escaped in a rush of air she felt against her temple and he released her.
Vivienne wasn’t expecting that, and didn’t have her feet under her. She landed on her butt on the floor, momentarily stunned.
“I do hate it when things don’t go according to plan,” the man wheezed. “Perhaps I should have done as James suggested and waited, or at least had your cousin call you. I thought it would ruin the surprise.”
Vivienne scrambled away from him, which unfortunately meant she was as far from the open door as she could get, with her kidnapper between her and safety.
She stared at the man, considering her options. Solomon, when she’d last seen him, was still a good ways down the beach. It would take him several more minutes to reach the aircraft.
She swallowed, then said, “I won’t fight if you promise we leave right now.”
The man looked up from rubbing his shin—that must have been where she kicked him. Rather than looking angry, or villainous, he looked smugly amused. At her words the expression changed and softened to one of…understanding?
He leaned to the side, looking between the seats and out the front window, no doubt tracking Solomon’s position. “You want us to leave before he gets here?”
Vivienne nodded, and then to show him how willing she was to comply, she carefully rose from the floor and sat calmly in one of the seats, folding her hands in her lap.
She would save Solomon.
Her kidnapper reached into a small case positioned between two of the seats and pulled out a set of black leather cuffs.
Vivienne’s blood turn to ice in her veins. Her fingers curled tight until her nails dug into her palms.
The man held up the cuffs, one eyebrow raised. It took more courage than she knew she possessed to hold out her hand. The man passed her the bundle of leather and metal. She set it on her lap, then very carefully unclipped the carabiners that held together two leather wrist cuffs and two larger ankle cuffs.
Her stomach was clenched so tightly she could feel bile rising up her throat as she bent forward and fastened the first cuff around her left ankle. Before that well of courage ran dry, she fastened the second cuff to her right ankle.
Her kidnapper watched, his expression bemused.
With that done, she turned to look out the front windscreen of the helicopter. Solomon was still several dozen meters away, but he was moving fast. Faster than she thought anyone could run across the soft sand beach.
Quickly she fastened the cuffs around her wrists, buckling them in place.
Why would your kidnapper have BDSM cuffs instead of police handcuffs or zip ties?
She could think of several answers to that question, none of which were good. Oily, stomach-churning fear coated the inside of her mouth and throat.
“I did it. Now we leave,” she demanded.
Her kidnapper took a knee in front of her chair. “Forearms here.” He pointed at the armrests.
She knew what was coming.
Short leather straps dangled from each of the cuffs. He looped those around the armrests, buckling them back on themselves to restrain her. Rather than binding her legs to the floor or the bottom of the seat, he fastened them together.
Vivienne was lightheaded with fear as he finished making her his prisoner, but once he was done, she relaxed a little. She was fairly certain that she’d be able to twist her hand and arm in such a way that she could unfasten the straps on her wrists if the opportunity to escape presented itself.
The man reached into his bag once more, pulling out a molded piece of black leather with four straps dangling off of it.
He held it up, one eyebrow arched in what was both a challenge and a question.
She felt sick with fear, and she wrapped her fingers around the armrest so they wouldn’t visibly tremble. That bit of molded black leather was a muzzle.
More specifically a BDSM muzzle.
She raised her chin and met his gaze.
The man nodded in what looked strangely like respect, then raised the muzzle to her face. He pressed the black leather over her mouth, fastening the first set of straps at the back of her neck, the second set wrapping up the sides of her face and fastening at the crown of her head.
Tears made her eyes prickle so she closed them, fighting against the panic-induced need to struggle and scream. The faster she let him make her captive, the faster they’d take off, leaving Solomon safely on his island. The muzzle didn’t hurt, and he hadn’t fastened it tightly. With a bit of determination she’d be able to open her mouth enough to scream, though the sound would be muffled behind the leather.
Something pressed down on her head, but she didn’t open her eyes. If he was applying a full hood, it would be easier to just keep her eyes closed and pretend the darkness was her idea.
She felt rather than saw him shift away from her. That helped her calm down enough that she once more dipped into that well of courage and opened her eyes. She wasn’t blindfolded, and relief made her skin tingle.
Her kidnapper resumed his seat, putting his own helmet back on. It was then she noticed that the sound of the helicopter engine was no longer overwhelming. She shook her head, feeling the weight of the helmet he placed on her. At the bottom of her field of vision she could see the silver and black microphone positioned in front of her lips. Given the muzzle, the careful positioning of the mic was deeply ironic.
“I’ve scared you,” the man said.
She could clearly hear his voice through the speakers in the built-in helmet headphones.
“It wasn’t my intention.” He seemed to consider that statement and smiled slightly. “Well, not entirely. Perhaps it would be more accurate to say I didn’t intend to frighten you to the point of panic, and I fear I’ve done that.”
Vivienne looked pointedly at the pilot.
“Ah, yes. You agreed not to fight as long as we took off before Solomon Carter got here to rescue you.”
He knew Solomon’s name. It was then Vivienne realized she’d made a terrible mistake.
This was Solomon’s island. Solomon was an executive of RedBall, which alone would be enough to make him a target for kidnapping, but he was also the son of the founder.
What if this man hadn’t come here to kidnap her, but to take Solomon, and she’d been stupid enough to walk right up to that damn helicopter?
She jerked in her bindings, panic making her forget that just moments ago she’d been sure that if she concentrated and twisted she’d be able to undo the buckles. Panic was riding her. She wasn’t thinking straight.
The man held up his hands, palms out. “I know this will sound rather cliché but I’m not here to hurt you.”
Vivienne channeled Celeste and raised one eyebrow.
“Oh, I am most definitely here to kidnap you,” he said. “But I’m only kidnapping you in order to take you to your intervention.”
Vivienne blinked at him. Her what?
“Your cousin Edmund supports the intervention, though he doesn’t know about the kidnapping.” Her kidnapper winked like they were friends. Vivienne just stared at him.
“Edmund and James Nolen had this rather complex and convol
uted plan to get you and Solomon both to Miami, and onto my ship. That was before anyone had realized you were, conveniently, already with Solomon. Edmund and James wanted to call the whole thing off, figuring that if you two were together, you might be working it out. However, I knew better.”
Vivienne stared at him, trying to figure out if he was telling the truth or if invoking her cousin Edmund’s name, and that of Solomon’s friend James, was some sort of elaborate ruse, or emotional manipulation.
“I decided we would move forward with the original plan, which was to get the two of you alone on my yacht. Based on everything I’ve been told about your relationship, you and Solomon are most definitely in need of an intervention. I saw you together in Paris at the club. There’s something between you that is unique and special.”
An intervention? Was this man delusional? He sounded alarmingly reasonable, if arrogant and amused.
And he was a member of the Orchid Club. That shouldn’t have made her feel less afraid, but somehow it did.
Movement drew her attention to the open side door. Solomon was here.
She tried to shout a warning, but the words were muffled by the damned muzzle.
He looked like an angry Viking warrior—his mouth was set in a snarl aided by the scar that marred his lip. If the kidnapper had any sense, he would have looked terrified at the sight of Solomon.
He didn’t.
Vivienne twisted her face toward her shoulder trying to work the muzzle down off of her mouth so she could warn Solomon.
Before she could manage anything helpful, a man appeared behind Solomon, seemingly out of nowhere. He shoved Solomon hard, throwing him off balance. Solomon fell forward into the helicopter.
The newcomer jumped in and closed the door. Solomon rolled and kicked, but his assailant twisted and then escaped up to the cockpit where he took the copilot seat. The man she’d been talking to remained passively in his seat through all of it.
She felt rather than heard the engines begin to work harder, the blades spinning faster in preparation for lift off.
