Page 29 of Claimed
My eyes widen at the glass and steel space with opaque walls before me, and a massive low bed set in the center of the floor. The blanket and sheet are jet black and disheveled, like whoever slept there could find no reason to remake the space.
An open duffel sits at the end of the mattress, an assortment of dark tees and jeans more common than anything else.
The disarray does not exactly scream wealthy businessman like the rest of the room.
Glancing down, my body suit is still in place, thank god, but my thigh holsters are gone. And so is my utility belt.
Damn it.
“You hear that?” the voice is gruff and male.
My heart trips and my head whips to the open doorway on the other side of the room.
“That I heard.” Soft steps sound over the floor.
For a beat, I consider dropping my head. Feigning sleep. But these assholes can apparently hear my heartbeat.
I force my features into a glower. “You fucking pricks better untie me.”
The footsteps falter. Then renew faster.
A dark haired male crowds the doorway, tall and rippling in pale muscle. His eyes are like lifeless midnight pools as he smirks coldly. “You’re awake. Good.” He saunters into the room. At his back is another man, this one with unkempt chestnut hair so dark it should be black, and eyes like mercury.
They are both ripped, almost obscenely muscular.
I stare at them.
And for kidnappers, they are fucking hot.
My tongue flicks out and I lick my lips. “Untie me.”
The first male tsks. “Now why would I want to do that?”
“Because if you don’t,” I drawl, “I’m going to shove your friend’s head up your ass.”
The second male whistles. “She’s a firecracker,” he murmurs, watching me. “No wonder she got the drop on him.”
His compatriot steps closer, scouring me. “This is how this is going to go,” he begins.
I snort. “I’m not answering anything you ask.”
His black eyes flash gold and then back to black. My heart skips.
A vamp?
“You will talk, lady. It’s up to you on how far this needs to go.”
They both advance then, their bodies rolling with a grace that only the supernatural races have. I try to scoot away, but the binds keeping me in place stay taut.
With an ease I envy, they each grab a side of the chair, lift me with it, and carry me out through the doorway into a wide penthouse suite.
My jaw tries to drop, but I force it back in place as I keep my glare steady.
They set me down in the center of the brightly lit main room and step back. “Talk,” the dark-eyed one says.
“Kiss my ass,” I snap back.
He looks past me. “Was she like this at the auction too?”
