Page 8 of Russian Roulette
“What the hell is this?” I say, thoroughly ticked off that he dragged me up here under false pretenses. “I’m only going to say this once, mister. So, listen carefully. I’ll talk slow to make sure you understand. I’m not interested in you, okay? You’re cute and all, but I’m not in town for a hookup. Got it? Leave me alone. I mean it this time.”
As I whirl around to storm back inside the building, the security guard grabs my arm. “Sorry miss, we’re not playing,” he states firmly. “You really need to get in the car. Don’t make a fuss.”
“I’m not going anywhere with you,” I say, glaring up at him while trying to tug my arm free. “Are you even hotel security? I bet you’re not, are you? Is that a real name badge or did you buy it on online? What kind of name is Leroy Justice, anyway?”
He doesn’t answer. Instead, he slides his suit jacket back slightly with his free hand, casually showing me the handgun tucked into a holster. The gun stuns me into silence. Damn! What is going on? I’ve totally misjudged this situation.
They’re dead serious, and this ticks me off more than ever. After all I’ve been through with the Russian mob and now these clowns in their fancy suits and stretched SUVS think they can kidnap me? They have no idea who they’re dealing with.
“Are you fucking kidding me?” I exclaim, my voice rising. “You’re kidnapping me? Why?” I don’t wait for an answer. Instead, I twist around and knee Leroy Justice hard in the balls. As I move out of the doorway, the door slams shut with a thud behind me.
He doubles over with a loud ‘oof’, holding his junk with one hand and groaning. His grip loosens enough for me to break loose. I grab the door’s metal doorknob and try to jerk it open.Shit!It’s locked from the inside.
“Help!” I yell, banging furiously on the door with my fist. “Please help! I’m being kidnapped. Call the police!”
“You’d better handle her,” the security guard mutters, nodding toward me. “My balls are paining something bad. She just killed a thousand future babies of mine.”
Snake Charmer Guy jumps out of the SUV and quickly wraps his arms tightly around me from behind. “Be quiet if you know what’s good for you,” he murmurs close to my ear.
My first thought is how furious I am at him. My second is how delicious his cologne smells; masculine, expensive, and thrilling. My traitorous body’s reaction makes me angrier.
“Let me go!” I shout.
His grip tightens, and he tries to drag me away from the door toward the car. I begin kicking full strength at the door now, while throwing my weight back against him. He’s not a large man, and he’s struggling with me, which only makes me fight harder.
There’s a slight chance I can get away from him. If I can, I’ll run for the far ramp of the parking garage. The security guard is temporarily incapacitated by his crushed balls, so he can’t come after me, and I might outrun Snake Charmer in my sneakers.
I’m glad to be in top physical shape because I’m not getting into their car. The first rule of being kidnapped is to never let someone take you to a second location. Even if they shoot me here, which I sincerely doubt they will, I’ll have a better chance of surviving than being driven somewhere else by these two whack jobs.
The back door of the SUV opens and another guy steps out, slamming the door shut behind him.
Oh, fuck!
Make that three whack jobs. And this one is far more intimidating than the other two. The sight of this menacing new guy makes me reconsider my options. My gut says there’s no way in hell I can make it past him.
He’s wearing a short-sleeved, tight black T-shirt that fits snugly against his well-built frame, emphasizing his lean muscles. His denim jeans and steel-toed boots are faded, giving an impression of a man who is rugged and rough around the edges. Intricate tribal tattoos cover both arms, leaving not an inch of skin without ink. His piercing, dark eyes are cold as they scan me from head to toe.
He’s terrifying as hell, but I don’t dare show it.
Never show weakness is my mantra.
“Who are you?” I ask, while trying to twist out of Snake Charmer’s grip. “America’s Most Wanted? I’m pretty sure your face is on posters at the post office.”
“Stop putting up a fight and get in the car peacefully or I’ll gag you,” he orders. He glances at the security guard in disgust. “I can’t believe you guys weren’t able to get a tiny girl into the car. You’ve got at least a hundred and fifty pounds on her, Leroy. What the fuck is wrong with you? You deserved to get kneed in the balls. If she hadn’t done it, I would’ve been tempted myself to teach you a lesson. We need to tie her up. Does anyone have something we can use?”
“There’s a scarf in my back pocket,” Snake Charmer offers. “Damn it!” he yelps when I stomp hard on his toes. “Would you cut it out!”
“I’d like to cut something,” I snarl. “And it would be something far more precious to you than your foot.”
America’s Most Wanted guy reaches over into Snake Charmer’s pocket and tugs out a long, red scarf that keeps coming and coming.
“Nice scarf,” I quip up at Snake Charmer, who holds me tighter. “You didn’t strike me as a fashionista.”
“It’s for a trick,” he replies, as if that explains why he has a three-foot red scarf in his back pocket. How did he fold it up to fit?
America’s Most Wanted tries to wrench my wrists roughly behind my back to secure them. He’s hurting me, and that pisses me off. When he leans in closer, I turn my face and latch onto his earlobe with my teeth.
The element of surprise comes in handy. I’m not afraid to use any dirty trick in my bag when I’m fighting for my life. Teeth, elbows, head, feet. I’d bite a man’s dick off if I needed to.
