Page 3 of Kidnapped By the Mafia Boss
I’ll check up on his puppy, then go straight home. Boy, did I misjudge him. There needs to be a tick-box on these apps to filter by “kind to animals”.
I won’t think about how the tattooed, older man with a Russian accent brought in a rescued puppy to the vet the other day. I won’t think of how swoony it was that he paid for the dog’s treatment and left a substantial donation to the local shelter. And I definitely won’t think about how I liked him so much that I’ve been imagining that he’s been stalking me. Feeling his presence, imagining that I glimpse him in the reflections of shop windows. The man who picked me out of a puddle last week—not a euphemism this time, sadly—really seemed like him. But he was gone so quickly I didn’t have a chance to do anything but stammer out my thanks.
Doesn’t do any good to reflect on the mistakes of giving away your first date ever to a man who cannot even do 101 puppy care like,take it to the vet and don’t leave it alone when it’s ill.
“Just in here,” Howard says as he fits a key into the lock.
There’s no sound coming from inside, and that feels like a bad sign. Poor dog. Possible illnesses skitter through my mind.
Howard opens the door and indicates for me to go in ahead of him.
“Where is he? And what’s his…” I walk into an empty and entirely clean and tidy hotel room and the door snicks shut behind me.
My pulse spikes.
“Name…” I finish pathetically as Howard advances on me, eyes hard. My chest tightens as I step away.
“Now we’re alone, you can stop pretending,” he says with casual malice.
“W-what? I’m not pretending. Where’s your puppy?”
He grabs his crotch with one thin hand. “I’ve got all the big dog you need, right here.”
Gross and crude. The backs of my knees hit the bed and it becomes horribly clear. There’s no puppy. He lured me here under false pretences.
“I’m leaving now.” My voice is unnaturally high.
He laughs. “Go on. Try. You like being chased, don’t you?”
Everything inside me goes cold and dead.
He knows. He knows about my secret, illicit, fantasy-filled Instagram account.
“How did you find me?” I ask, floating above my body in shock. I thought I had been really careful about maintaining my anonymity.
“I’ve been watching you for a while, first online, then I found you here in London.”
Did I think this man was unthreatening? I’m an idiot. I’m a total blunderhead and I’m paying for my mistake.
“I know you want it, I saw what you wrote.” He takes another step forward. “Chase me. Catch me. Kiss me.Hurt me.”
My throat closes in terror. Not the good kind from a fantasy or a horror movie.
No.
I don’t want it like this. I don’t want to actually be raped. I wanted… Scary but exhilarating. Fear and fun. Someone who’ll pursue me, yes, but who’ll catch me before I fall.
If Howard forces me, it’s going tohurt.
Real pain. Not nice hurt.
Why did I let him convince me to come to his room?Stupid. So stupid.
To think I was reassured that he’s a policeman.
I can’t even call the police.
“Scream all you like,” he says in what I suppose he thinks is a reassuring tone as he slides a folding knife from his pocket and flips the blade open. The sharp metal glints menacingly. “This room has especially insulated walls. For agood night.”
