Page 4 of Captured By the Mafia Boss
But I would have dreamed of coming to watch her. She swims elegantly, lithe as she turns onto her front and cuts a line through the water. Lazily cooling down after her exercise, making her way…
I strip off my suit jacket and tie.
“We move now,” I command Brenna. “They’ll take her as she comes out of the water. She’s about to swim right into their trap.”
Brenna pauses for a second before she sees I’m correct. Then she’s off, at a run, heading towards the bridge and around. But she won’t get there in time to stop them harming Olivia, and Carter and Steven aren’t in the line of sight for me to shoot them.
I yank my shirt over my head and shove off my trousers, leaving my boxers. Watching Olivia in the water has caused an inconvenient turgidity I would rather she didn’t notice.
Bad enough to be kidnapped, worse to think that I’d do anything like that against her will. Because I wouldn’t.
I slip noiselessly into the water.
My blood pounds through me in anticipation of our chase. I can see how this ends. Her and me, naked, me hunting her. Me the predator, her the prey. My cock hardens further, despite the chilly water. I’d love her to flee from me, checking over her shoulder that I’m following. Running until I catch her and pin her with my body. Then when I hold her down, I’d find her wet, writhing with need, arching up, begging me to take her. A fun game of seduction.
In my dreams anyway.
This reality is quite different.
I’m going to catch her, make her safe, kill our enemies, then release her back to nature, like the soft animal she is, for all she likes playing with knives.
But right now, I can imagine this is our game, for all it is a necessity.
Olivia might be a mermaid, but I am a shark.
3
OLIVIA
One second I’m swimming idly back towards my clothes, frowning a little when I can’t see anything where I thought I’d left them, the next, something has caught my ankle. I kick—hard—to dislodge the plant. Then as my brain registers that no fish or pond weed is as heated as what holds me, panic overtakes. A hand—warm and male and uncompromising—clamps over my mouth.
I yell but it comes out as a muffled squeal, and there’s no one to hear anyway. I picked this spot to swim because it’s deserted.
Panic crashes through me.
I thrash, kicking out against him, striking his shins. I fight like my life depends on it, which it probably does. He grunts as my elbow connects with solid chest muscle. I draw back and try to shove him again, harder, but it doesn’t connect. Scrabbling for the riverbed, soft wet mud squelches beneath my toes and a little fish wriggles free from under my heel. Lucky fish.
I’m not so fortunate. My flailing arm hits skin, and there’s an “oof” from my assailant. I lash out again, but this time he’s prepared, catching my wrist.
“Stop it, you little fool.” A snarl.
I freeze as my mind whirls. I’d know that voice anywhere.
King.
What does the boss of Camden want with me?
King uses my momentary shock to grab my other wrist too and pin them together at my tummy.
My feet slip and I fall hard forwards before he yanks me against his chest.
My stomach heaves and his hand absorbs my sob.
I know the answer. Last time I saw him, I tried to kill him. He hasn’t forgotten, and he wants revenge. Never mind that I failed.
Pinned.
I’m totally pinned.
