Page 5 of Captured By the Mafia Boss
My chest heaves. I’m going to be sick. I’m going to die.
This is not how I wanted to die.
The brutal threat to life is why I got out of Camden and all the deadly machinations of that world. I want to tend plants. I want to see beautiful things. I want revenge against King for murdering Trudy, yes, and I’ve been plotting that, quietly. But I want tolive.
“Stop fighting and you’ll be safe.”
And if ever there were words to make me hysterical, it’s those. Bad things happen to women who are caught by Camden men. I should know. I nearly married one.
I struggle with every part of my body. I swear even my useless appendix is trying to get away from King. I attempt to bite his fingers, but they’re too tight over my mouth. My legs are kicking the water so much it’s boiling around us, and I’m striking his knees, his thighs, his calves.
It’s no use. The river flows past, and no one is coming to help as King carries me to the far bank. Away from my clothes and knife. Away from where I walked the half mile from my car. Far from my small safe life.
He’s saying soft comforting things like I’m a wild animal he’s trying to calm as he slaughters it. I don’t hear them. He dragsus out of the water, slipping a little on the muddy riverbank, but never letting up.
I go limp, thinking I can get to the ground and roll away free. But King isn’t falling for that. With ruthless efficiency he gags me with his tie, binds my wrists behind my back with what I guess is his leather belt, and my ankles with his suit jacket.
He doesn’t notice my little fitness tracker attached to my swimming costume, but it won’t do me any good either way. It’s an old piece of junk I only still use because I have years of swim records on it. Sitting me up against a tree trunk, he wraps his shirt around my shoulders and wrings the water out of my hair with surprisingly gentle hands.
I try to head butt him, but he dodges away, laughing softly.
Only then does he step into his suit trousers, buttoning them slowly. He’s still dripping with water and his chest glistens in the sunlight.
I glare at him.
My kidnapper is irrefutably beautiful. He has a boxer’s physique, with taut muscles and broad shoulders. He’s all grace and tightly held power that would shatter worlds if he unleashed it.
He’s gorgeous, menacing, and has me completely within his control. Shamefully, that last one heats the core between my legs. He cannot find out that he turns me on. That would be the end.
I test my bonds, not bothering to hide what I’m doing. He expects it.
“They’re tight, Olivia.” He hasn’t taken his eyes off me. He heaves a sigh, crosses his arms, and scowls at me like this is my fault that he kidnapped and tied me up.
“I guess we’d better go home,” he says under his breath, resigned.
I shake my head desperately. Not where my father went missing, Trudy died, and Henry Senior’s ghost is said to walk. There’s a reason I escaped. I can’t go back there.
I don’t expect my response to do anything, but King’s brows snap together, then relax.
“No, not the castle.Myhome.”
Oh.
I didn’t know he had another home.
“If I untie your feet, will you try to escape?”
I roll my eyes in the only reply that idiocy of a question deserves.
“Yes, of course you will. I’ll carry you.”
I expect him to put me over his shoulder in an undignified fireman’s lift, but he scoops me up in his arms like a lover carrying his bride over the threshold.
Except I’m his captive.
And tied up.
And I’m the furthest thing from his bride.
