Page 12 of Stolen

I didn’t know why I was being so fucking stupid or why I was so trusting that he wouldn’t just slice my throat open right there. In theory, I was worth more alive, but I doubted I was worth the trouble on principle.

Rolling his eyes, he retracted the switchblade and placed it in his back pocket.

“Have it your way, then,” he said.

He moved so fast I barely had time to register that he was standing and had yanked me up from the floor. One blink and I found myself once again on my stomach, on top of the bed, pinned down underneath his stupid heavy weight. Latching on to my left wrist, he wrenched it forward toward the headboard, reaching over to a hidden leather cuff hanging from a chain.

Panic caused acid to scour my throat.

“Shit! No! Stop!” I shouted in protest as I fought to pull my arm back. My struggle was absolutely pathetic, his obvious strength surmounting mine within seconds before he moved on to the next wrist. I couldn’t even twist my body as he kept his legs straddled over my hips, preventing me from bucking him off. My ankles were next, his heavy body laying over each limb as he strapped them down with minimal effort.

“Fuck!” I yelled out loud, releasing my panic and rage.

“Keep screaming, little girl. It’s just music to me,” he said as he started rolling up his sleeves.

My heart was pounding out of my chest and into the sheets, fear fogging my brain as I concluded how incredibly fucked I was. And it was my own dumbass fault.

Great strategy, Jaden. Really fucking great.

I couldn’t stop myself from uselessly pulling against the chains that bound me, knowing full well I was just wasting my energy.

“Pull and struggle all you want, but you’re not going anywhere,” he announced, almost absentmindedly.

His damn voice burned my pride to ashes as I heard the truth in his words. I had put myself here, and now I had to live with it. But that didn’t mean I had to go down quietly.

Turning my head to face him, I laid my cheek down against the soft sheets and looked up at him from my lowered lashes.

“You’re right,” I said simply, releasing my sigh of frustration. “What happens now?”

With my latest strategy laid to waste, my next one would have to be successful with words alone. Plan B was always trial and error until something eventually worked, if ever.

“Ah, here come the negotiations,” he snickered as he moved around the room. Except I wasn’t about to beg for something I knew he wouldn’t give. Mercy would never be on the table, but stalling always was.

“Too soon?” I added, remaining undeterred.

I softly stared him down, watching as his brow furrowed before slowly shaking his head, a tiny smirk in the corner of his mouth. “My God, girl, whoareyou?”

He said it like I was crazy, like I was way out of my depth and had no clue which way was up. He was right of course, but he didn’t need my confirmation.

Without another word, he turned and left the room, returning after only a few seconds with a small white card in his hand.

“Miss Jaden Morgan Wilder, twenty-five years old, from Royal Oak, Michigan, hazel eyes, red hair, five-foot-three, and an organ donor,” he read aloud from my obvious driver’s license.

“Good for you, you can read,” I retorted.

“And a motorcycle endorsement,” he added, ignoring my comment. “Interesting.”

I almost rolled my eyes, hoping I wouldn’t get the same typical guy reaction. I had been riding motorbikes since I was ten. My dad started me out on dirt bikes when we went for long weekends up north. Years later, when he was finally comfortable, he introduced me to some real machines and the long open road. I now had a Ducati1299 Panigale Superbikeback home, customized in all-black chrome with bright purple LED lights. It was one of my most prized possessions after I had saved up most of my life to own it. It was my ultimate freedom.

“And just like that, we now have something in common,” he teased.

“Grand.”Maybe I could bore him to death? Was that a thing?

“Or at least we did,” he added, tossing my driver’s license casually over his shoulder. It fell to the ground just as meaningless as I currently felt. “I imagine you’ve seen the last of your riding days.”

I narrowed my eyes at him as I refused his bait and returned my own.

“How do you know? My buyer could be an avid rider. I promise I look just as good riding in the back as I do the front.”

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