King’s forearm is shoved up against the underside of my boobs, pushing them up higher, and his weight on my back squishes them into the hard surface.

  “Ow!” My cry is muffled against his suffocating palm.

  “Look,” he grits out, shifting his weight pressing his temple against my ear. “You can keep struggling, I can duct tape your hands and feet and mouth, shove you into the back of my Suburban, and shoot anyone that comes across us during the process. Or you can be a good little girl and sit in the front seat and no one has to die.” He pauses. “Well, no one else.”

  He says it like it’s nothing.

  Like killing his brother-in-law is nothing.

  “I’m gonna move my hand, and if you feel the urge to scream, remember the gun tucked into the back of my pants. Remember that anyone I kill will be on your hands. And if it goes loud, I’ll need to leave quickly. Which means a bullet in your head too.”

  His casual tone makes it all so much worse, causing tears to stream down my cheeks.

  He flexes his fingers. “Are we on the same page, Honey?”

  I nod as best I can, and he finally drops his hand from my mouth.

  I don’t scream.

  I can’t be responsible for someone dying. So, I just hang there, in his grip, gasping for air.

  “Same goes for running.” The arm around my waist slackens as he lowers me until my toes touch the ground again.

  Pebbles shift under my thin shoes and my knees sway.

  I’m scared. Terrified. Yet l I still can’t help but think how impressive it is that he carried me all this way. With one arm.

  He slowly pulls that arm away from me and I steady myself against the vehicle, trying to catch my breath, hoping to come up with some amazing plan.

  But then he nudges me.

  “Let’s go.” King isn’t even winded, apparently that heavy breathing from a second ago was just from pain.

  With no amazing plan coming to mind, I let him guide me to the passenger door.

  He keeps one big palm on my back as he opens the door with the other.

  I don’t think for one second about the way my shorts are riding up my ass, or how climbing into this monstrous vehicle will put my butt right in his face, because I’m too busy remembering every episode of 20/20 that reminds you to never get into the car with a stranger.

  “Put your seatbelt on.”

  I blink at him, but tears are still blurring my vision.

  Have I been crying this whole time?

  “Put your seatbelt on,” King demands again as his shoulders fill the open door frame.

  Even if someone were to walk by right now, they wouldn’t even see me.

  And if they did…

  I can’t let someone die for me.

  My hands are shaking so bad it takes me two tries to even grab the seatbelt.

  My kidnapper sighs. “I’ll do it.”

  Before I can stop him, King plucks the belt from my grip.

  With one hand still on the doorframe, he leans into the vehicle, twisting his body and putting us chest to chest, as he reaches to click in my seatbelt.

  Those wild golden eyes, that I thought I’d never see again, are so close. The small amounts of light from the streetlamps overhead reflect off his irises, and I don’t know if it’s more or less scary that I still find him so attractive.

  “Stay,” King whispers, then he’s gone. The door slamming shut in his wake.

  My chest expands. My subconscious mind having held its breath with him so close.

  What feels like one second later, King is sliding into the driver’s seat next to me. And a feeling of guilt swamps over me. I didn’t even try to run.

  He tosses something over his shoulder, and my eyes follow the motion, feeling a little stupefied at the sight of my purse.

  When did I drop that?

  When did he pick it up?

  Of course, he couldn’t leave it sitting in the hallway. Can’t have any evidence that I was there. Except for my car keys sitting somewhere inside that apartment.

  And of course he threw the purse too far back for me to reach.

  I don’t have a single thing in there that could be used as a weapon, but I do have a phone ––which is great for calling the police right about now.

  The engine roars to life, and I leave my dead, not-quite-boyfriend’s apartment with his killer.

  CHAPTER 5

  King

  Well, fuck me. This is not how I planned for tonight to go.

  The woman in the seat next to me sounds like she’s on the verge of losing it, so I steer the vehicle one handed and keep the hand nearest her loose on my lap. That way I’m ready when she eventually decides to retaliate. Because I’m sure it’s coming.

  We pass under a streetlamp before taking a sharp turn to circle behind Leland’s building, and the thin yellow bands of light shimmer across her tear-stained cheek.

  I don’t hurt women. I certainly don’t kill women. But I need her to keep cooperating for the time being. And fear has always proven to be a swift and thorough motivator.

  I do feel bad about kidnapping her, but if she hadn’t shown up on that fucker’s doorstep, she wouldn’t be in my car now. So, really, it’s mostly her fault.

  My foot is depressing the brake to make the last turn back onto the road that runs in front of Leland’s building when I notice Savannah start to reach for her seat belt.

  While one hand turns the wheel, I slide the other one across the center console and set my hand over the buckle. She’s keeping her eyes ahead, playing at the compliant hostage, so she doesn’t see the movement.

  I expect her to yank away the second her fingers make contact with my skin, but she doesn’t seem to realize it’s me that she’s touching. Her fingers spread as she tries to feel for the buckle, and that’s when she freezes, with her hand gently holding mine.

  It’s almost comical how her head slowly turns, and how her gaze slowly drops, before she jerks her hand away with a yelp.

  Okay, so maybe I don’t laugh, but I do smile.

  She shouldn’t be this cute, with terror in her eyes and tears on her cheeks, but she is. And I learned long ago not to fight my emotional reactions. Life is way more fun when you just let yourself feel and don’t bother with psychoanalyzing every moment to death.

  “Please, let me go.” Her whispered plea is shaky, and she says it to her lap, where her hands are now clutched together.

  Instead of replying, I stomp on the gas, and we accelerate past Leland’s shitty apartment building.

  When another minute of silence goes by, she tries again.

  “I w-won’t say anything.”

  I can feel her looking at me, but rather than make eye contact, I remove my hand from where it was still covering her seatbelt to tap the screen on my dashboard to make a call. “I know.”

  The loud ringing comes through the car speakers, and Savannah jumps in her seat.

  I adjust the volume and it rings once more before the call is answered. “It’s past your bedtime, old man. Why’re you up?”

  This jackass.

  “I need cleaners sent––” I start, but my words are cut off by Savannah’s frantic shouts.

  “Help! Help!” She leans forward in her seat, looking at the ceiling for the mic. “Can you hear me?! I’m being kidnapped! Help!”

  There’s a beat of silence before Nero’s laughter fills the car.

  Savannah jerks away from the noise, her back pressing against the seat.

  “Damn, King. You finally call me with something interesting,” Nero continues to laugh. “Can’t wait to hear this story.”

  I pinch the bridge of my nose. This isn’t going to make my situation any better.

  “You’re not gonna help me.” It’s a statement, and Savannah says it quietly, but Nero still hears it.

  “Sorry, lady. If my man took you, it’s for your own good. Or maybe his own good.” I can picture the stupid grin that’s probably on his face.

  Savannah lunges for her car door, jerking wildly on the handle.

  But it doesn’t open, and it won’t until I choose to open it for her.

  “Quit,” I tell her.

  She doesn’t.

  “Quit it!” I shout, trying to break through her panic.

  While she keeps trying, her sobs turning to hiccups, I keep hold of the steering wheel with my left hand and lean across, snagging both her wrists in my right.

  She screams, the sound nearly deafening in the enclosed space.

  “Jesus, woman!” She almost dislodges my grip, so I tighten my hold. “Just fucking chill!”

  Her struggle only intensifies, and I have to tug her hands toward me, pulling her half over the center console to get her contained.

  Using my forearm to pin hers down, I keep her hands gripped together in my lap. I’m sure it’s uncomfortable for her, but if she makes me wreck my favorite vehicle, I’m gonna be pissed.

  Stomping on the gas, I fly through a yellow light and aim for the entrance to the freeway.

  “Remember what I said about shooting anyone that comes to help you?” I grit out, and she finally quiets. “That goes for the first responders, too. So, if you make me crash, I’m gonna have to start picking off first responders, and you’re going to be the proximate cause of death for a lot of people.”

  She goes limp, dropping her chin down, her forehead touching my arm.

  I’ll admit that it’s maybe been too long since I’ve gotten laid, because this contact is starting to get to me. And feeling her shudder, with sobs, against me shouldn’t be stirring…things.

  Blissful silence descends inside the vehicle. Until it’s broken up by a metallic hum, and soft sound of something popping.

  “Are you really making fucking popcorn right now?” Nero doesn’t answer, but he doesn’t have to since the increased popping replies for him. I sigh. “Do we have a crew nearby that can take care of a body?”

  “If you’re in the city I can have guys there within thirty. Did anyone see you?”

  “Other than my kidnap victim?” I deadpan. “No. No one saw me.”

  He makes a grunt of approval that annoys me. Nero might kill more regularly than I do, but it’s not like I’ve forgotten how to do it.

  “Do you need somewhere to take her?”

  His question makes me grind my teeth. “No.” I’m not bringing this little beauty queen to one of our holding cells.

  “Alright, then where are you headed?” The microwave beeps alerting that the time is up.

  As I hesitate to answer, I feel Savannah tense under my hold.

  “Home.”

  CHAPTER 6

  Savannah

  Home.

  That word echoes inside my skull.

  He’s taking me home.

  This answer feels a lot like his handsomeness… I don’t know if home is better or worse than the alternative.

  I mean if he was just going to kill me, he would’ve shot me in the alley and left me on the street. Right? He wouldn’t be bringing me to his home.

  But what reason would there be to bring me home?

  I catch the tail end of him rattling off Lee’s address to the man on the phone.

  The caller ID just showed the letter N, but I’ll never forget the sound of his voice or the way he laughed when I begged for help. And I’ll never forgive him.

  “I’ll get it taken care of,” N says through the speakers. “But I’ll be calling you later for the story.”

  “Yeah, yeah,” King answers casually, even as he has me pinned to the seat with one arm. “Mind hanging up? I sorta have my hands full over here.”

  There’s a snicker, followed by a crunching sound, that has to be that awful man eating his stupid popcorn, before the call cuts off completely.

  In the quiet that follows, I take note of the ache in my arms. The hard edge of the center console digging into my side. The way the seat belt is digging into the side of my neck.

  And it’s all too much.

  I don’t like pain. It’s never been my thing.

  I don’t have tattoos. I got my ears pierced at sixteen because all my friends had them, and I cried the whole time.

  I like going on walks. I don’t like running. I don’t like the burn that comes with lifting weights. I like being calm and comfortable. I like painting. I like to pretend I’m happy. And I can’t…

  I can’t pretend right now.

  This is the furthest from happy I’ve ever been.

  My breath catches in my lungs.

  What if I’ll never be happy again?

  My chest tightens.

  What if this is the end? What if this is how I die? Alone. Afraid. Still searching for the peace and belonging I dreamed of as a girl…

  The tears that never really stopped stream from my eyes.

  “I-I’m sorry. I won’t say anything to anyone.” My lips brush against the smooth leather that divides my seat from King’s. “I hate Lee, too. This is all his fault.” The sadness of that truth almost overwhelms me, causing my shoulders to shake with the weight.

  I’d only ever wanted to be with someone that appreciated me for me. To have my art taken seriously. And I thought Lee was finally that person. But he wasn’t. He’s not even Lee. He’s a liar. And a cheater. And his death didn’t settle the score. It just made my problems worse.

  “Please,” I whisper. “I don’t want to die.”

  What a pathetic way to go. Begging.

  “Savannah.” A hand smooths down the back of my head. “Just breathe, Savannah.”

  The hand lifts, then travels the same path.

  My inhale is ragged but less loud.

  “Hush.” His tone matches the meaning of the word, and my body reacts. My lungs expanding smoothly. “That’s it.” Another pass of his hand. “You’re okay.”

  My exhale comes out as a sad laugh. I’m not okay.

  His hand settles on the back of my neck and he responds as though I said it out loud. “You know what I mean.”

  My lips pull into a reluctant smile. At least he’s honest.

  I close my eyes.

  I need to calm down. I’ll never get out of this if I’m not thinking straight.

  As if thinking the phrase activates my brain, I realize that the hand on the back of my neck is the same hand that was holding me in place.

  My fingers flex and sure enough, my wrists are free, and my hands are…resting in my kidnapper’s lap.

  I yank my arm back and sit up, dislodging his hold entirely.

  King lets me pull away and rests his hand back on the center console. Like he’s ready to restrain again. But I won’t give him a reason to. Not yet, at least.

  Resigning myself to the fact that I’m going to go wherever he’s bringing me, I wipe the tears off my cheeks and watch the dark landscape pass outside the window.

  CHAPTER 7

  Savannah

  I make it ten minutes before I can’t hold my tongue anymore. “Where are we going?”

  “Home.” He gruffly repeats the single word answer he gave earlier.

  My teeth press into my lower lip. I probably shouldn’t pester him. A happy captor is a kind captor. Or so I might assume.

  “But where is home?” I never was good at being quiet.

  When he only sighs, I tear my gaze away from the scenery and look at him.

  The interior of the car is too dim to show me his features well, but I don’t need light to remember the spark in his eye. And the passing street lamps are enough to outline his strong jaw. His strong brow. His strong everything.

  Honestly, it’s not even fair for someone to look so good. And it’s certainly not fair that my brain just can’t seem to get over the fact. Every time I look at him fear should be the first thing I feel. But it’s not.

  Instead, I have this girlish squirmy feeling inside of me. The feeling that lets you know someone is attractive; and that that someone is too attractive for you, and that they probably know it. So when I should be focusing on the important things––like how do I escape––my mind grabs on to the fact that this shirt I’m wearing is kind of tight. And that the band of my jean shorts is also tight. And that sitting like this makes my stomach pooch out over the seatbelt. And my thighs––sweaty from exertion and stress––are sticking to the warm leather seat beneath me. And I know none of that is important. I know that it’s all stupid trivial societal shit that I shouldn’t worry about ever, let alone when I’m being literally kidnapped by a madman. But still, here I am, wondering what he thinks of me. And that might be the thing I hate the most about myself right now.

  He sighs again, probably sick of me staring at his profile. “We’ll be there soon enough.”

  I glance out the windshield. We’re heading down the freeway, with Minneapolis growing smaller behind us. Which only tells me that he doesn’t live in the city.

  “You live in a suburb?” I don’t know why that’s so unbelievable, but it is.

  “Listen, you can sit there and observe, or I can blindfold you. But I’m not going to just give you my address.”

  “But…” I don’t know why I can’t just shut up. “You’re taking me there. So won’t I see where you live?”

  King turns his head to look at me. “Would you rather I take you to one of the warehouses? Because I promise you that my house is more comfortable. For both of us.”

  He holds my gaze for a beat longer than I’d consider safe before he turns back to looking at the road ahead of us.

  Clamping my lips shut, I go back to looking out the window.

  I don’t have much experience with threats of violence, but going to one of the warehouses sounds like one.

  Who even has warehouses? Plural?

  “Is King your real name?” I watch my own eyes widen in the reflection of my window.

  Why did I ask that!?

  I don’t think I can call his reaction this time a sigh, it’s more of a long, loud exhale. “Savannah, you can’t possibly think that’s a good thing to ask me?”

  His tone is more incredulous than mad, so I allow my gaze to swing back in his direction. “Because it’s not?”