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“I don’t drink beer,” I tell him as he sets the snacks on the dresser.
He gives me a sideways glance. “I’ll get you something else. What do you want? Wine? Whiskey? Vodka? We’ve got some chasers for that.”
“You’re too kind,” I deadpan. “I’d appreciate some cider. Something fruity and light for this heat,” I add, waving a hand around my face to suggest that I’m hot.
“I’ll see what we’ve got downstairs,” Spike politely replies.
I take a few steps toward him with a soft smile and an extra sway in my hips. The sweatpants I’m wearing don’t exactly bring out my best features, but a girl’s got to do what a girl’s got to do. “Or maybe some rosé? That would be nice,” I say, inches away from him.
“Yeah, or just stick to the beer,” Spike shoots back, giving me a sour look before he scuttles out of the room like his ass is on fire.
I feel dejected. “Okay, no need to be so rude,” I mutter mostly to myself as the door is shut and locked once again.
How much longer are they going to keep me here? It’s only early afternoon, and already I’m going stir-crazy.
The next time the door opens, my heart jumps against my will as I expect to see Sky again, hopefully with an update. But it’s not Sky, I quickly realize. The slightly shorter guy from last night is back, and he somehow looks hotter than yesterday. Those jeans seem too tight for his rugby player thighs. The white tee he’s wearing is also too tight, giving me a generous view of his rippling pecs and strong abs. The bomber jacket makes him look even bigger, which, in turn, makes me feel extra tiny as I shrink back by the open window.
“You’ll never pry that thing loose,” the man says as he brings in a paper bag.
I instantly smell Chinese food, causing a sudden hunger to swell in the pit of my stomach. I break into a cold sweat, though I’ve already hidden my getaway screw. “I wasn’t even trying,” I lie.
“There’s rust on your fingers,” he says, giving me one hell of a side-eye.
“I was just trying to get some air,” I mumble.
“Don’t take us for idiots, Ariana. We’re anything but,” he shoots back and leaves the food on the dresser. I’ve yet to touch the nacho chips, but I’ve already gone through three of the beers, hence giving me the courage to ask, “What’s your name?”
“Kendric,” he says, looking at the empty beer cans and then back at me. “I thought you didn’t drink beer.”
“Oh, so you ladies like to gossip about me downstairs, huh?” I chuckle dryly and cross my arms.
He raises an eyebrow, a flicker of amusement lingering in his gaze as he looks me over. I’ve never felt more helpless or naked before in my life, but it’s not a fearful sensation.
“You should try to get some sleep,” Kendric says.
“You should try working for a living instead of kidnapping women from their homes.” I think it’s the beer talking, but the words are already out.
His gaze darkens to something akin to the midnight sky as he walks over. I’m tiny and paralyzed before him, mere inches of compressed air left between us. “You’re pretty bold for someone whose life depends on us right now,” he growls.
“And you need me alive, so …”
“I don’t need you in one piece, though.” He pauses, waiting for my reaction, but as soon as he reads the horror on my face, his demeanor changes ever so subtly. “Be a good girl, Ariana. It’ll get you much further, I promise.”
“How good of a good girl do you need me to be in order for me to survive this?” I mumble.
“How good of a good girl are you willing to be?” Kendric asks, his voice lower.
His words send playful shivers down my spine, and I’m starting to think there is something horribly wrong with me because heat spreads through my core at his words, and there’s a familiar wet tingling between my legs. I try to breathe, but all I can do is hold his gaze as he inches closer until the whole world disappears, and I’m left drowning in the dark ocean of his eyes.
He raises his hand ever so slowly, and my mind turns blank.
“You’re way smarter than I thought,” Kendric says. “It might get you in trouble.”
I sigh. “I’m pretty sure I’m already in trouble. How much worse can it get?” I ask.
A smile tests the corner of his mouth while I fight back the urge to feel his stubble against my fingertips. “You’d be surprised,” he says, then pulls away just as my heart is about to twist itself into an impossible pretzel. “Eat up and sleep. And go easy on the beer, sweetheart; it’s making you say crazy things.”
I watch, unable to move a single muscle, as he stalks out of the room. Long after he’s gone, his presence still lingers. It has made quite an impact on my senses, as I can’t seem to be able to pull myself together. It’s a concerning realization. Who are these guys, and what the hell are they made of to make me feel this way?
