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I wake up in a bed with my hands over my head, handcuffed to a headboard. Panic registers in my brain as I shake the cuffs. Holy shit! I have the worst headache. It’s difficult to focus my eyes as I’m still a little groggy from whatever they drugged me with. I quickly take notice that I’m still wearing clothes. Thank God. I move my body around, making sure nothing feels damaged. Other than my head feeling like it’s about to bust open, I’m okay. Once my eyes focus, I look around. It’s a beautiful room. Dark wood dressers, walls painted gray, but empty, with white trim everywhere, hardwood floors. I’m lying on a white, fluffy, down comforter. It’s definitely better than waking up on the ground in a cellar, not that I know what that feels like, but I can imagine. I lean against the headboard, wondering how the hell I plan to get out of this. The door opens and in walks Travis Stein and two other men. I can feel my heart beat faster. The two beef-heads stand side by side against the wall while Travis moves a chair to the end of the bed and stares at me. I tilt my head to the side. I feel like I’m looking into my own eyes. His eyes are the same color as mine, except they are cold. His gaze sends a shiver down my spine. The pictures online can’t show the emotion behind his eyes; in person he is much more intimidating and fierce. His jaw is tense as he stares me. I sit up tall, trying to hide the fear in mine.
I glance over at Tweedledee and Tweedledum standing off to the side. I check both of them off the list of being my mom’s killer since they look to be around my age. I notice one of them is wearing a splint on his two fingers. “Hope I didn’t break your trigger finger,” I spit out, releasing a little anger. Asshole.
“Don’t worry, bitch, I’m ambidextrous,” he hisses.
“Oh, big word for you.” I’d clap if my hands weren’t tied up.
“BITCH, I oughta break your fucking fingers! All of them!” He starts toward me.
“Joe, back up,” Travis commands. He immediately retracts to his place against the wall. I smirk and wink at him.
“Are you done?” Travis’s condescending voice asks, and I whip my head back to him to see who he is talking to. It seems that question is for me. I stare at him.
“Do you know who I am?” I shake my head no, claiming ignorance. “My name is Travis Stein. And you were trespassing on my property.”
“Nice to meet you?” It was more of a question. I’m definitely skipping the pleasantries of meeting someone when I’m handcuffed to a bed.
“Who are you?” he asks as he tilts his head.
“Look. I’m not sure why I’m here. I was looking for my dog. He ran away from a friend’s house that I happen to be staying at. I thought I saw him in your yard. I was trying to get him. Then your thugs attacked me. This could have been easily avoided if those assholes would have asked me what I was doing. Now you have kidnapped me and are holding me against my will.” I make a show of my handcuffed hands. Just in case he hadn’t noticed what his guys have done to me.
“I’ll ask you again. Who are you?” he commands with a chill in his voice.
“Renee Pearson,” I respond boldly, sitting up straighter. I’m sure he has my fake driver’s license. Travis continues to stare at me. He’s clenching his jaw together. I know it’s my mother’s name, actually her middle name, but it’s not an uncommon name. In hindsight, I probably shouldn’t have used my mom’s name if I thought Travis had any involvement with my mom’s murder. But it happened thirteen years ago. Well, note to self: undercover work is not my calling.
Travis and I stare at each other. If this dude thinks I’m going to say anything while he has me handcuffed to a bed, he’s going to find out how stubborn I can be.
“JETT.” I jump as he barks out some guy’s name. Well, I’m assuming it’s a guy’s name. It could be some torture device, but I’m kind of hoping it’s a name. Our eye contact never wavers though.
The door opens and a man walks in.
I quickly glance to the door. Holy. Shit.
I don’t think I’ve ever seen a more beautiful man in my life. He’s around six foot two and pure muscle. He’s wearing a black T-shirt that fits his wide chest like a glove. The muscles on his arms bulge, making the sleeves fit tightly around his arms. Moving down, his dark jeans fit like they were made for him and only him. I’ve read books where they refer to a guy as an Adonis and I never got it, but there isn’t another word for this perfect male specimen. His jawline is perfectly chiseled, his lips are full, and he has huge, emerald green eyes. His hair is dark brown, almost black and short but long enough to run your fingers through. After my perusal of his body, I look back up to his eyes. He cocks an eyebrow with amusement in his eyes. I blush from embarrassment and look away.
I take that back. Maybe he is the torture device. This might not be so bad. Heat creeps across my body at the thought of that man touching me. Oh, my God! What is wrong with me?
Travis gets up from his chair and moves to where Jett stands. I take these seconds to shake my inappropriate thoughts away. They talk quietly and then Travis and his two thugs leave the room. Jett sits on the same chair, directly in front of the bed. He tilts his head, sitting back, arms crossed, legs spread apart. His assessing eyes are fixed on me.
It feels like he’s looking into my soul for answers. And holy shit, I’m afraid he’s going to find them. They are so intense I have to look away. I take another peek, but he hasn’t moved an inch. If his jaw wasn’t clenching, I would have thought his face was made of stone.
I can’t have this beautiful man sit here and stare at me all day. My body is on the verge of overheating under his scrutinizing stare. The silence consumes me.
“So… any way you can take these off me?” I ask, fidgeting with the handcuffs.
“Nope,” he responds with a smirk.
“I’m harmless,” I whine. “Look at me, I’m like half of you. My hands are going numb.” I try to sound needy. Trying the damsel in distress.
“I am looking at you. I was also looking at you on the security monitor when you took Joe down. You’re not as harmless as you say.” He brings his full lips into a half smile. A small dimple appears. His voice is all man, deep and rich, which sends vibrations straight down to my sex. I cross my legs to slow the building ache. What the hell is wrong with my body? It’s never reacted this way to anyone.
What a waste of a beautiful creature to not have that body on display. “I think you picked the wrong occupation.” The words are out of my mouth before I can stop them.
He chuckles to himself while raising an eyebrow. “Oh, really? And what occupation do you think I should be in?”
A model, a hot fireman in one of those calendars, anything where that face and body can be shared by all women. I don’t reply, though. He shakes his head slightly with a knowing smile. That one dimple turns into two and that smile sends warm waves to my inner core. I squeeze my thighs together, shifting positions. Shit.
