Page 4

“Of course she isn’t listening.” Mark rolls his eyes and leans against the side of the van. Crossing his arms in front of his chest, he doesn’t make a move to run after her. I guess it’s up to me.

I give her a thirty-second head start, watching her wavy blonde hair sparkling like spun gold in the sunlight. Then I jump out of the van and take off after her. She is much shorter than me, barefoot, and wearing a huge dress, making it easy to catch up to her with my much longer strides.

As soon as I get close enough, I move to tackle her to the ground. I wrap my arms around her. Wiggles starts squealing, Anna screams, and I turn my body in midair, so I hit the gravel, and she lands on top of me. The fall knocks the wind out of me, but I manage to hold on to her body, trying to wiggle out of my arms. Her sweet floral scent hits me full force, and my cock twitches against my zipper. If it wasn’t for the few inches of fabric between us, I’m sure she’d feel me rubbing against her perk ass.

“Stop! I said we are not going to hurt you.” I tighten my arms around her a little bit further, and a few moments later, she finally relaxes in my hold.

“Fine! Let me go, and I’ll walk into the house.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes,” she huffs.

I release her, and her fluffy pet, and watch her scramble off me. She heads toward the house without looking back at me, stomping away like an angry child. I get up and follow her. Mark is already at the door, unlocking it when she brushes past him, almost knocking him out of the way.

Her spirit has me grinning under my mask, and more than ever, I’m glad we took her today.

I think this is going to be more fun than I thought.

3

ANNA

I’m not sure what I’m more concerned with as I march into the house.

Is it the fact that I was rescued from a terrible wedding and an even worse husband?

Or the fact that the rescue involved getting kidnapped at gunpoint?

Maybe the fact that nobody tried to chase after me?

Or it could be the squirming, squeaking animal clutched tight to my chest once I come to a stop in the center of a surprisingly cozy living room. What was I expecting? A hole in the ground?

Actually, yes. That’s exactly what anybody would expect in this situation.

That’s why I don’t know what to think as I look around. It’s a large, farm-style house that looks like an older couple might live here. There’s an open floor plan, decorated with a woman’s touch. Flower curtains on the windows, colorful, mismatched pillows on the overstuffed couch. It’s cozy, lived in, and it’s attached to a good-sized kitchen with distressed white cabinets and a double oven that would be perfect for lots of baking. Not that I’m going to bake for these guys. I don’t even know how long I’m going to be here.

Wiggles squeaks and squirms in my arms, pulling me out of my Betty Crocker fantasy and back into the present moment where he’s losing his shit. That makes two of us. “Don’t make me regret this,” I whisper before setting him on the floor. Right away, he makes a break for the couch and disappears underneath. What did I expect?

The guy who tackled me, who happens to be the taller of the two men, takes a step closer. Every hair on my body stands at attention, and I brace myself, because this is it. This is where they slap me around or tie me up or something, the way real kidnappers do to their captives. Not that I would know from experience, but I’ve read a lot of books and watched a lot of TV. “Don’t touch me,” I warn as I remember the feel of his arms around me when he tackled me out there. Let’s just say I might not exactly mind under different circumstances.

“Sit down,” he grunts.

“No, thank you.”

The other one snorts behind his mask while the tackler’s blue eyes narrow. “It wasn’t a request. Sit your ass down. Now. You’re bleeding.”

“No, I’m not.” Although I might be, now that he’s mentioned it. It must be the adrenaline pumping through my system, or rather the fact that it’s starting to slow down, because now I feel a distinct throbbing in my heel.

He looks down and folds his arms. “Tell that to the blood you’re leaving on the floor.”

I follow his gaze. There is, in fact, a small, dark smear behind me where I walked through the room. When I take a small step to the side, there’s another smear on the hardwood. “Oh,” I whisper.

“Yeah. Oh. Sit.”

I sit. Not because he told me to, but because my legs have informed me they’re done for the day. Besides, the couch is even more comfortable than it looks. It almost swallows me, in fact.

I sink into the pillows and cross my arms in front of my chest, and let the dress rearrange itself around me. “There,” I grit out, because apparently, I’m trying to make this whole situation worse than it already is. Somehow, I just can’t be bothered to find my manners. “Happy?”