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When the guy comes into view, I give him a once-over, keeping my expression neutral. He’s about my age, handsome, with a three-day-beard and slicked-back dark hair.
He’s a douchebag, I can tell from taking one look at him. And he’s a sadist. Which is confirmed when he draws back his leg and kicks me in the stomach before he says a word.
Son of a bitch.
“Good morning to you, too,” I wheeze, trying to hunch over the pain and not able to.
Who is this guy? He sneers at me and rubs his jaw as if considering where to kick next. So not good right now. If my hands were free, I’d mop the floor with him, and the fucker knows it.
His eyes gleam, and he smiles.
That’s a bad sign. Page nineteen in the kidnapping manual: “When your kidnapper smiles, be afraid.”
He lowers himself until he’s sitting on his heels and stares me in the face—so close I consider spitting on him, but I still haven’t gotten back the hang of breathing. I’m wheezing, hoping he can tell from my ice-cold stare I would like him to choke on his own spit and die, when he grabs my hair—again, dammit—and slams my head back against the pillar.
Fuck, so dizzy. Is this enough to give me a concussion? Is it enough to make me puke on him? God, I hope so.
And then he says, “If you as much as breathe my way again, I’m gonna serve you your balls on a plate for dinner tonight.”
“’S okay,” I gasp, blinking, trying to clear my eyes. “Wasn’t hungry anyway.”
He slams my head back one more time, and everything goes black.
Chapter Two
Layla
“Layla?” The whine of an office chair swiveling around and a familiar deep voice greets me as I walk into the dim office. “What the hell are you doing here?”
“Hey, Dad. Nice to see you, too.” I flop into the chair across from his overloaded desk and wait until he has turned all the way around from his shelves to face me. “How is it going?”
“Didn’t I tell you not to come here?”
I sigh and cross my legs, then fiddle with my bracelet—an expensive one Hawk gave me some months ago. Can’t remember why I put it on today. “Yeah, you always tell me that. Can’t see what’s so dangerous about a shipping company, Dad, honest.”
My shoes are killing me, but I love these heels. Mom bought them for me in New York where I went to visit her this past week. They make my legs look long and shapely, and it gets the guys staring.
“It doesn’t matter. I told you not to come here. Can’t you listen to me for once?” He rubs a hand over his face. “Just like your mother.”
Angry heat rushes to my face. “That’s right. She didn’t bend to your commands. How weird, huh?”
“Layla…”
“No.” I lean forward in my chair and stab my finger on his desk. “I won’t just dance to your commands, Dad. Not without a reason, not anymore. In case you didn’t notice, I’m an adult now, and I can make up my mind about things. You said you’d explain to me why seeing him was dangerous, but you haven’t explained anything, have you?”
“Jamie Fleming, or Hawk as you call him, was never good news.” He glares at me from whiskey-colored eyes, just like mine, and runs a hand over his receding hairline. “Especially since his parents were convicted and thrown into prison.”
“He put them there. He’s not corrupt like them.” And I don’t know why I’m defending him.
Why am I defending him?
“The world is corrupt. He’s not any better.”
I narrow my eyes at him. “You talk like you know something. Something more than all the news sites are saying.”
“Didn’t you ask him what they were convicted of, this guy you opened your legs for?”
I get to my feet so fast I almost fall over and have to steady myself on the desk. “Screw you.”
