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He moved quickly for a man his size. He carried me through the back end of the property, past the lawn and over to the tree line as if I weighed nothing, and I could feel that he wasn't even breathing hard.
And then he dragged me to the woods.
Every time he turned, my hair caught on leaves and branches and twigs.
"Could you slow down? It could take me a month to get these twigs out. Maybe you're going to kill me, but don't let me fucking die with sticks and leaves in my hair."
He didn't say anything, but he did slow his pace ever so slightly. Finally, we reached the road on the other side of the woods. There was a car there. Something shiny and black.
He dropped me into the back seat, and his face was grim and stern as he buckled me into the car. When he slammed the car door and then ran to the other side, I considered crawling over the console and driving away, but I didn't have the goddamn keys, and I was guessing they were on his person.
Fuck. At least he hadn't shoved me in the boot, and I could sort of see where I was going. Maybe I could roll out when we started moving. That was a thing, right?
You're going to kill yourself.
He opened the car door and smirked at me in the mirror as he started the engine. "Considering locking me out?"
I frowned. "I gave it some thought."
"Smart you didn't. I have the keys."
"I know that."
"You're not dumb, that's for sure."
"But you've been riding my arse ever since you bloody showed up."
The smirk he gave me as he pulled along the winding road sent a hot slice of heat through me. "Trust me, sweetheart, when I ride your arse, you'll know it."
I flushed hot. Oh, shit, that was not what I meant to say. "Oh, for fuck's sake, that's not what I meant."
"Are you sure? Because it can be arranged if that's what you're looking for."
I widened my eyes. Did he mean— "No, you piece of shit. Where are we going? Why did you kidnap me?"
He winced. "Kidnapping is such a harsh word."
"What the fuck do you call it then?"
He shrugged. "I was liberating you."
"Liberating me? From what?"
"Correct me if I'm wrong, but were you or were you not about to attempt to defend yourself from a terrorist with nothing more than an umbrella and, as best I could tell, makeup-setting spray?"
I shook my head. "What? Who's the terrorist?"
He shook his head, only driving faster. "Don't be daft, Daphne. I need you to start talking. Just what the fuck are you doing with Massimo Igno?"
11
Drake
One of the first lessons I'd been taught was to have a plan, to follow that plan as closely as possible, and to keep the improvisation to a minimum.
Problem was, from the moment I'd seen Daphne Winslow, I'd done nothing but improvise.
I'd secured her hands when I tossed her in the back seat. There was no way she was getting out. But that didn't stop her from trying the door. What was she going to do, open the door and roll out? She would only hurt herself. And I would just stop and drag her back.
