Total pages in book: 65
Estimated words: 63565 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 318(@200wpm)___ 254(@250wpm)___ 212(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 63565 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 318(@200wpm)___ 254(@250wpm)___ 212(@300wpm)
It’s also incredibly fucking cold.
Where is my phone? My purse?
This, right here, is the exact reason I always go out of the house with a basic burner phone because when people take me, the first thing they want is to go through my phone for information. I’m not stupid enough to allow that. I’m not overly concerned that he has it, but I wouldn’t mind my damned purse back.
“Back up,” I say, pushing to my feet and standing in front of him. “You kidnapped me?”
“I drugged you and took you, correct.”
He drugged me?
Shit.
Why can’t I remember that?
Is that why my head is so sore?
Who the hell is this man?
“Listen, buddy,” I mutter, “whatever it is you think you know, I’m here to assure you that you’re wrong.”
He smiles, but it isn’t friendly. It’s a cold, almost menacing smile that sends chills up my spine.
“I know who you are, Acacia, and I know that you have something that belongs to my club. Not to mention you have the location of someone we’re looking for.”
It clicks.
He’s from the Prisoners of Purgatory MC. I wondered when they’d come knocking, considering I manipulated them with false information and sent them on a chase that I knew eventually would lead back to me. They all want the same thing—information I have on a powerful person and the location of my mother. I made sure they got information on said powerful person, I just can’t help that it was the wrong information.
Then, when they did stumble across someone who might have the information they needed, I may or may not have sent someone in to cause a huge scene and allow that person to be freed. It wasn’t hard, someone walks into the club with a gun and chaos unfolds. Poor guy, pretty certain he died, but at least they’re no closer to getting what they want.
What can I say, I’m a pro.
I’m also protecting someone very dangerous, someone I would rather not cross because I have enough to worry about.
He also fucks my mind, my body, and my soul often, but that’s a story for another day.
“You’re a biker, then,” I say, casually.
I’m not scared of this man, or anyone else in that club.
I’ve dealt with far, far worse than them. The man who last had his cock in me has done worse than this biker could possibly think up.
“Don’t fuckin’ matter who I am, it matters that you give me what I’m fuckin’ askin’ for.”
“I’m not going to do that.”
I meet his gaze and take great pleasure in the way it flashes.
“Yeah,” he growls, stepping forward, “you fuckin’ are.”
I turn, walking away from him. I let my eyes scan the area he has put me in. No weapons in sight, nothing I can use to bash him over the head. Nothing with a cord, no heavy objects. He’s thought this one through.
“I’m going to point out the obvious,” I say, glancing at the small seating area, “but there is really nothing you can do to me that’ll get you what you want. If you kill me—” I turn to face him again “—you’re shit out of luck because then you’ll never get anything.”
He smiles again, crossing those big arms. “I don’t have to kill you to get what I want. I can just leave you here until you crack.”
I shrug. “I could use some time out; life has been rather difficult lately. It will be nice to get away from it all.”
Flopping onto the uncomfortable, hard-plastic-covered sofa chair, I give him my best smile. It is, without a doubt, the worst chair I’ve ever sat on, and I don’t know how any company could ever get away with selling something this awful.
His body jerks, just a little, but he doesn’t waver. “For a while, you might enjoy it, but eventually, it’s going to eat at you. The same four walls, the same thing day in, day out. I have all the time in the world, sweetheart. Tell me ... do you?”
That gets me, but I refuse to show it.
The fact is, I don’t have all the time in the world. Not even close. With every passing day that I’m not around, shit will unravel in a way that is almost unfixable. I can’t tell him that, though, because it’ll only fuel whatever need he has to torture the truth from me. What he doesn’t understand is that I’m not going to give him a damn thing. I’ve been in worse situations; I’ll find my way out of this.
Shrugging, I casually answer. “Do as you wish.”
He turns and walks toward the door. “Excellent. I hope you’re not hungry ... or cold ...”
With that, he pushes the heavy door open, and I realize it is, indeed, a shipping container. Not only that, but I can see a fine layer of snow outside and nothing but scarce trees as far as the eye can see. Where the fuck did this man take me? Without another word, he steps out and closes the door, pulling the latch on the outside, so I can’t escape. Frantically, my eyes dart around the room. There is only one small window, and it is covered with bars and nothing else, no glass or screen, just a gaping open space that I can’t get out of. This means the outside air trickles in without a single thing stopping it.