For the first time ever, the monkeys assigned to protect me might actually do something worthwhile. I glance over my shoulder to track their progress.
The moment I check on them, I regret it.
Hollywood heartthrob grabs the muzzle of my Colt .45 and rips the pistol out of my hand. My mouth gapes, shocked by how easily he disarms me, but he’s not done. He grabs me by the waist and yanks me inside the van. A girlish screech escapes me as I fly through the air.
“Go!” he shouts and pulls his legs and feet inside the van.
The other man closes the sliding door shut. The van lurches forward, moving fast, with me trapped inside.
Well, shit. This isn’t part of the plan.
10
MARIA
Hollywood spins me to my back, then straddles my hips. A cocky smirk fills his expression. He’s got the upper hand and knows it. I want to slap the smug look right off his face.
No one manhandles me like that and gets away with it.
I pummel his chest. Goddamn that hurts. His upper body is protected by one of those bulletproof vests. The bastard takes my wrists and pins them over my head.
Fucker.
“We’ve got a bit of a snafu.” The man who slammed the door shut gives me the eye, like I’m some kind of puzzle he needs to sort out.
“Now aren’t you a pretty thing?” Hollywood leans down until our faces are a breath apart.
His minty breath and husky laugh shouldn’t be legal. Combine that with a chiseled jaw, all blunt angles with a dusting of a five o’clock shadow, and he’s the kind of man women get stupid around.
There’s a roughness to him; danger lurking beneath his outward perfection, authority vibrating in every breath, and lethality prowling the depths of his expressive gaze. Warning bells ring in my ears, triggering my fight or flight instincts.
Intimidating, his gaze pins me far more effectively than his grip on my hands, or the power of his legs straddling me. He can do anything to me and there’s precious little I can do to fight back. If that’s not bad enough, he challenges me with his hard stare, daring me to try and free myself.
I fight back the only way I can.
I head butt the sexy heartthrob.
Crack!
Score one.
Pain becomes my universe and dark spots dance in my eyes. But it’s worth it.
“Fuckin’ A.” He releases my wrists, placing his palm over his forehead, which frees me to karate chop the side of his neck. I go right for the bundle of nerves that will wreak havoc on his senses.
Score two for me.
And I’m not done.
I rock my hips, giving me room to move. My knee slams home. Score number three; a direct hit to his nuts.
He grunts and rolls to the side, curling into fetal position, huffing in pain.
“Maria!” The woman who seems to know exactly who I am moves forward and restrains my arm.
I plan on punching Hollywood’s lights out and don’t appreciate the interference. I grab the chick’s wrist, apply pressure on a different nerve bundle, and flip her to her back. For the first time in my life, all that training in martial arts serves a purpose.
“Okay, that’s enough.” The man who shut the door aims my gun at my head. “Everyone take a time out.”
I take my hands off the woman.
“We’re the good guys.” The woman coughs and rolls to her side.
The man with my gun gives it a little shake. I puff at my hair. There’s always that one bit which always seems to fall into my face. With my gun trained on me, I scoot until my back presses against the back of the front passenger seat.
“Where the hell is my friend?” I give Hollywood a look then peer into the back of the van.
The three women huddled in the back look more relieved than scared. The others stare at me, respect dawning in their expressions.
I’m having a really hard time sorting out what the hell I’m seeing. There are two others in the van. People I’ve ignored thus far: the driver and the man sitting in the passenger seat.
“Looks like we’re having a failure to communicate.” The man holding my gun narrows his gaze. “We have a team on the way to rescue your friend. As to why you’re here, I need an answer right now.”
I’m not ready to answer his questions, not when I have so many of my own. I firm my chin and deepen my voice, trying to take back control.
“Someone better start telling me what’s going on, or I swear …” I stare at the man holding my Colt .45.
“Swear what?” Hollywood is no longer bent over double. “You gonna knee me in the nuts again?”
My kneecap still stings from slamming into his groin. He’s going to have bruised nuts for days. Gingerly, I feel my forehead where a lump is beginning to form. I’m going to have one epic headache after this.
“If that’s what it takes.” I wrap my arms around myself.
When my father was alive, he insisted I learn how to defend myself. I know several ways to incapacitate a man with nothing but my hands. A knee to the groin is but one of the tools in my arsenal.
With what I’m suddenly learning about my family—and here, I refer to the past few hours since Sybil disappeared—my father’s insistence makes much more sense.
She’s not the only thing I lost tonight.
“Who are you?” I have questions that need immediate answers.
“The good guys.” The man with my gun makes a show of lowering it.
“That’s debatable.” I turn my attention to the three people in this van who I trust to tell me the truth. I look to the women huddled in the back. “Are they who they say they are?”
“I don’t know who they are, but they saved us.” One of the women wipes her tear-streaked face.
Okay, maybe these people are the good guys?
But it’s not enough. Sybil is still missing.
“I thought they were kidnapping you.” My attention shifts to the man holding my gun. “Taking you where they took Sybil.”
The man cocks his head. He places a finger to his ear then speaks. “Can’t do that.”
“Can’t do what?” I ask.
His response makes no sense, but then I see the earpiece.
Belvedere’s security team wears something similar, hooking them up to the security suite where every square inch of the Belvedere is highly monitored.
Well, almost every square inch.
There’s the whole twenty-fifth floor where my uncle held at least six captive women. I’m too numb to process what that means.
The van rocks violently as it navigates through the congested streets. I brace to keep from careening inside the back of the van. There are no windows, which makes me queasy.
“You knew about the girls. You knew they were kidnapped?” The man gives me one hell of a look.
I slide back and glare. How dare he accuse me?
“You knew and did nothing to help them?” Hollywood turns his magnetic blue eyes on me. His angry stare sends currents of electricity shooting into the air. “Of all the cold-hearted …”
The fine hairs on my arms lift as the air sizzles between us.
“Don’t bother finishing that sentence.” It pisses me off for him to think that, let alone say it. The problem is he speaks the truth. Those judgmental eyes make me want to curl in on myself, but I firm the trembling in my jaw. “What was I going to do? Walk in there myself and set them free? That’s not how things work.”