21
Daphne
I was done. My big rebellion was over.
Before I could even get a scream out, his hand clamped over my mouth. "Where do you think you're going?"
I struggled in his arms, and he held me against him tight. "I swear to fucking God, if you do not stop moving, you will hurt yourself."
Not only did that make me move more, but it also made me do head strikes and groin strikes with my hands.
And that's when he flipped me around like I was a rag doll and threw me over his shoulder, carrying me back the other way.
I whacked against his back and his arse.
But all he did was chuckle. "I kind of like you spanking me."
I tried kicking my legs, but he had such a strong lock on them I couldn't move.
He tsked as he carried me back. "What am I going to do with you? Do you care to explain to me how the hell you broke out of your cuffs?"
"Do you care to explain to me how you became such an arsehole?"
He chuckled. "Well, I see you're just a spicy kitty."
"Fuck you."
"Oh, that mouth. I know you think you're insulting me or hurting me, but it's making me hot. I like a spicy kitty."
I shut my mouth then, because what if he did like that? Fuck. I was never getting away from him. I was going to die here. No one was ever going to find me. There would be pieces of me in fucking Reginald's goddamn freezer, where he kept the extra meat.
I frowned thinking about the oxtail soup. Was that…?
No. No, that was oxtail. I had eaten enough oxtails in my life to know what oxtail tasted like, but fuck me.
As we lumbered back across the trail that we came from, he planted his hand on my arse to secure me. And the warm gush between my legs forced me to press my thighs together.
What the fuck was wrong with me? This man had kidnapped me, tied me up, held me against my will, chased me down, basically hunted me, and somehow, he still made my clit throb? Fuck me.
Yes, fuck you, indeed.
No, not like that.
But my body wasn't listening, because his hand, big enough to practically cover a whole cheek, cupped my arse gently, and I did not have a small arse.
Fucking hell. I did not want to think about just how big his hands were. I did not want to think about what he could do with those hands.
He can just as easily choke you out. Which is not what we want.
This was true. He could choke me out. He could hurt me. Not in a fun, kind of sexy way. If he had his way, I was going to die in captivity.
I was so screwed.
No, he's going to take you back, and you're going to find another way to escape. That's all this is. Rest up. Then fight again.
Could I do that? Fight again? How much fight did I have in me?
So I slumped into his hold. The sun had already started to set, and the orange and purple sky had dimmed mostly into purple now. Soon it would be dark, and I hadn't gotten far.
I worried as we started going down the slope of the ravine when his hand was even firmer on my arse. Was he massaging? The hold was gentle but firm.
No, he just doesn't want to drop you.
But fuck, it was the way he was holding me. As if I could infer tone from a grasp. What was wrong with me? Was this some fucking Stockholm bullshit?
No. If you survived your mother, you can survive this.
Are you there God? It’s me Daphne. Please let me be right about surviving. And while you’re at it, can you please give me a better escape plan?
And I wouldn't cave. He thought he could break me, but he had no idea where I'd come from or what I’d been through.
He carried me across the field to the car he’d left on the side of the road. No one would see him with me now. As we approached the car, I squirmed a little, hoping maybe I could get free and dart back into the woods somehow.
A swat on my arse came so fast and quick that I gasped. "Stop it. You're only going to hurt yourself. That is not my fucking intention."
I wasn't sure what was worse, the fact that I'd been spanked like a child or the fact that I was pretty sure I was wet.
Or even worse, I think he knew it, because his hand soothed the spot where he’d smacked me. And fuck me, I was so close to coming. I might die if I didn't.
You will not come for him. Swear to fucking God, over your dead body.
When we reached the car, I assumed he was going to shove me into the backseat. Would he handcuff me? Or worse, zip-tie me?
But no, instead of the backseat, he opened the boot and bent over to put me in. I launched myself at him, wrapping my body around his. "No. No, please God, no. Not there."
He attempted to peel me off, but I hung on like a baby kitten, all claws and terror, refusing to be put into the carrier.
"What the bloody hell is wrong with you? I can't trust you being in the car with me. You could use the seatbelt to choke me out."
I stilled for a moment. "That's a thing?"
"I'm not telling you that answer. Now, get in the fucking car. I don't want to knock you out."
I held on tighter, locking my feet. Problem number one, there were no cars to see me. Problem number two, there was no one around to hear me. Problem number three, I couldn't be locked in the boot.
Please God, I’ll do anything. Do not let him lock me in there, not in the dark and the cold. Do not let him lock me in the boot, please, please, please, please.
I prayed to every deity I could think of. I prayed to a God I thought had abandoned me years ago. It didn't matter. I prayed, because I did not want to go in. But he was stronger than I thought, and he grunted as he unlatched me from the back of his neck and used his power to unlock my legs.
When he tossed me unceremoniously into the boot, I pleaded with him, reaching my hands up. "Please, God, I'll do anything, okay? I'm sorry. I shouldn't have run. I'm sorry. Please, God, do not lock me in. Please, please, please, don't. Oh my God."
He frowned down at me. His gaze flicked to my wrists, and he winced. "I don't have any other choice. You did this."
Before I knew it, the tears were spilling. "Don't lock me in the boot. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. Please, I'm begging you."
"You should have thought of that before you made your escape. Tell me one fucking thing, is Reginald even still alive?"
My brows lifted. "Reginald? Why would he not be alive? Did something happen to him?"
His brows furrowed. "You're telling me you didn't hurt him to escape?"
I shook my head. "I would never hurt him. Sure, he's helping you keep me against my will, but he's been kind to me. Besides, I don't hurt people. That's your job."
His brows knitted, and I could see my opening. "Please, I'll be good, I swear. Just don't lock me in here."
He scrubbed a hand over his face and shook his head as if to clear it. He almost seemed to hesitate. Suddenly, the hint of vulnerability I could have sworn I'd seen just a moment before vanished, and his eyes went cold and flat, a steely gray, no longer looking electric blue. And then he closed me up in the darkness.
22
Drake
I ran into the house, determined to find Reginald first. She said she hadn’t hurt the old man, but history had taught me that people lie.