Devil in a Suit - Nicole Fox Page 0,18

pure death. “So you’re kidnapping me,” she says in disbelief. “You’re actually kidnapping me.”

I bring my face close to hers, angered. At myself or her? I don’t know. But she clearly has no clue what’s going on here. She needs to be educated.

“What do you think will happen to you if I allow you to stay behind?”

“Allow me?” Her leg shifts as though she’d very much like to knee me in the testicles. “You don’t get to allow or disallow me shit, you understand? Now get off.”

“Not until you stop struggling,” I tell her calmly.

Her breath washes over my face. Our lips are so close I could kiss her right now with the barest movement. There is nothing like a fight to get a man’s blood going, and right now, mine has raced between my legs. My balls couldn’t be bluer if they were carved out of ice.

“You’re an asshole,” she growls. “I hope you know that.”

“Maybe so,” I admit. “But this asshole is going to keep you safe. Now, can you settle down? The only way to open this car is from the front, or a secret switch back here, and I’m not going to tell you where that is. The doors are reinforced. You’re wasting your energy.”

She shifts against me again. I feel her breasts beneath her knitted rainbow sweater, her nipples hard through the material. The soft graze makes her eyes go wide. It seems like there’s nothing like a fight to get a woman’s blood going, either. Before I know it, she has her lips against mine. She tastes like mouthwash and woman and perfect, just perfect. I feel myself relaxing, wanting her all over again.

Her tongue scrapes along my teeth.

Then, brutally, she bites down on my lip.

I wince, tasting blood. She grins, looking somewhat unhinged. Her hair spirals all around her. “I want you to know that this is mega-fucked, okay? And another thing: that’s the last time you ever get to kiss me. Can you get off? Please?”

“Are you going to stop struggling?”

Sighing, she nods.

I slide onto the seat next to her, watching for any movement. But she just sits there, eyes closed, taking long, deep breaths as though to steady herself. As we glide silently into the night, I wonder just what I’ve gotten myself into.

7

Hazel

I wake up, expecting to be in my own bed. Those hazy post-sleep moments tell me that last night was just a crazy nightmare. There’s no way I’m lying in a room in Carlo De Maggio’s mansion. There’s no way they dragged me in here last night and locked the door.

But when I sit up and look around the room, I see the same oak walls and feel the same silk sheets underneath me. The room is small with an en-suite and a bracket where, presumably, a TV used to sit. Now it’s gutted.

Just like I am. I feel hollowed out after yesterday, the gunfire echoing around my head. The revelation that it was the Irish shooting at us is like a brand burning into me.

I shake my head as I stand up, stretching out, getting myself ready.

Maybe I was cooperative when they brought me here, but that was only because that giant man was following me. I’m not about to slip comfortably into the role of stranded damsel, no way.

It’s time to fight.

I creep barefoot over to the door and press myself against the wall. The ornate clock above the bed tells me it’s almost nine o’clock. I refuse to believe that Carlo will let me starve. Surely somebody is going to bring me breakfast? But then, that’s assuming that he’s not a complete monster, and the evidence, right now, is pointing toward the opposite. At the absolute bare minimum, he’s a kidnapper.

The door cracks open and a middle-aged maid with her hair in a bun walks in, a breakfast tray in her hand. I wait, biding my time, letting her walk deeply into the room.

Then I make my break.

I do what I’ve always done best: I run.

I know I’m upstairs because, in my panic, I pass the staircase. But behind me I hear the maid calling, footsteps pounding somewhere deeper in the mansion. I keep running, breath loud in my ears. I stumble into a library, impossibly big, a giant globe sitting in the middle. I turn, sprint. A bedroom, another bedroom, another bedroom, and then a bathroom.

I curse, feeling like I’m trapped in a labyrinth.

I pass what looks like a custom elevator shaft, and then

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