Total pages in book: 74
Estimated words: 71865 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 359(@200wpm)___ 287(@250wpm)___ 240(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 71865 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 359(@200wpm)___ 287(@250wpm)___ 240(@300wpm)
“Let’s go.” He takes my arm and leads me to the lounge.
The blond man must’ve been standing just outside, because Maxime only has to knock once before the door is unlocked. When Maxime drags me through it, I know my life as I knew it has ended.
Chapter 2
Zoe
A black Mercedes with tinted windows is parked in the alley around the corner. It’s new—judging by its shiny and flawless exterior—and a target for hijackers.
I glare at the blond guard as he opens the backdoor for Maxime who shoves me inside. Immune to my hostility, the blond gets behind the wheel while the bearded guy takes the passenger seat in the front. Unlucky for me, I share the backseat with the devil.
There’s ample space, but he takes up all of it, making me shift into the corner against the door. His energy envelops me like a shadow eating up light until only the darkness of his intentions is left. The cologne that overwhelmed my senses since the moment he took me is more prominent in the confines of the car. He smells of cloves and citrus, a faint mix of winter that matches the cold color of his eyes and the frost that never melts in their depths.
The driver starts the engine while the bald one watches the road like a soldier looking out for danger in enemy territory. When the car pulls away, I twist around to look at my building. There’s no movement behind Bruce’s window.
Sagging back in my seat, I ask, “What do you want from me?”
Maxime doesn’t answer. He’s taken out his phone and is typing something.
The luxury car is so out of place in this suburb pedestrians slow down to stare. However, crime is nothing new. Women are kidnapped all the time. I won’t be the first person to disappear from Brixton.
Has the driver locked the doors? Locals do it habitually, but my kidnappers are foreigners. There’s a chance they might not have activated the central locking system.
It’s rush hour. We’re moving slowly. I have to take my chance while Maxime’s attention is on his phone. By now Bruce would’ve alarmed someone. Hopefully, he’s on his way to a hospital. Maxime can’t hurt him anymore. Taking a shaky breath, I prepare myself for hitting the tarmac.
Now!
I yank the door handle.
It’s locked.
Fuck.
“No,” I moan, fresh tears welling up in my eyes.
Panic overwhelms me anew. My mind knows it’s futile, but my body acts on survival instinct, demanding I try harder. Pulling with all my might, I shake the handle in a fit of hysteria.
A strong, warm hand folds over mine. I look down to where my kidnapper’s fingers are curled around my fist, stilling me with minimal effort. His grip is firm without being too tight. I have no doubt he can easily crush my bones.
His voice is calm, a controlling force in the madness raging in my chest. “Look at me, Zoe.”
I only comply because I don’t know what he’ll do if he loses his cool.
He regards me with those flat, frank eyes. “It’ll be easier for both of us if you calm down.”
The driver looks at me in the rearview mirror. He’s clutching the wheel hard. His friend has one hand on the gun in his holster. I take it all in, jumping to the obvious conclusions.
“Over here.” The clicking of Maxime’s fingers draws my gaze. He’s pointing at his face. “Eyes on me. That’s better.”
To my utter shame, my lip starts to wobble. “Are you going to kill me?”
“No.” Maxime squeezes my hand and places it in my lap. “Why would I feed you if I was going to kill you? I already told you, I don’t want to hurt you.”
But he will if I don’t do what he wants. If he doesn’t want to tell me what he wants, it must be bad. This isn’t a random kidnapping. Maxime targeted me for a reason. It has something to do with Damian. Maxime knows who I am. He knows where I live. He knows I live alone. He waited for me, knowing at what time I’d be arriving home from work.
Oh, my God. “Have you been stalking me?”
His smile is as flat as his eyes, like soda that’s lost its bubbles. “The old lady in your building was only too happy to tell me everything I wanted to know.”
“Mrs. Smit?” I gasp.
“It’s amazing what a cup of tea and a slice of cake can buy.”
“That’s disgusting. You used that poor old lady.”
“At least I’m not a stalker.”
“Great.” I stare through the window. “That makes me feel so much better.”
“Sarcasm doesn’t become you.”
I turn my head back to him. “Really? You’re lecturing me on my attitude?”
Focused on his phone again, he says, “I’ll lecture you whenever I deem it necessary.”
“Bruce would’ve called the police by now. They’ll be looking for your men.” I glance at the two guards again, but their eyes are trained on the road.