There was no way to retaliate without being knocked out. So I waited, grunting with agony, as they struck again and again.
Finally, when I didn’t move or threaten to kill them, the bastards stopped their rain of pain, whispering to each other as I lay in my stupid little ball.
Spying an opportunity to fight back, I pushed aside the blazing discomfort and launched upright.
I always could move fast.
They didn’t see it coming.
I landed an uppercut on one asshole’s jaw and a side-kick to the other dickhead in the groin. “You fucking come into my place and hurt me?”
They stumbled backward, holding body parts.
I half-leapt, half-collapsed off my bed, fists raised. “Who the fuck are you and what are you doing in my apartment?”
The bigger guy of the two cracked his neck, rearranging his beefy body. He swiped at his lower lip where his teeth had sliced him from my uppercut. “You’ll pay for that.” He launched himself at me.
I met him head-on, fists to fists, kicks to kicks, but they’d already stripped my strength, and there were two of them.
His punches landed too often, whittling away my power.
“Hey, fucker,” the smaller guy said with a balaclava over his face. “Lie down, or we’ll knock you out.”
The larger grunted something I couldn’t hear, his face covered with acne scars and a chin strap. He decked me hard, ringing my skull with church bells, swiping my balance until the room spun.
I wobbled backward against the mattress.
I tried to blink it away—to keep fighting. But a solid punch to my chest sent me soaring into horizontal.
The smaller guy leapt on top of me, his knees pinning my chest to the bed. “Gonna stay down?”
I kicked, but the big thug grabbed my legs. “I wouldn’t if I were you.”
I glowered. “Get the hell off me.”
“Say the magic words.”
No fucking way was I being polite to these bastards.
“What do you want?” I spat. “Money? Too fucking bad, I don’t have any here.”
“Oh, we’re not here to steal from you.” The big guy chuckled. He motioned for his minion to get off my chest then planted a meaty hand on the same place he’d punched just a few seconds ago.
My ribs screamed as he pressed heavily, activating bruises. “Now that we have your attention, I’ll give you the message.”
“What message?”
He tapped my cheek in warning. “Ah, no talking back, got it?” He glanced at his buddy, rolling his eyes. “They never learn.”
I bit my tongue with all the hate I wanted to spew. They broke into my place, beat me up, then had the motherfucking audacity to roll their eyes at me as if I were the idiot.
The second they left, I’d have them arrested, then ask Larry to ensure they never left the penitentiary system.
Assholes.
“Nope.” The balaclava dude laughed. “I can hurt him more, if you want?”
“Nah, the orders were to rough him up not hospitalize him.” The brute climbed off me, brandishing his fist in my face. “You have a message.”
“From who?”
“Not gonna say who.” He smirked. “Message is to stay away from her. She’s mine. She’s left you to marry me. So fuck off, and screw some other blonde.” He cracked his knuckles. “Got it?”
Oh, hell yes, I got it.
That bastard Greg Hobson.
The guy I’d hated from the moment I first met him and not just because he was the competition. I despised the way he watched Elle. It bordered on obsessive.
“He hired you to scare me off.” I laughed, hacking up a mouthful of crimson spit. “He’s fucking delusional.”
“Don’t care what he is. Those are the terms.”
I pressed my bloody nose, checking for a break. My eyes watered. “She’ll never agree to be with him. He’d lost before I took her.”
The big goon crossed his arms. “Don’t care about the fine print. We’ve done our job and delivered the message.”
My mind raced, boycotting the image of Elle ever agreeing to be with Greg. She wouldn’t. She couldn’t.
Unless...
Shit!
I stood up. The room swam. My head pounded.
What if Greg hurt her? What if that was why she hadn’t answered the door or picked up the damn phone?
Elle.
Shooting forward, I dodged the guys as they tried to hit me again.
“Hey!” They gave chase, but even bleeding and beaten, I had a lifetime of running on my side. Years of sprinting to save my skin. Decades of avoiding death.
I didn’t look back.
Bolting from the bedroom, I skidded into the living room and slammed into the sideboard where I’d tossed my car keys.
My bare feet slapped on the hardwood, my trousers loose from no belt. But thank Christ I never undressed.
What I was about to do would’ve been severely inconvenient while naked.
My fingers hooked over the key chain as I propelled myself forward, ducked under a swinging fist, and bowled out the door before they could catch me.
I was gone before they managed to huff down the second flight of stairs.
Chapter Three
Elle
FROM ONE CABIN to another.
The décor and building materials were the same (pine everywhere), but this was smaller with a cozy living room, tiny kitchen, and narrow hallway to the bedrooms. However, judging by the car headlights that’d glinted off a body of water as we pulled down the long drive and stopped outside the quaint dwelling, we were now on a lake rather than buried in a forest.
The clock over the higgledy-piggledy stone fireplace said we’d been here an hour. A full hour since Greg tossed me onto the red and navy plaid couch, grabbed a bottle of gin from the fridge, and made us both a cocktail.
I’d accepted it and actually drank the sour liquid, doing my best to relax and let the liquor take away my fear so I could concentrate on the best way to get free.
My attention refused to leave the clock.
Four a.m. yet my eyes were wide and brain zapping with awareness rather than scratchy with sleep. We’d been traveling for hours. It felt like days since I’d seen Penn or Larry or Stewie. Months since I’d heard my dad or stroked Sage’s soft fur.
Too damn long being Greg’s little captive.
Greg groaned as he reclined on the single seat next to the couch; the twine from my wrist dangled over the arms of the chairs, forever joining me to him. “God, it’s good to sit down.”
“You’ve been sitting while driving.”
He sipped his cocktail. “Driving is tiring.”
“And kidnapping is wrong.”
“Who said anything about kidnapping?” He smirked, bringing the glass to his lips again. “Last time I checked, you weren’t a kid anymore.” His gaze dragged up and down my body. “In fact, you’re very grown up.”
I fought the desire to slap him. My hands curled around my drink.
We stared for the longest minute, full of war and battle for authority.
Breaking the contest, I threw back the rest of the gin and planted the glass loudly on the wooden coffee table. “I need to go to the bathroom.”
“So demanding.” He stood, waiting for me to pull my aching body into standing. “But I can’t have you being uncomfortable now, can I?”