Wrong Way Home - Taken (Criminal Delights 1)

“Taron? You there? All okay? It’s been a slow day on my side, but I’ve tested the new Faraday cage—”

The axeman dropped Colin and flung himself at the device, turning it off with one quick move. Maybe it would have been safest to wait. Maybe this stranger didn’t wish Colin dead and would just cut his hands and tongue off to prevent him from revealing this location to anyone ever, but fear did weird things to people.

Death had never seemed close enough to fear, but now that it approached so fast Colin could smell it, his rational brain shut off, allowing its primitive side to take over. He grabbed a clean knife out of the block and stepped toward Taron, hunched down to prevent the rope tying all his limbs together from cutting the floor from under his feet. His captor gave a low sigh, and for a terrifying moment, Colin thought he’d be caught in the act. So he attacked first, spinning his body to gain momentum, and just when he spotted one dark eye peeking at him over Taron’s arm, the knife went in.

It was so easy. Like pushing into butter.

Breathless and shocked that this stunt worked, Colin stepped away, staring at the thick handle sticking out of Taron’s unprotected side. The man gasped, but held on to the knife, watching Colin in disbelief, but this wasn’t the time to assess each other. Taron would stay back to take care of his wound, or die, which at this point wasn’t even a moral problem for Colin.

A loud meow tore through the sudden silence, but Colin wasn’t about to wait to see if the pets ate their owner alive. He darted for the door, awkwardly tangled in the ropes and in constant fear of falling when they pulled at him.

The faint light from inside the house guided him from the porch, but when he faced his car, parked in the middle of the clearing as if Taron didn’t expect any guests ever, he was at loss. How was he to drive if his hands were tied back? He was so fucking stupid. With all those knives laid out in the sink, he should have just used one to free himself. His other option was to make a run for it, but he didn’t know where he was, and there were no guarantees Taron wouldn’t chase him down once he patched himself up.

Colin would rather try to make his way back on foot than risk being caught. Maybe in an hour he could stop and rub the rope against a tree until it gave? For now he was stuck moving like a dangerous prisoner.

He didn’t get far from the house before hearing the door slam open again, and the heavy footsteps that would be a permanent fixture in his nightmares followed.

Colin didn’t have the time to assess the threat. He bolted.

But his tied limbs betrayed him after just a couple of steps, and he stumbled over his own feet, falling into the grass.

No.

Not fucking fair.

“Let me go,” he shouted when Taron’s freakishly huge hands pushed at his flesh and pulled him up like a ragdoll. He lost ground under his legs and landed on his captor’s shoulders, swung over like a piece of meat.

He already dreaded the punishment that would surely come, but at least the fucker now moved as if he were making his way through a swamp, with the knife still sticking out of his side. Colin wriggled in a bid to irritate Taron’s wound, but it was no use. The mountain of a man carried him back into the house and slammed him against the blood-stained table. The cats watched as if they were bloodthirsty spectators of a lawless game, but Taron didn’t waste time, and went into the other room as soon as he locked the exit.

The creak of rusty hinges moving had Colin’s blood curdle.

A nasty little voice at the back of his head told him to make a run for it again, but what was the point? He’d be lying on his face within minutes, if not earlier. Perhaps cooperation would prove the lesser of two evils?

“Look, I’m sorry. I was just scared,” he said in a shamefully high pitch, and one of the many cats lounging around him meowed in response.

What. The. Actual. Fuck.

And why wouldn’t Taron answer? Was Colin just meat to be dealt with? Not worth the words?

When Taron stepped back in, Colin could see him in more detail, and while the blood wasn’t obvious on his dark green sweater, there was a sheen to his face, and he walked slower, approaching Colin with hard eyes. The blood on his hands was a testament of the acts he was capable of.

Taron grabbed Colin by the front of his T-shirt and yanked him off the table, so perhaps he was now too weak to carry Colin. But with no means of resisting, Colin followed his captor to a simple bedroom. Light came from behind the bed, but as they approached, Colin froze when he saw an open trapdoor in the floor where the glow originated.