When he disconnects the call, he whips the phone against the bed pillows so hard it flips into the air and lands unscathed a few feet away, at the foot of the bed. He sits on the edge of the bed and sighs, unable to mask the resignation in his features. Looking up at me, he crooks a finger.
“Come here, Clare.”
My feet move of their own accord, as if my body knows the truth instinctively.
I belong to him.
I am his, and he is mine.
A part of me wants to stop a few feet away, to stay apart from him because if I draw too near, I know he’ll touch me. I have to stay strong. I need to be sure that I don’t waffle in the face of what I must do next. Because if he touches me…
I stand a few feet away from him, but it isn’t good enough.
“No, little bird,” he says, and for one minute, I think perhaps I’d imagined the cold rejection in his voice when he told me to go home. “Come closer.”
I deliberate back and forth between obeying him and not, unsure of the right thing to do, when he leans forward and reaches for my hand. I’m standing closer than I thought, for in the next moment, he tugs me onto his lap. My pulse spikes when he anchors me to him with an arm around my lower back, my jaw trapped when his free hand grips me.
“No matter what,” he says, his accent thick. “No matter what happens, you will always be mine.”
I open my mouth to speak, and he takes it as an invitation to kiss me. My head tips back, his mouth on mine, hot and insistent. I moan, and he swallows every sound I make. His grip moves from my jaw to my throat, a gentle flex to remind me of his power, but I trust this man. He won’t hurt me. His tongue licks mine, and the last of my resistance ebbs out of me. I’m putty in his hands.
A flare of pain bites my neck. I’m too stunned to react, still caught in the web of arousal and need. My eyes close, our lips unlock, and I slump against him. The world fades to darkness.
The twittering of birds. Car tires zooming. A slow trickle of rain hitting the roof. I try to open my eyes, but the lids are too heavy.
Where am I?
The smells are familiar… the slightest hint of vanilla and lavender, just like my —
I push my eyelids open with enormous effort and blink in the darkness of my bedroom. I look around me, disoriented and uneasy, but don’t even have the strength to push myself to sitting. Am I alone?
My phone sits beside me, plugged into the charging base. My shoes are neatly lined up by my door. The blinds are half-open, revealing a blue tint of either dusk or dawn.
It’s like I never left.
I’m in my bedroom, as if everything that happened was only a dream.
I try to sit up again. I need to see what day it is, what time it is. I need to prove to myself that it all happened. I close my eyes and assess my situation.
There are no other sounds in my apartment.
I remember… sitting on Constantine’s lap. He was kissing me, then there was pain in my neck, and I—he drugged me.
He drugged me to take me home? Why would he do a thing like that?
Was he afraid I’d fight him? Run on my own?
Does he need to make it look legit, and drugging me and plunking me down in my own bed makes it look that way?
Or was he afraid I wouldn’t go?
Is he watching me now?
My fingers feel like plump sausages, my joints creaky and swollen as well. I have no idea how long I’ve been under and no recollection as to how I got here.
I have to get to my father.
I reach for my phone, my fingers clumsy, and quickly swipe it on. I type in Constantine’s name.
Convicted murderer takes DA’s daughter.
The article is two days old—though still two days after I was kidnapped from the prison. Constantine was right—my parents tried to hush it all up, until they couldn’t anymore.
My mother gave a statement:
Pragmatic and straightforward, Maria Valencia speaks plainly about the hunt for Clare Valencia.
“I want my daughter back. We will use every resource available to us to ensure our daughter’s returned home safe and sound, and the criminal responsible for her abduction is punished to the full extent of the law.”
I feel as if I’m going to be sick, and I’m not sure if it’s the effects of the sedatives or not.
No mention of her concern for me, nothing but a dedication to justice and enforcement of the law. In other words, typical.