She’s wearing short-shorts today, baby blue, that show off her coltish stems that go all the way up to her wide, birthing hips that have my male instincts stirring inside me. I’ve never been into feet, but hers are adorable, with her cute little toes slid into a pair of pink flip-flops. Hell, I’d suck them if she asked me to.
And then the rest of her…
The white vintage crop-top she’s wearing shows off her flat stomach and perfect skin. She has a bellybutton piercing – a little pink stud from the looks of it, and her wrists are both jam-packed with bracelets of gold and silver. Her hair, dirty blond like butter and honey, spills down her shoulders in a mountainous mess. I want nothing more than to wrap my fingers in it and tug, arch that barely-legal body back, and stare down as I enter and claim her.
Lucy Winters…
She’s a princess. A rich girl. Practically royalty, the daughter of Peter Winters, a hedge fund manager who owns half of Grey Peak, including a mansion on the top that could have been featured on MTV Cribs if it was still around.
I want her more than I can stand, but I also hate her more than anything.
Rich bitch. That’s what she is, just like all the other snobby princesses who live in this town. She thinks she’s better than me, a public school boy who grew up without a penny to his name. She’s driving around in a brand new Mercedes G-Wagon and could snap her fingers and have Daddy buy my house and all the houses on the street in five minutes. With cash.
She’d never look twice at a guy like me.
I saw her coming up Main Street a half hour ago with this asshole on her tail. I grew up hard and could tell instantly that he was up to no good. And sure enough, I stuck with them and watched him tail her to the bookstore, the boutique women’s clothing store, the vintage T-shirt shop, and now to Starbucks, and she still doesn’t have a clue.
Most people would just call the cops, but I know better. Guys like this don’t learn their lesson from a stern talking-to by the boys in blue; they need to be showed what happens to them if they fuck around, and I’m just the guy to do it. All I need now is the opportunity.
I groan as Lucy bends over and sets her coffee in the cup-holder, causing her shorts to lift slightly and reveal the cleft of her ass right where it meets her soft, smooth thighs. I get a quick flash as she slides into the truck, and is it my imagination, or is she not wearing any panties?
“Fuck,” I growl as I start the bike. If she’s going out without underwear, that means she’s not as innocent as she looks. A ball of jealous rage starts to spin inside me as I think about the possibility of some other guy getting his hands on her. Some teenage prick that doesn’t know how to handle a body like that. Lucy’s built like a Formula-1 race car, and just because you have your driver’s license doesn’t mean you’re equipped to handle something that’s built to utter perfection.
She pulls away from the curb, and I wait for her stalker to follow, my chest tight with protective rage. So what if she’s a stuck-up bitch? She’s my stuck-up bitch, and no one’s going to lay a finger on her.
I follow them up the block through town and over the bridge by the falls. It’s a crisp fall evening and would be a nice night for a drive if not for this asshole. She takes the turn out of town that heads up the mountain, and so does he. It enrages me that she still hasn’t noticed him on her ass. Has no one taught this girl to look out for herself?
As the sun falls over the treetops, the bastard accelerates. For a second, I think he’s going to go around her, but instead he slams right into her back left side, sending her truck into an awkward spin. I grit my teeth and see red as she slides off the road into the ditch.
It’s go time.
The black sedan pulls up beside her and the man is out in a split second. He’s wearing all black and has something in his hand – zip-ties.
It’s a kidnapping.
Sorry, pal. Not on my watch.
He reaches the driver’s side door and pulls it open. I hear Lucy’s scream and gun the throttle, causing him to spin around as I rocket toward him. He throws himself out of the way as I skid to a halt in front of him. I’m off the bike in a split second with my fist aimed straight for his nose.
I gotta give him credit; he moves well and ducks the blow and retaliates with one of his own. But it isn’t enough. His fist bounces harmlessly off my abs. I twist and land an uppercut that cracks his teeth against each other and sends him toppling backwards. He hits the ground and I’m on him.
“You stay away from her, you understand!?” I bellow, drawing my switchblade from my pocket and letting him see it. The terror in his eyes would have me smiling if I wasn’t so fucking furious.
“You may think I’m the kind of guy to call the cops,” I hiss. “But I’m not. I’m the kind of guy to handle this myself and make sure no one ever sees you again.”
“Hey, man. I—”
“Shut the fuck up!” I snap, pressing the flat side of the blade against his neck. “You say one more word and it will be your last! I want you out of town by tomorrow. Understand? I see you around here again, I don’t care if it’s just to get gas or buy a fucking soda, and you’re gonna fucking regret it. Now nod if you understand me.”
As I suspected, the piece of s
hit crumbles. Tears begin to well up in his eyes and he nods slowly and carefully. I grab him by the collar, hoist him to his feet, and push him back into his car. It’s taking everything I have not to do something terrible to him, but Lucy is here and I don’t want her to see something like that. His tires squeal and in five seconds he’s speeding away into the darkness.
I’m fuming. My hand is clenched so tightly around the hilt of my knife that my knuckles are starting to hurt. As hard as it is to do, I shake the rage from my mind and make my way quickly over to the G-Wagon. I have to make sure Lucy is all right. If anything happened to her…
My heart just about bursts when I see her slumped over on the steering wheel.
No…