Possessive much?
Fine. I heard a scrape back downstairs, and suddenly hope crashed into my chest. Fuck, she hadn't left. She'd gone out to get breakfast. Aww, well done, love.
This time instead of letting everything flap, I stopped by thecloset, got a pair of boxers, and shoved them on. I grabbed a T-shirt because of the morning chill. And despite my determination to look nonchalant, I hurried down the bloody stairs. "Saff, Jesus, I thought you'd left. Not that I was stalking you, or—"
No Saff. I paused at the end of the stairs, frowning. Something was off. Everything looked the same, but something was not quite right. And then I felt it. The hairs pricked on the back of my neck. There was movement behind me, not on the stairs, but in the powder room to the right.
I shifted my feet to the left automatically, and there was someone dressed in black, masked and everything. Jesus fucking Christ, it was like something out of a Bourne movie. I shook my head. "Mate, I don't have any money here. You can take whatever you want, but leave the art on the walls, for fuck's sake. That's a Sebastian Winston. But the rest, take them. Wait, leave the Xander Chase one too, and the Z Con. But you can take everything else. I have no quarrel with you."
He's not here for things. He's wearing a mask. He's here for you.
My brain took a moment to go on a quick vacation because, what the fuck? My whole life I'd had anti-kidnapping and basic self-defense training as well as some martial arts.
So I didn't even back up. And then on my periphery, coming from the second bedroom, I saw Jason Bourne number two. Oh, fuck. Was that Aaron Cross? Honestly, I'd rather fight Aaron Cross. He wasn’t nearly as badass as Bourne, but this was bad.
I put my hands up. "Mate, easy does it. We don't have to do this."
The one in front of me cocked his head, and I couldn't tell for sure, but under the mask, I almost thought he smiled.
The one coming at me from the bedroom, was moving more briskly, like he meant fucking business.
Okay, maybe that was Bourne, and maybe the other one was Cross. Either way, this was bad.
The one on the left grabbed for me. I ducked and threw out a punch. It connected, and he staggered backward. And then, Jesus Christ, did he growl?
Bourne came for me full tackle. I only managed to block one of his punches, but then… Shit.
I took one straight to the nose. The pain exploded behind my eyeballs, and a siphoning crunch had me nearly gagging as I staggered backward but stayed on my feet.
All I could do was block. Which was useless. I tripped, sending me backward into the kitchen and around the counter. My knives, my knives. Where the fuck were my— Fuck, they were in the drawers. That was not going to work. All I could manage was to grab the cutting board which I held up as a shield and whacked the other one on the face with it. Oh yeah, that hurt. Nice oak chopping board.
I planted it on his face again and delivered another punch, which also hurt my hand. Jesus fucking Christ. But he grunted and actually went down to his knee. When he was down there, I delivered a kick to the balls. I almost wanted to apologize because as a bloke, I knew how that felt.
Cross, or Bourne, whichever one it was, came at me. Why didn't they have guns? Why weren't they going to shoot me?
They don't want to shoot you. They want to take you.
And with that realization, I started really fighting for my life. I took several more hits, but I stayed mostly on my feet. But then, a third one came from upstairs. Fuck, had he been in my bloody bath?
His voice was low, like it had been through a cement mixer. "Stop fucking about. Bag him."
Bag? Oh, hell no. I wasn't getting black bagged and dragged off to some godforsaken place for a fucking ransom. "Mate, you're not going to get any money out of my folks or my grandfather. Oh fuck, are you SAS? About the princess, that wasn't my fault, mate. I didn't know—"
Something pierced my shoulder and I frowned down at it. It wasn't a bullet. It was a dart.
Immediately, my tongue started to swell. It felt like I was suddenly under water. I could move, but only very slowly. And I took another punch to the face, which... Fuck, that hurt.
And then, the worst happened. A black bag slipped over my face, and that bright sunlight that had woken me not thirty minutes ago, faded to black.