Taken by Her Prince

That man… he could’ve stripped it from me. I touched my chest and felt a small amount of relief that I still had on my bra, at least.

I got out of bed, felt a little dizzy, and steadied myself on a window sill. I looked outside and saw a quiet Philly street, the rowhome across the road, a guy in a suit walking along with a briefcase in his hand. I turned from the window and walked into the bathroom before splashing some water in my face, took a few deep breaths, tried not to freak out.

I should be in a hospital. I got shot last night, shot during some kind of attack or maybe a robbery, I couldn’t tell. I think I got a glimpse of some guys on the ground when I was carried out of there, but I wasn’t thinking straight and maybe I made all that up.

“Shit,” I whispered to myself.

Then I turned and walked to the door. I grabbed the knob, turned it, and pushed. Nothing happened. The knob wasn’t locked, but the door didn’t budge. I pushed again and again, but something on the outside was keeping the door shut. I shoved against it, banged against it hard, but it wouldn’t move. I felt tired and light headed and my shoulder began to ache again as I stepped away from the door.

“Fuck,” I said as panic began to set in.

Some guy shot me then picked me up and kidnapped me. He called some random doctor that gave me some insane shot, and I had no clue what they did to me while I was unconscious. I felt sick, like I might puke, and I ran back into the bathroom. I took off the shirt, peeled back the bandage, and stared at the wound.

It was stitched up, neat and clean. I reached up to touch it, but felt a stab of pain and instead pressed the bandage back down again.

“What the fuck,” I said, and sat on the edge of the tub. I put my face in my hands and took deep breaths, trying to calm myself, trying not to panic.

I had to think.

Someone kidnapped me. Maybe I could run to the window and start screaming for help. Maybe someone would call the police and I could get away like that. Or maybe I could jump out the window and land on the sidewalk. I was on the second floor, maybe if I dangled then dropped I might be able to get away.

I heard something jostle the door back out in the main room. I stood up, steadied myself on the vanity, and took a step toward the bed. I stared as the door swung open.

He stepped into the room.

I felt my heart racing. He was tall and muscular. He wore a dark suit, no tie, just the top button undone. His dark hair was tussled and messy, and there were heavy bags under his eyes like he hadn’t slept. He was handsome, gorgeous really, and I hated myself for having that thought. But he tilted his head and didn’t move as I took a step back, terror running down my spine.

“You’re up,” he said.

“Who are you?” I asked.

“My name is Steven,” he said. “What do you remember from last night?”

“You shot me.” I stared at him, heart beating so fast I thought I might fall over. “You… you shot me.”

He clenched his jaw. “That was a mistake,” he said. “You weren’t meant to be there.”

“But I was. And then you took me… is this your house?”

“I live here,” he said.

“And that doctor. Who was that doctor?”

“His name is Dr. Chen,” he said. “He’s a good man and a good doctor. He says you’ll be fine, although you should take it easy and take an antibiotic, just to be safe. I filled your prescription already, it’s downstairs.”

I shook my head and stepped into the room. I felt like I might fall over, like the floor was rushing up at my face. He stepped to me and took my arm. I didn’t have the strength to fight him as he guided me to the bed and sat me down on the edge.

“It’s okay,” he said. “Take it easy. I got you.”

“Get off me,” I said. “Get… get your hands off me.”

He stepped back and looked at me. I leaned back on my hands and took some deep breaths, trying to get myself under control. He stood there and watched me without moving, his arms crossed over his chest, his gaze intense and terrifying.

“Please let me go,” I said.

He looked back at me for a long moment. He didn’t smile, didn’t react at all, almost like I hadn’t said anything.

“Come downstairs,” he said. “Have some coffee, maybe some breakfast. We can talk some more.”

He turned and walked to the door.