Stolen Lust (Beauty in the Stolen 1)

“Talk,” he says, shaking me a little.

I put my weight on my ankle and flinch. Damn, that hurts.

Concern flickers in his eyes. “Ankle?”

I nod.

“You almost broke your neck,” he scolds, and then his voice softens. “Not to mention that running like a frightened little rabbit isn’t good for your heart.”

I try to twist out of his hold but to no avail. “Let me go.”

“Not before you tell me what I want to know.”

Licking my dry lips, I look away. He wouldn’t have lied about not killing me. Whenever I had to go for a vaccination, my mother never lied and said it wouldn’t hurt. She always told me the needle would prick. Ian is the same. He would’ve given me respect by telling me the truth and kissed me while he strangled me.

“Tell me,” he says again. “We don’t have time.”

No, we don’t. Not much at least. I drop my hands from his shoulders and look back at him. “A bracelet.”

He glances at my wrists. “With a tracker?”

“And a chip that transmits my vitals.”

“Motherfuckers.” He lets go of my neck. “Where is it?”

“I gave it to a cleaning lady at the gas station.”

Disbelief widens his eyes before a smile plucks at his lips. “Clever girl.”

Pulling me away from the wall with his fingers still firmly curled around my bicep, he says, “Let’s go.”

I dig in my heels and immediately regret the action when pain shoots up my leg. “I’m not going anywhere with you.”

“You don’t have a choice,” he says, supporting my weight while moving me toward the stairs.

“I don’t want to be a fugitive.”

“You already are.”

I hang back at the coldness of his tone. “I’m not going with you.”

“It wasn’t a request, baby doll.”

I slam a fist into his injured shoulder. “Let me go!”

He grunts, but his hold on me doesn’t slacken. “I hoped it wouldn’t come to this.”

Freezing in fear, I ask, “Come to what?”

He lets go of me so suddenly, I stumble, but he steadies me with his arms around my body before I fall. The embrace is gentle, consoling, and it scares me.

I strain back. “Ian.”

He takes something from his pocket. “Shh, baby.”

My panic escalates. “What are you doing?”

For two seconds, he holds me, rocking me gently in his arms, and then he cups my nape and parts my lips with his thumb. He pushes down my tongue, making me gag. I try to bite, but he only increases the pressure until it feels like he’ll unhinge my jaw.

A bitter taste grows under the pad of his thumb on my tongue. The bitterness dissolves as he holds me to him easily. His touch on my nape is tender in contrast to the cruel force of his thumb. He rubs the pad over my tongue and gums before releasing my mouth.

“What the hell did you give me?” I ask, swallowing down the horrible bitterness.

“You’ll feel dizzy in a moment,” he says, rubbing his thumb over my lips. “A little nauseous maybe.”

My breath catches. “What fucking drug did you give me?”

Dipping his head, he studies my eyes. “I made sure it’s not dangerous with your condition. It won’t interfere with your medication.”

I’m no virgin to chemicals. I’ve taken enough in my life to have built up a strong resistance. Most over-the-counter medicine have no effect on me. Whatever he gave me has to be strong, because I’m already getting that floating feeling that sets in before fainting.

“Ian.”

He scoops me up into his arms. “I’ve got you.”

That’s what I’m afraid of.

“I don’t—” I don’t want to be his prisoner, but I swallow back the rest of the words with a wave of nausea.

He climbs the steps, carrying me as if I weigh nothing. The door to my room is still standing open. He looks left and right before crossing the hallway and going inside. The dizziness he warned me about hits me when he kicks the door shut behind him. I’m fully cognizant as he lowers me onto the sofa, but I’m too unstable to move. He goes through the room and takes my wet clothes from the drying rack to bundle them into my bag. I watch, but I can’t move a finger. I’m heavy. Lethargic. Floating and feeling sick to my stomach. What a godawful feeling.

Dropping the bag next to me, he crouches down and wipes my hair from my sweaty face. “You okay?”

My tongue refuses to cooperate. It’s thick in my mouth. Dry like cotton. I shake my head.

He grabs the bag, straightens, and pulls me to my feet. “You’ve got to walk by yourself. We don’t want to draw attention.” He throws an arm around my shoulders. “Here. I’ll help you.”

It’s difficult to think. I fight through the cobwebs for a reason why I shouldn’t do as he says.

“Come on, baby.” He kisses my temple. “Lean on me. I’ve got you.”