Taken (Dark Legacy Duet 1)

Although I can’t do that.

The tile along the floors and ceilings is a creamy white, and the fixtures are brushed nickel. A rack along one wall holds a dozen plush towels as well as a variety of shampoos, conditioners, body washes, oils, and anything else a woman may need.

And it is for a woman. Prepared in advance for the Willow Girl. I can tell from the smell of a few of the luxury products.

Wishing there was a lock on the door, I quickly use the toilet, then go to one of the sinks to wash my hands and face.

There’s a brand-new toothbrush and a tube of toothpaste beside it. I unwrap the former, smear it with toothpaste, and brush my teeth as I take in my reflection, my bed-head hair, the shadows under my eyes. The fingerprints he left behind in the form of bruises along my jaw.

When I’m done brushing my teeth, I locate the wooden hairbrush I’d seen and work it through my hair, smoothing out the bed-head look. I set it down and open the bedroom door and stop dead in my tracks because the curtains have been pulled back to let in the bright sunlight and Sebastian is on the bed, in the space I just vacated, wearing jeans and a black T-shirt, looking much more casual than he had last night in his suit.

Both of his arms are tattooed, which surprises me for some reason, and he’s leaning against the headboard and reading something on his phone, but when he sees me, he tucks the phone into his pocket.

“Where’s my dress?” I ask.

He looks me over with the blanket wrapped awkwardly around me and smiles. He seems refreshed, like he got some sleep and had a shower.

“I took it off when I brought you in. I thought you’d be more comfortable naked.”

“You thought wrong. I’m not.”

“Did you take me literally when I said to have ten drinks?”

“No. I just had one. Maybe two. Was it drugged? Is that why I didn’t wake up when we landed? Are you going to keep me drugged too?”

He chuckles, swings his legs off the bed, and stands. “Relax, sweetheart.”

“I’m not your sweetheart. Where are my clothes?”

He picks up the pocketknife. “This? Really? Hidden in your boot?”

I walk to him and go to grab it out of his hand, but he pulls it away and grips my wrist with his other hand.

“It’s mine,” I say, twisting to pull free.

He’s too strong, though. I won’t be free until he decides to let me go.

“And now it’s mine.”

He pockets it and releases me.

I stumble backward.

He comes toward me, and I take a step away, but my back is to the wall. He closes his hands around my arms, rubs them once.

“I’m not fucking stupid, Helena. You’ll only hurt yourself trying to injure me.”

“I want my clothes,” I say, knowing he’s right.

“I like you like this,” he says, letting his eyes fall to my chest where the satin is wrapped so uselessly around me.

“Did you touch me too?”

“Not yet,” he says. “I don’t get off on bedding women who are passed out drunk.”

“You’re good with kidnapping though?”

“I guess.”

He’s so fucking cocky, I want to smash his beautiful face in.

“Do you prefer us to fight? Is that it? I mean, what you do, you and your family? What’s the difference if the woman, the Willow Girl, is passed out or not? Maybe it’s easier on her if she is. I mean, let’s be honest here. I don’t imagine it’s your moral sense of—”

But I never get a chance to finish whatever the hell it was I was starting because he shoots one of his arms out and wraps his hand around my throat and he squeezes.

“Be careful,” he warns, leaning in close to my face, inhaling my scent as if he can smell my fear. He brings his lips to my cheek, and a moment later, I feel the scruff of his jaw along the shell of my ear. “Be very careful, Willow Girl.”

I shudder. His words are like physical things, three-dimensional and powerful.

He’s squeezing so hard that he’s lifting me on tiptoe, and I realize I’ve let go of the blanket and it’s slid to pool around my feet. I have both hands wrapped around his thick forearm, clawing at him, digging tracks into his skin, trying to drag him off me.

“Had enough?”

A garbled sound comes from my throat and one of my arms falls to my side. It’s only then that he releases me. I slide to the floor, gasping for breath, my neck tender.

He steps back. “Maybe Lucinda’s right,” he says, and I wonder why he calls his mother by her first name, but I don’t have time to think about it. “I should take you out to the post. Whip you now, get it over with. Is that how you want it?”