A Kiss Stolen

In a few seconds, I find it, and feel the tears of relief rush to my eyes. Drawing in a quick breath and saying a little prayer, I flip the switch. A naked lightbulb in the middle of the room bursts into harsh light. My eyes hurt with the sudden glare, and I squeeze them shut before squinting into the brightness.

I am in a medium-sized room, bare but for a bed and a cupboard. The walls are freshly painted in magnolia and the floor is grey concrete. The idea that it could be my own father doing this to teach me a lesson in vigilance dissipates instantly. Dad would rather cut off his own hand than imprison me in a drab room like this, and even if he did, Mum would never let him.

I look around, more confused than ever. It must be the effect of the drug the man had used to knock me out earlier, but my thoughts feel slow and disconnected. I find myself going towards my shoes, slipping them on and heading to the only window in the room.

I pull the green drapes apart. A metal barricade surrounds the window. Looking beyond I can see absolutely nothing but a thin slice of moon in the sky, a few dots of lights from the stars, and the velvety dark silhouette of trees. I gaze down at my empty wrist and regret not putting on a watch. If I had to guess the time I’d put it to be the early hours of the morning.

I need a plan.

I wonder if banging on the door and demanding an audience with whomever has orchestrated this nightmare is the right way to go. I turn around then, and that is when I see it: the dark lens staring down at me. The entire room, I am sure, is in its view. My hands begin to tremble. Not with fear but fury. I walk towards the surveillance camera.

“Why am I here?” I demand.

Silence.

“I’m awake now. There's no need to waste either of our time so just state what you want and we can end this stupid charade.”

Silence.

“Is it money? If it is the sooner you get down here the sooner we can stop this charade and the money hits your bank account.”

Silence.

Furious, but not stupid enough to tick anyone off with the barrage of insults that wants to burst from my mouth, I turn around and head back to the bed. I take a seat and stare directly into the camera.

“I’m waiting,” I say, and that is exactly what I do.

The time ticks by, and a strange grogginess, probably a lingering effect of the drug administered earlier begins to take effect again. My eyelids begin to feel as heavy as lead, and my head starts to nod, but with a jerk I straighten up and stare ahead. Time passes before I hear footsteps outside the door. I instantly jump to my feet, then check myself and sit back down. The handle of the door is pulled down.

I am terrified, but I curl my hands into fists, harden my gaze, and stare at the door. It opens and a man fills in the doorway.

He is a ten.

This is all my muddled, terrified brain can muster up. My jaw drops and I stare at him in confusion. His shoulders are broad, his hair is raven-black, and he is dressed from head to toe in black, but what sends a chill through me are his eyes. They are like tar-slicks. Shiny and utterly opaque. There is no doubt he is dangerous, and the way he looks at me ...

I spring to my feet in an instant.

He stands very still and regards me from beneath his sooty lashes. Like a wild animal watching its prey, and for a moment I am sure I am going to be raped.

“Who are you?” I ask, but even as I ask that question something else clicks in my brain. He looks familiar. His face, the oval way it is structured and those eyes ... the chill I experienced had been from a trigger of familiarity, not fear. My facade of coolness snaps and an angry yell erupts from my throat. “Who the fuck are you?”

His response is an amused snicker, and my heart nearly stops.

Chapter Four

Brand

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qrO4YZeyl0I

My, my, but little Liliana Eden has grown up to be one fiery woman. A fucking gorgeous one too. Her hair is long and thick, her nose is small and neat like her mother’s, and her eyes are as haunting as I remember. Her lips, however, are still my favorite feature. To put it simply they are audaciously plump, the top one almost overlapping the lower and giving her the look of a sulky whore. With a mouth like that all you have to do is pout your lips and the whole world would do your bidding.

I desperately want to slip my tongue into that bitchy mouth: to see if she still tastes the same. Of bubblegum. She will bite down and injure me, but the thought only rocks my cock. My gaze drops down to the full chest straining against the soft pink blouse. It makes my hands itch. The fleshy mounds are begging to be fondled and sucked. I can already see myself dragging my tongue down to her tiny waist, sliding my fingers into her cunt. It would be wet for me, impatient, eager, and painfully swollen.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” she demands.

The thread of fear in her voice makes my eyes snap back to hers. She is white and trembling with rage, but at the expression on my face, she takes an involuntary step backwards only to come up against the bed. I tower over her, as I’ve always done, but this time it is not just physically that I will dominate. This time I am in full and total control … and she is going to serve me with everything that she has.

“What do you want?” she spits. “Is it money? I’ll get it for you.”

The offer is insulting. As if I’d take even a red cent off her. I pull out my cell phone from my pocket and toss it over to the bed. “Call your father,” I instruct.

She stares defiantly at it. “How much do you want?”

“Everything he owns.”

Her head shoots up, a scowl of disbelief across her face. “What kind of stupid kidnapper are you? Who asks for everything? Trust me, my father is not going to give you everything in exchange for me. He has three other children to think of.”

I manage to keep the dark smile at bay, but she is oh, so entertaining. The excruciating wait for her has been worth it. “Oh, but I intend to take everything he has.”

“Are you out of your mind?” she sneers. “If it is that easy to become so bloody wealthy then why does anyone need to spend their whole life busting their ass to make something of themselves, you fucking loser.”

She has a fucking dirty mouth on her. On any other girl, it would have turned me off instantly, but on her it makes me want to sit down and just fucking listen to her disrespect me. She goes on with her torrent of insults. The girl has absolutely no sense of self preservation. And she is unbelievably arrogant. This part of her I absolutely loathe.

“How much do you bloody want?” she repeats, snatching up the phone. Either anger has made her forget her initial

fear, or she completely read me wrong. She thinks she can use bluster to dominate me. I am not her gardener’s son anymore. I am her master.

“If you say the wrong thing,” I say quietly, as she begins to dial his number, “he will be dead before the sun rises.”

She freezes then and watches me with shocked eyes as I cross my arms across my chest. “Right now, your father is in a meeting near Hammersmith station. He is, however aware that you have gone missing so you can tell him that you have been whisked off to Spain by some of your friends for your upcoming birthday. And that you will be back soon.”

She watches me carefully and I see the realization come into her eyes. She knows now I mean every word of what I am saying.

“He will never believe that,” she replies slowly. “I just started a job that I've been looking forward to all year. Today is only my first day, he will never believe that I have suddenly decided to take off.”

“Then concoct your own story. For his own good you better make it a believable one. If he is alarmed, and goes looking in the wrong places, the picture of his corpse might be the last thing you ever see of him.”

I see the moment true terror comes into her eyes, all the color instantly draining from her face.

“What do you want with me?” she asks. “He’ll give you all the money you want, just let me go.”

“I have my own money.” I reply.

She frowns. “Then what do you want?”

“You. You are what I want.”

Her suspicions of exactly how I want her is as clear as day in her eyes. “You’re sick,” she hurls at me, color flooding up her neck and making her cheeks bloom.

“That is the general consensus,” I agree pleasantly.

“Are you going to take me by force?”