Where the fuck am I?
For a moment, all I can see is Kian’s lower back. I try not to be too distracted by the hard curve of his ass as I crane my neck to the side.
When I do, I see the kind of shit people buy when they don’t know what else to do with all their money. Gleaming marble floors. Fresh-cut flowers in expensive pottery. Gilded art frames.
A dignified ping alerts me to the fact that we’re about to board an elevator. He steps forward into the cab, but even once the doors close on us, Kian doesn’t bother putting me down. I go back to Plan A: hitting him with my fists as hard as I can.
But that doesn’t last long. I feel like an oversized toddler and I’m having no effect whatsoever. So I sigh and sag limply on his shoulder. I’m so fucking tired. I just want to close my eyes and sleep forever. Maybe then I’d be able to pretend this is all just a bad dream.
It’s only once he steps out of the elevator doors that Kian sets me down. He’s not particularly gentle about it. As soon as my ass hits the cold marble, I’m scrambling backwards away from him. I hit a wall and leap to my feet, eyeing the space around me.
It’s definitely not what I’m expecting.
I thought I’d be taken to some shady compound in the middle of nowhere so these bastards could put a bullet in my head without drawing any undue attention. Somewhere with high walls and barbed wire around the property and shadows as far as the eye can see.
But the massive open living room space I’m standing in is not that at all. It’s plush. Opulent. Light and clear and airy.
I’m standing at the outer edge of an ocean of marble flooring, looking out at a penthouse living room like something from a magazine. Turkish carpets stretch beneath a massive sectional sofa arranged around an exotic-looking tarnished metal coffee table. On the wall is the biggest TV I’ve ever seen in my life, as if Kian stole the Jumbotron from a football stadium.
Everything screams money, money, money. The art, the furniture, the penthouse itself—it’s the finest craftsmanship everywhere, from the recessed lighting to the floor-to-ceiling windows on the far side that open up to the city skyline beyond.
I swallow past the knot in my throat, then turn my gaze to Kian. He hasn’t moved. “Where the hell am I?”
“My place,” he replies.
I frown. “Your place?”
He doesn’t answer me. Instead, he turns his back on me and moves to the small console table set up against a narrow wall. Just above the console table hangs a large, framed portrait. It’s a charcoal, black and white landscape of a gorgeous lake that seems to go on for miles. I can even see mountains in the distance.
I resist the urge to take a closer look and turn back to the elevator, taking advantage of the fact that Kian’s back is to me. I click the elevator button as quietly as I can, but nothing happens.
“You need an access code to use the elevator,” Kian murmurs. His back is still to me. He hasn’t even looked up. So much for a quick exit.
“I…”
“Did you really think I’d bring you here if leaving was as simple as clicking the elevator button?” he asks.
I don’t take the bait of that question. “What are you planning on doing with me?”
Just then, he finally turns around. Is it possible for a slice to the face to enhance a man’s attractiveness? The stray thought catches me by surprise and makes me feel instantly guilty. The answer is an obvious yes, though. He looks like a battle-hardened Viking. Silver-threaded beard glinting in the low lights. Impossibly broad in every direction and rippling with muscle.
Kian fixes me with a strange glance. His head is tilted to the side, blue eyes glistening under the mood lighting like they’re seeing stuff in me that no one else can see.
His jaw works as if he’s searching for the right answer to my question. Then he shrugs. “I haven’t decided yet.”
My fists knot at my sides. “If you don’t know, maybe you should just—oh, I dunno… let me go?”
He smiles. “I’m afraid that I can’t do that.”
“You can’t keep me here forever,” I seethe. My chest is heaving with each panted breath, as if I just ran a marathon. Something about this man riles me up. Not in a good way, either. It’s pure anger. I glance back at the cut in his forehead and wish again that I’d done a better job of blinding the son of a bitch.
“I can do whatever I want,” Kian says softly.
“Is that so? Then why don’t you go fuck yourself?”
He approaches me fast. Before I can move out of his reach, he’s already grabbed both my arms. He slams me up against the closest wall and leans in forehead-to-forehead. His shining sapphire eyes are all I can see.
And they are pissed.