Fox

Fox

" C an I propose right now?"

I snap a series of quick photos for my portfolio, and the girl with the brand-new ink on her wrist beams at me.

"Might have to have a team meeting about that. I come as part of a group package, ya know."

"Well, if it means I can lock down your talents on a permanent basis?" She laughs and twists her arm to get another good look at the additions we've just made. "I love how it's come out… same time next month?"

"Absolutely. We'll fill in that shading, and I'll come up with something to add to that spot on the outside of your forearm."

We've been working on adding to her full sleeve, and now we're at the stage where we're both having far too much fun filling in the blanks.

"You're the best, Fox. Honestly."

"I accept ego fluffing seven days a week."

She blows me a kiss and heads toward the door. "You locking up now?"

"Yeah, I'll follow you." I set my phone down and cross to the front door, with large bay windows on either side staring out onto the twinkling night of Port Macabre. Lights glimmer on the reflection of the harbor.

"Wait, you're not walking to your car in the dark, are you?"

"Nah, my girlfriend's picking me up; actually, she's just there." She waves at the vehicle parked up out front with the lights on.

"Ok. Drive safe."

I deadbolt the door as she trots over to the car and watch to make sure she's safely in the passenger side. They exchange the cutest kiss and grins as she shows off her new design wrapping around her wrist.

I can't contain my own smile as I turn back to begin collecting my things, and packing away my gear, except the fine hairs on the back of my neck stand on end.

My phone is missing.

I know I left it right beside my tablet.

Just as I take a hesitant step closer to the counter, with my eyes bouncing around the empty room, the music cuts abruptly.

"Hello?" My pulse starts thudding triple-time.

Eerie silence greets me.

"Ky?" I know my naughty boy was supposed to pick me up tonight after I finished cleaning up the studio, but he's not due to meet me here for another hour.

All I hear is my own heart and the bounce of my voice off the wooden floor and brick walls.

It would be just like him to sneak in here and play a prank, and the only place he could be hiding is behind that counter.

I'm feeling dead on my feet after a full day of clients, and I know that makes me more susceptible to being skittish, with past experiences in life hard to shake, even though I know I'm safe and protected by my men. So, I straighten my spine, shaking off those old feelings I don't want to be haunted by anymore. Instead, I stride over to plant both hands flat on the countertop, and lean onto my tiptoes to peer over, expecting to find his brilliant grin beaming back at me.

Except, as I lean my weight forward, my brows crease.

The space is empty.

And that's when it happens.

I'm grabbed from behind, one gloved hand captures my mouth, and before I can do a thing—before I can put any of my self-defense to use—my feet are duct taped, along with my wrists being snatched together and bound at my front.

Three bodies surround me. All dressed in black, and as the figures who just expertly rendered me immobile stand up, I can see out of the corner of my eye that they each have masks on.

Not the ritualistic ones of the Anguis, no, these are red stitch masks, with black hoodies drawn up to conceal their individual identities.

My panicked breath against the hand over my mouth doesn't relent, even though I know .

I know it's them.

We picked out the masks together, but they refused to tell me when this would happen… and as much as this is something I want—a fantasy of mine that they're bringing to life—it still runs white hot adrenaline interspersed with genuine fear pumping through my veins.

They work rapidly and efficiently, in a way that shows off the terrifying skill set they've all been trained in.

A cloth gag is affixed to my mouth and tied around my head as I make an attempt to thrash my head against the hand covering my face. However, that does absolutely nothing. My captors follow up their rough and precisely enacted handiwork by adding a blindfold.

My men didn't tell me exactly what they would do, or how it would happen, but we discussed the rules beforehand.

Thorne was adamant about making sure I could stop things at any stage, which is why my wrists are being secured in front of me, not behind my back.

Even though I'm gagged, blindfolded, and about to be tossed in the trunk, he wanted me to still have use of my hands so I can remove any of my sensory deprivation at any point in time if I want to.

He was the most reluctant to give me this; I could see the war behind his eyes each time we talked about it. Yet here he is, one of the three loves of my life, letting me have this experience because he cares about me enough to pretend to kidnap me, dump me in the woods, and chase me like I'm nothing more than a conquest to catch and use.

God, I love him.

I love all of them for agreeing to this.

Something gets placed over my head, and instantly, all sound disappears. Noise-canceling headphones.

Then, the world flips and slides sideways as my body is upturned. The point of a strong shoulder digs into my stomach, and I flop around helplessly while being carried away.

Whoever has me over their shoulder crosses my studio floor with long strides, moving faster than my short legs are normally able to. As soon as we pass through the door, it's only the feel of the night air hitting my skin, warm and with a faint breeze coming off the water nearby, that lets me know we've left the building.

We pause, and every noise is barely audible, just a faint scuffle. I feel the reverberation of the deep voice of whoever is carrying me as they speak to one of the others briefly. The short burst of words extend through my sternum like a rumbling wave.

I think it's Ky, but I can't be sure.

That's when my body gets flipped again, and my shoulder makes contact with a solid surface, jarring against something hard and unforgiving. It scratches my bared skin like rough carpet. This time, my legs are manhandled along with my body, tipping me over, as gloved hands roughly force me into a position lying on my side.

Who would have thought the most romantic thing to happen to me today would be getting stuffed into the trunk of the car belonging to my men.

A breeze gusts over my face, my fingers are pried apart and then forced around a smooth, cool object.

My phone.

Another of Thorne's stipulations for this misadventure was that he point-blank refused to leave me trussed up in the trunk without a way to call for help if I want this game to end.

Then comes the decisive slam, signaling the moment I'm truly trapped. They leave me enclosed in here, with my heart pounding, and all I can sense is the rocking of the vehicle which comes next as they take up their seats.

I hear muffled voices from inside the front, beyond the seat partition. That's followed quickly by the hum of the engine as it roars to life, a strong smell of fuel, and the jolt marking the second we begin to drive.

Locked in here, with my senses taken away, I'm hyper-aware of every bump and curve of the asphalt. I feel the temperature keep rising the longer I'm kept in this tiny, cramped space. After a few minutes have passed, I'm definitely sweating, my pulse hasn't relented, if anything, it keeps intensifying since my body and brain can't tell the difference between the illusion of being taken like this, and the reality that this is nothing more than a little bit of fun and depravity.

Even though they've done everything we agreed to so far so that we could safely play this game, it feels oh so real.

We drive for a period of time that feels so different from what I'm used to. I thought I'd be able to tell where we were or how far we'd traveled, but I was so naive.

Just when I think we surely must be nearing the compound, a different texture grinds beneath the wheels, one that rattles through my teeth, jolting and jarring, which means we've abandoned the regular road, and gone onto gravel.

Now I really have no fucking clue where we are.

My fingers cling to the phone they've given me—with Thorne's stern voice ringing in my ears that I needed to use it the second it felt too much—and even though being cramped, pretzeled into this tiny space feels like a lot to handle, I'm determined to see this through.

My mind tries to stop frantically whirring, while I focus on calming my breathing through my nose.

I'm well aware I could slip this gag out of my mouth, remove the blindfold, and send them my safe word within about three seconds. Except there's also seeds of doubt there, embedded in my mind that tickle a fucked up part of my brain, scratching the itch of this fantasy.

Being forced.

The longer we keep going, with my body being tossed roughly as we round a few sharp bends at what feels like a heart-pounding speed, I feel the brakes engage. Gravel crunches beneath the tires, and the entire car slides as we come to an abrupt stop.

I feel the pressure wave of three car doors slamming in quick succession, more than hearing them actually thud closed.

Above me, a sudden rush of fresh night air hits the exposed skin on my face and arms as the lid to my confinement is opened.

While I'm certain they've taken me somewhere remote on our peninsula, there's just enough unknown… enough uncertainty. It creates a symphony of white noise inside my brain, sending signals that are ramping up my fear levels for what is about to come.

Because even though the three of them understand my desire, I also have no idea how they're going to enact it. That part I left up to them to surprise me, and well, apparently, they've gone all out on that front.

Color me shocked and surprised and more turned on than I should be.

Gloved hands wrap my arms and legs, hauling me out with the kind of brute force that causes my knees to clash against the hard edge of the trunk, leaving a sting blooming across the bone.

My eyes water, and I wince, with a pained nose deadened by the thing around my mouth.

I'm wearing a tank and a skirt, what with the summer heat, and now that we're in this scenario, it feels all too vulnerable compared to the glimpse of what I saw the three of them wearing when they first grabbed me.

Head to toe black. Combat boots. Visual anonymity.

The headphones are torn from my head, snagging on my hair, which drags another muffled yelp from behind the material gagging me. At the same time, another set of hands pulls the blindfold away, leaving me blinking at the sight of my captors.

It's pitch black, but I catch a brief glimpse of their glowing red masks staring down at me, their imposing height illuminated by a flashlight before the damn thing is shone right in my face, blinding me.

My bound hands fly up to shield my eyes as I duck my head away from the brutality of the light, and I let out a feeble protest.

As I do so, my heart thuds a frantic beat. Someone—who I can't see because my sight is now more or less just a giant white spot—grabs my ankles and runs a sharp blade along my bare skin, before the tape is severed.

"Better start running." The gruff words of my wolf hit the shell of my ear as he drags the blunt edge of the knife up the length of my thigh.

"The quicker we catch you, well, that means you won't earn any orgasms, baby girl." This time, my Viking's voice is silky smooth and filled with the kind of promise that I know he absolutely means it when he says he'll deny me.

"You get a head start. Make good use of it." Words that are far rougher and grittier from Thorne than I'm used to are accompanied by another flash of light straight to the face as I'm shoved by my shoulder.

With hands bound in front of me, and a gag in my mouth, I do as they say.

I start running.