Chapter 12

CHAPTER 12

K enya

Acting on instinct.

I'd learned to do that a long time ago, although in recent years I hadn't followed the heavy-handed training that had been forced down my throat. If I had then I would never have gotten mixed up with Daniel. Of course, that had been in my desperate search for normalcy, which I had never found.

False hope could be deadly.

Maybe not as much as this moment as I raced through the trees toward some unknown destination. All I knew was that I'd sat on the beach waiting for some kind of answer or indication of what I should do, and it struck me hard that that had been my problem over the last three years. I'd taken a backseat to my life.

Look where it had gotten me.

I'd studied the house in the distance for some time as the sun continued to fade, finally noticing someone had turned on several lights inside.

I hoped the waning sun wasn't just playing tricks on me.

It was a spur of the moment decision to flee the safety of being smack in the back of the powerful man's house, seeking something like rescue from an unknown party. I bounded through the trees, not caring that several limbs slapped me in the face or that I wasn't likely to get away with this.

Both of the soldiers had turned in the opposite direction, chatting together as if talking about the latest basketball game. I'd noticed Beckham had retreated further into the house as I'd stood slowly, taking my time backing toward the forest.

No one had paid any attention to me. I was likely just some nuisance no matter what he said. And I knew from experience that those considered expendable were eliminated after their usefulness wore out.

Maybe Beckham truly believed he could own me, but after a while he'd grow weary of me constantly fighting him. After that, I knew exactly what he'd do.

Kill me.

I refused to allow that to happen.

So I continued running, refusing to look back, trying not to panic even if I had zero clue what I'd do or say once I knocked on the stranger's door.

For all I knew they adored their neighbor and would lock me up until Beckham arrived.

But I had to try. I had to do something. My life was in my hands, not the man who'd… saved me from certain death.

I kept pushing, fighting the panic that was steadily increasing.

As I pushed my way through some additional underbrush, I caught sight of a clearing just up ahead. When I was at the tree line, I stopped to catch my breath and to ensure I hadn't been followed.

After a few seconds, I ventured out onto the sand, staring up at yet another huge house. My entire body was trembling as I made my way toward the back of the house, creeping up the stairs and trying to figure out where best to knock on a door. There were so many. With the deck being a wraparound, I moved slowly from one side to the other, peering in every few seconds. I couldn't see anyone. Not a single person. Maybe it was best to try to use the front door.

I scanned the area once again before heading around the last corner, moving stealthily to the front door. By now the bastards had to know I was missing, which meant they'd called out the cavalry. I likely had little time to try to find help.

Still shaking, still uncertain, I knocked on the door, fighting the urge to scream as I waited as patiently as possible. Hearing nothing, I pounded my fist on the door, saying a silent prayer. When I heard footsteps, butterflies swarmed my stomach. I could get through this. I would find help and I'd eventually have my life back.

I dropped my head, trying not to figure as the heavy footsteps inched closer. And as the door was unlocked, I took a step back, trying my best to hold my tongue.

The door was suddenly flung open and I couldn't react in any way.

"Hello, my little fighter. Did you really think I was going to let you go anywhere?"

Locked into a room.

I'd been locked into a sparse bedroom like I was some bad girl.

That had been over two hours before, maybe longer.

The bastard had tossed me over his shoulder after opening the door to a different house, even dumping me into the trunk of a hot car, tying both my ankles and wrists with a thick rope. Then he'd driven around for at least thirty minutes before stopping. That hadn't meant I'd been let out of my prison. I'd beaten on the underside of the hood, screaming for anyone to help me for what had to have been at least forty-five minutes, and no one had given a shit.

I'd even heard deep male voices, at least eight or nine of them, and it seemed every man was standing around the car, but they hadn't cared I was being held prisoner. They'd simply laughed and talked amongst themselves as if they were old college buddies sucking back a beer or two.

When I'd finally resigned myself to the fact I'd be spending all night long in the trunk, he'd returned, peering down at me with a stern look on his face. And his ugly words?

"You thought you were a prisoner before? Well, you're going to learn what that truly means in my world, little fighter. It'll be good to see what you think."

The fucking bastard.

I moved to the window, staring down at the courtyard below. A light had been turned on, highlighting the area, likely on purpose. There was a stone patio and the only way to escape was jumping out the window. It might only be three stories, but the ceilings were taller than normal, which meant at minimum I would break my leg if I attempted it. That wouldn't bode well with trying to run away.

Huffing, I turned back toward the room, glaring at the interior. Talk about sparse. Where what I'd seen of the rest of the house had been posh, every room inviting, this one barely had any furniture let alone a single decoration. There was a twin bed with basic covers, a nightstand with a lamp, and a chair in the corner of the room with a small table next to it. That was it. There were no pictures, no vases, no books, and certainly no television or other form of communication.

My purse had been taken along with my phone and what was left of my trust and dignity as well. He was doing this to teach me a lesson and I hated him for it. What I'd guessed after the initial shock of him being the one to open the door was that either the person who owned the house was a very close friend or maybe a family member.

I had caught a glimpse of two men who looked remarkably like him. Great. There were more of him in the world. I was sick inside, uncertain what I could do. While the lamp worked, it was glued or nailed to the table so I couldn't use it as a weapon. The bastard had thought of everything. Perhaps he knew me far too well at this point.

Even the bathroom had almost nothing inside but a couple of towels and soap. While the toilet paper roll was full, there wasn't even an extra roll. I had found toothpaste but no toothbrush. I guess that could be used as a weapon too.

And no shampoo or conditioner. What? Did the man consider that a luxury I didn't deserve?

I flew toward the closet, praying something had been left behind like a wire coat hanger. That would allow me to beat him with something should he choose to return.

As soon as I threw open the door, I rolled my eyes. I guess it had been wishful thinking. When I heard the lock being rattled, I closed the door quickly, leaning against it.

I wasn't surprised one of the bastard's soldiers walked inside, immediately tossing me an angry look.

"Don't try anything, miss. I've been authorized to handle the situation any way I believe necessary if you do. And I ain't a nice guy, certainly not like the boss."

Huffing, I glared at the tray in his hand. It held a single slice of bread on a paper plate, two bottles of water and a tiny apple. My guess was the damn thing had a razor blade in it. Okay, so maybe my melodramatic side was getting the best of me, but was Beckham really going this far? Next, I'd be shackled in chains.

"Well then, since he's a complete asshole, that must make you a violent beast."

He smirked as he placed the tray on the table, removing the items. Somehow, I had a feeling he hated being my personal delivery boy. When he turned around with the tray in his hand, he had a wicked grin on his face. He even had the nerve to glance down my length of my legs far too slowly. "You don't have any idea."

As he moved past me once again, I couldn't help but think of him as a sloth, although he was wearing an expensive and perfectly tailored suit as well. Was it some requirement that all his employees had to try to look like they'd stepped out of a fashion magazine?

Well, this guy had a scar on the side of his face that made him appear highly dangerous. And of course, that's what Beckham wanted.

For me to be shaking in my boots.

Fortunately, I wasn't wearing any shoes, another form of punishment.

"How long do I have to wait here like this?" I asked. Why was I bothering?

He glanced over his shoulder before stepping from the room. "As long as the boss thinks it's necessary. Just sit tight."

Sit tight. Was the asshole kidding me? After he'd closed and locked the door, I rushed forward, beating my fists on it out of frustration. I even kicked the door, yelling at the top of my lungs.

I knew it wouldn't do any good, but it did make me feel a little better. After thumping my butt against the door three times, I took long strides toward the goodies on the table. I was thirsty. I cracked one of the babies open, gulping more than I should, immediately hiccupping afterwards. I needed to calm down, to try to put my mind in a better place so I could pretend I'd been cooperative.

However, I had to be careful in how I did that since Beckham would likely see through my fa?ade. Shit. The older I became the more difficult it was to keep my foot out of my mouth. I enjoyed the fact I could speak my mind. I wasn't certain how I was going to pull it off but I had to.

I returned to the window, leaning my head against it. I wasn't entirely certain how long I'd been in the same position but as soon as I heard the lock being engaged again, I moved quickly to the unopened bottle of water. I sensed the person entering the room was the very one I'd become determined to hate.

Maybe I was wrong, but my instinct took over. No matter how electrifying Beckham was, how much our connection had continued to surprise me, what he'd done was unforgiveable.

When the door opened, I took a deep breath.

I waited, doing my best to remain patient. The man was taking far too long, as if he knew I was up to something. When he finally stepped in, I didn't waste any time tossing the full bottle in his face, jerking him by his sleeve so he was pitched forward and lunging for the door.

Shit. Within seconds, I went down on my face, the man managing to grab me around the ankle. I kicked out, hissing and grunting like some animal, kicking him several times with my other foot.

"Get off me!" As if he was going to listen to me under any circumstances. I rolled and pitched but somehow, the man managed to drag me into the room and completely under the massive weight of his body.

"I suggest you calm down."

"I suggest you fuck off." I continued struggling even though a little bird inside my head told me it was useless. "And what makes you think I deserve this kind of treatment?"

He chuckled and pulled back enough to be able to turn me over, yanking one hand over my head then the other. It took him four tries to be able to snag both wrists with one hand, but when he finally did, I hissed again.

"You don't like rules, do you, little miss sunshine?"

"Not your rules. They're unfair and I didn't agree to them."

"That no long matters," he growled as he dared grind his hips back and forth. Oh, my God, the man was hard as a rock. I wanted to be disgusted but my body wouldn't allow it.

"Why not?"

"Because you're in my house, so that means you'll follow my rules. And you will follow them, or not only will you be punished on a regular basis but you'll also be kept inside this room. I doubt you want that."

"I'll find a way out."

"Good luck."

Oh, he was having so much fun goading me. The jerk.

I stopped fighting, hoping he'd let me up. Being crushed under him wasn't in my best interest. Mainly because he had a way of making me hot and bothered. This was too close.

He stared down into my eyes, his own twinkling. "You're one bad girl and I can tell you've yet to learn your lesson."

"Yeah, well, my mama used to call me a hardhead for a reason."

His chuckle also sent a wash of hot air dancing across my face. "I'm going to make this very easy on you. You've earned yourself punishment. In addition, I'm going to remove other privileges."

"Such as what, being allowed to use the bathroom?" Now that I'd caught a second wind, I started fighting him all over again, almost able to push him completely off.

"I might be many things, my little fighter, many attributes you've already learned, but I'm not into that level of sadism. Other things, hell yes. Now, let's get you up off the hard, cold floor."

He wasn't wasting any additional time on me, backing off while keeping one hand wrapped around one of my wrists, yanking me not only to my feet, but off them. The fact that he was showing off just how strong he was truly pissed me off, but it was also something else I found attractive about him.

Without hesitation, he dumped me onto the bed and the springs creaked. He pointed a finger at me as if daring me to try anything else. "Get undressed completely. Lie over one of the pillows and wait for my return. And don't fight me on this, Kenya, because you really won't like me very much." He stormed toward the door, and I could hear him cursing under his breath.

"Where the hell are you going?"

He stopped long enough to turn his head, the grin sliding across his face more evil than before. "This spanking calls for a different implement altogether. Maybe when your bottom is hot, covered in red stripes, you'll remember not to push my buttons any longer."

He stormed out, closing and locking the door behind him.

"Asshole!"