A car had just pulled up outside a small building a hundred yards from where I stood, the driver hopping out and leaving his door wide open and the engine still running as he strolled into the building. I lifted a foot to take a step in that direction, but the guard left behind with me clamped a tight hand around my upper arm.
“Move it,” he snarled, giving me a push in the direction of the plane but not removing his hold on me. I hesitated, pretending to stumble in my stripper heels and watching the vehicle that presented my best chance of escape. The driver clearly didn’t intend to be long or he wouldn’t have left it running, so if I was going to act, I needed to do it fast.
I reached up, grasping the man’s hand where it clasped my arm and yanking hard. I twisted my body as he lost his balance, just as Cole had taught me, and heard the sickening crunch of his wrist breaking in my iron grip as he fell. Not wasting a second to feel bad for the guy, I shoved his weight off me and took off sprinting for the idling car.
To my absolute dismay, when I came within reach of the car my ankle rolled in the tall stilettos, and I hit the deck hard, as though I were the blond at the beginning of a horror movie. Panic surged through me like lava as I scrambled back to my feet and attempted to dive headlong into the vacant driver’s seat, only to hit a wall of muscle.
“Fuck!” I screamed, furious at myself for making such a stupid, clumsy mistake.
“Miss, are you okay?” The man whom I had just collided with steadied me with hands on my shoulders and gently pushed me back a step so we weren’t practically hugging. I took quick stock of his clothing. Black pants, heavy boots, and a puffer jacket with a logo I didn’t recognize.
“Yes! No, I mean no, I’m not okay! Thank God you speak English!” My words were still coming out a little thick, and the frustration and fear of my near escape was making tears well in my eyes.
“I do…” He raised his eyebrows at me, and I saw a shadow of fear cross his face as he looked over my shoulder.
“Please, I’ve been kidnapped. Please help me! Call the police or something!” I begged, not wanting to turn and see what had caused the color to drain from his face. I didn’t need to. A huge hand clamped down on the back of my neck, the fingertips digging hard into my delicate skin.
“Now now, drag?,” my captor purred with a sharp edge of danger in his voice. “You seem to have misunderstood the situation that you’re currently in. These men work for me. They will not help you.”
I looked up at the man in front of me, pleading with my eyes that he do something to help me. Surely he wasn’t just going to stand by while this caveman threw me over his shoulder and bundled me onto a plane to fuck knows where. My stomach sank hard as the man dropped his eyes to the ground, backing away a step.
“My apologies, Romanul,” he murmured with a submissive head dip. “I should have taken more care.”
“Yes. You should have. I’ll deal with you later,” the man gripping my neck snapped, using that hand to steer me back toward his plane.
“You can’t do this,” I whimpered pathetically. I had intended for it to come out strong and defiant, but my voice box was betraying me, as were the rogue tears sliding down my face.
He paused a moment, forcefully turning my head to face him and searing me with his ice cold, murderous glare. “I assure you, I can.” Holy shit, this guy makes Cole look like a teddybear by comparison. He is fucking terrifying!
I considered using my strength to overpower him and make another break for the car, but a quick glance at the waiting security dissuaded me of that notion. They were watching us like hawks, their hands resting far too comfortably on their obviously displayed handguns. One guy even had a machine gun slung over his shoulder. Who the hell were these people?
As much as my healing power had progressed lately, no longer requiring an adrenaline surge to trigger it, I still wasn’t willing to test Dupree’s claim that I might be immortal. Call me crazy, but that didn’t seem like the sort of theory that allowed any margin for error.
My captor—what had that man called him? Romanul? He jerked me to an abrupt stop in front of the man who had been guarding me. Red faced and sweating, the man held his broken wrist close to his chest as he swore at me in his language.
“Now then,” Romanul said in a deathly quiet voice. “I left Gheorghe to escort you onto my plane, and I found you attempting to steal one of my security’s cars. Would one of you care to explain this to me?”
“You’ve kidnapped me; what the fuck did you expect?” I spat at him, finally getting my moxie back and losing the slur from my words.
“Technically, I wasn’t the one who kidnapped you. I merely purchased you. But I concede that as a fair point.” He dipped his head, being surprisingly reasonable for all the fury in his gaze. “Gheorghe?”
“Romanul, sir, this curv? broke my fucking wrist,” the man snarled, and I got the impression that Romanul was a title rather than a name and that curv? was not a term of endearment.
“Maybe you need to invest in better security, Romanul,” I sneered, giving the injured guard a bitchy smile. “Ones that aren’t so easily overpowered by a little girl in heels?” Not that I was any ordinary little girl in heels, but there was no sense in drawing attention to my strength. The guard, Gheorghe, clearly didn’t appreciate my suggestion, though, and cracked a sharp backhand across my face. My head snapped to the side, and my jaw dropped in shock.
Really wish I had broken his right hand instead because that hurt!
“No woman speaks to Romanul with such disrespect!” he hissed at me, spit flying as his infuriated face encroached on my personal space. I had just sucked in a breath to give him a piece of my mind when I heard a muffled pop, almost like the sound of a chipmunk sneezing, before something hot and wet spattered across my face.
For a second I was stunned before the metallic taste dripping into my open mouth registered that my new owner had just shot Gheorghe in the head! Woah! What the fuck?
“Let this be a lesson.” His stone cold voice boomed across the silent airstrip as his guards all stared back at us. “Don’t ever lay your hands on my property. Am I clear?” There was a murmuring of yes, sirs from the men, and then Romanul, whatever that meant, turned his scary-as-fuck glare on me.
“I will forgive this first transgression as I should have introduced myself sooner. My name is Dragomir Valeriu du Romane but I am known as Romanul, or The Romanian. I am not a nice man, nor do I tolerate insubordination. That was Gheorghe’s second offense in my service, and as you can see, I do not permit a third. Now, we are getting on my plane, and I would really rather if you did so without any more fuss. It is damn expensive cleaning up bodies on foreign soil.” He held my gaze for a long moment, giving away nothing but death and destruction in his eyes. “Do you have anything to say before we go, drag??”