Page 8 of Reckless Seduction
Where is the other brother?
Both doors would have opened and closed, right?
Unless they tasked someone else with getting rid of me.
Footsteps echo inside the condensed space, my heart hammering away in my chest like a jackhammer as they grow louder before stopping completely.Oh God. The click of the trunk unlocking has me nearly losing all the liquor I have consumed. My hands grow sweaty, my fingertips tingling as I pant in fear.
The moment the trunk opens, I am blinded by the sudden brightness. I squint at the shadow looming above me.
Kiernan.
His red hair is tied back in a small bun at the top of his head, revealing a jagged undercut beneath that gives him a fierce edge. His cheekbones sit high on his face and easily accentuate his chiseled jaw and lush, kissable lips.
But it is his eyes that steal the show—a deep emerald that immediately catches you and swallows you whole. There is so much pain swirling behind them that it kills me. I want to know who put that pain there and take it away.
Shaking my head slightly, I throw those thoughts right where they belong. In the trash.
This is the man about to kill you, you idiot.
My vagina doesn’t seem to care. She is too busy throwing a pussy power party.
“Let’s go,” is his gruff command. Snatching my bound hands, he easily lifts me from within the confines of the trunk, setting me on my feet before him.
Bad idea.
The world around me spins like a tilt-a-whirl at the county fair, and before I can stop myself, I am heaving all over his expensive-looking shoes.
Serves him right.
“Críost,” he mutters and pulls back my tangled hair from my face, with a gentleness that belies his savage expression. Once I am done emptying the contents of my stomach, I run my tongue over my dry lips, trying to rid myself of the bitter taste of whiskey-tinged vomit. “Are you done?”
I nod my head sheepishly, my anger momentarily forgotten as my stomach churns again and the surrounding space spins. Without another word, he swings me up into his arms. My eyes snap shut, the action causing my stomach to gurgle and protest. Luckily for him, whatever is left in my stomach remains there.
“Where are you taking me?” Ugh, cotton mouth. I bury my bound hands in his green button-down, struggling to hold on as he stomps away from the car with me in his arms.
“Quiet,” he snaps.
I huff. “I deserve to know if you’re planning on killing me, you know.”
He grunts like he doesn’t think so.
Rude.
Realizing he isn’t going to talk, I let my gaze wander. Maybe if I take in enough detail, I can figure out how to escape before he springs the guillotine and offs my head.
There are cement pillars everywhere, and the ceiling is lower than normal. It looks to be an underground parking garage. The fluorescent lights above are so bright that they mirror daylight. Several cars dot the underground parking structure, ranging from simple four-door sedans to oversized Mercedes G-wagons that I have no doubt can survive a tank attack.
“Sir.”
A man in a pair of tight-fitting black cargo pants and a polo nods at Kiernan and presses the arrow for the elevator.Who the hell is this guy?He obviously works for the Irish Mob. Is he one of their top lieutenants? He must be higher up in the chain of command for someone to refer to him assir.
The elevator dings, the untarnished silver doors sliding open to let us in. Kiernan nods at the man who leans in to press another button and then swipes his finger along the sensor.
Great. It is fingerprint controlled. That isn’t going to help me escape unless I plan on hacking someone’s finger off, and even then, I’m not sure shit like that works outside of James Bond movies.
The panel lights up with the number three.
Where is he taking me? Aren’t torture chambers normally in the basement?
