Page 16

Wow. Talk about survival instincts.
I should be more worried about getting out of this alive.
I glance down and notice I’m in a bathrobe. Mine. So that’s what they wrapped me in. Then I notice I’m not wearing any panties, so I clench my core protectively.
Did they touch me?
I grab the neck of my robe and tighten my fist into the plush fabric.
Oh god, this is terrible.
Hopefully, this is over quickly, and my father pays them whatever they want. Surely, he will pay.
Right?
I clamber back up the bed and nestle myself into the piles of feather pillows as if they are some kind of protection.
Just in time, too.
The door opens and as light streams through, all I can see is a tall and imposing male figure.
“Good. You’re awake,” his rich dark voice says, void of emotion.
Then he steps in and turns on a low light. I almost gasp at how handsome...and terrifying he looks. And somehow familiar, but I can’t quite figure out how.
I take in his dark tailored pants, crisp shirt which is folded up his arms, clean shaven strong jaw, and heavy timepiece on his arm. It doesn’t make sense. This man doesn’t need money.
My eyes dart around the room, confirming my initial reaction. I’m lying on Egyptian cotton with a seriously high thread count, and the furniture looks antique or extremely well-made to replicate it.
This is a man of great wealth and power. His silver eyes study me as he holds his broad frame confidently, giving the strong impression this is a man very few would mess with.
My eyes study the rest of him. He has a lot of tattoos and what seems like a permanent scowl.
He’s rich and dangerous.
“Please let me go.” I beg as I try to remember if that’s the right or wrong thing to say to a kidnapper.
Give him your name.Yes, yes. They say to humanize yourself to appeal to their compassion. Although I’m not sure this man has any by his cold expression.
“My name is Kyra. My mother will be missing me.”
He slides his hands into his pockets and tips his head, like I’m some amusement at a museum instead of a human he’s kidnapped.
“My father...”
I trail off.
Even in a situation like this, I can’t lie and say my father would give him anything he wants to get me back. He might, but I don’t know for sure if he’d give away all our wealth.
Isn’t that fucking sad?
I suspect it’s better I stay quiet.
“I know who you are, Kyra Fox.” He steps farther into the room, reaching behind him to close the door.
“What do you want?” I ask, clenching my hold on the robe tighter and tucking it under my legs.
I feel so vulnerable.