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“Same goes for running.” The arm around my waist slackens as he lowers me until my toes touch the ground again.
Pebbles shift under my thin shoes and my knees sway.
I’m scared. Terrified. Yet l I still can’t help but think how impressive it is that he carried me all this way. With one arm.
He slowly pulls that arm away from me and I steady myself against the vehicle, trying to catch my breath, hoping to come up with some amazing plan.
But then he nudges me.
“Let’s go.” King isn’t even winded, apparently that heavy breathing from a second ago was just from pain.
With no amazing plan coming to mind, I let him guide me to the passenger door.
He keeps one big palm on my back as he opens the door with the other.
I don’t think for one second about the way my shorts are riding up my ass, or how climbing into this monstrous vehicle will put my butt right in his face, because I’m too busy remembering every episode of 20/20 that reminds you to never get into the car with a stranger.
“Put your seatbelt on.”
I blink at him, but tears are still blurring my vision.
Have I been crying this whole time?
“Put your seatbelt on,” King demands again as his shoulders fill the open door frame.
Even if someone were to walk by right now, they wouldn’t even see me.
And if they did…
I can’t let someone die for me.
My hands are shaking so bad it takes me two tries to even grab the seatbelt.
My kidnapper sighs. “I’ll do it.”
Before I can stop him, King plucks the belt from my grip.
With one hand still on the doorframe, he leans into the vehicle, twisting his body and putting us chest to chest, as he reaches to click in my seatbelt.
Those wild golden eyes, that I thought I’d never see again, are so close. The small amounts of light from the streetlamps overhead reflect off his irises, and I don’t know if it’s more or less scary that I still find him so attractive.
“Stay,” King whispers, then he’s gone. The door slamming shut in his wake.
My chest expands. My subconscious mind having held its breath with him so close.
What feels like one second later, King is sliding into the driver’s seat next to me. And a feeling of guilt swamps over me.I didn’t even try to run.
He tosses something over his shoulder, and my eyes follow the motion, feeling a little stupefied at the sight of my purse.
When did I drop that?
When did he pick it up?
Of course, he couldn’t leave it sitting in the hallway. Can’t have any evidence that I was there.Except for my car keys sitting somewhere inside that apartment.
And of course he threw the purse too far back for me to reach.
I don’t have a single thing in there that could be used as a weapon, but I do have a phone ––which is great for calling the police right about now.