Page 166 of Carnal Urges

That gives me an idea.

The next corner we speed around, I slump against the door and squeeze my eyes shut, groaning faintly and trying to look as pathetic as possible.

Declan says drily, “You’ll never win an Academy Award for Best Actress lass, that’s for sure.”

I really dislike this guy.

Stavros would’ve had the decency to fall for my damsel in distress act. He would’ve made his driver pull over, leapt from the car, and taken me into his arms, clucking and cooing with worry.

This Declan bastard’s heart is as icy cold as his blue eyes.

I decide Russian gangsters have better manners than Irish ones. Men who can’t be manipulated with feminine wiles are uncivilized.

“Ten minutes to the airport,” says the driver.

“Make it five,” answers Declan. “We need to be gone before they can get their shit together and try to stop us before we’re in the air.”

Situation recap: I’ve been kidnapped.

Handcuffed.

Possibly mentally compromised.

I’m being driven to an airport by a trio of lunatics, one of whom might have a kink for doing bad things to dead women, another who drives like a kindergartener on crack cocaine, and a third so desensitized to violence he doesn’t break a sweat under heavy gunfire, high-speed car chases, or narrowly avoiding being crushed to death by an oncoming vehicle.

I’m going to be put on a plane headed for Boston where I’m to meet the head of the Irish mafia to answer some questions about how I may or may not have started a war between his family and the Russians… and everyone else.

And my only hope of salvation lies miles behind me in an intersection in a tangled mess of crumpled steel.

I’m in it knee deep, and no knight in shining armor is coming to save me.

Conclusion: this princess is gonna have to save herself.

What the hell. Won’t be the first time. Won’t be the last.

I wait until we slow slightly for a corner, then take a deep breath, throw open the car door, and jump out.

DELETED SCENE #2

DECLAN

I had a bad feeling when I woke up this morning that today would be a shit show, and I was right.

Kidnapping a woman shouldn’t be this fucking hard.

She sails through the air in slow motion like a trapeze artist, arms outstretched, hair flying, a look of intense concentration on her face. I have only a split second to admire her lithe form in the side mirror as she launches herself from the car into the rainy night, graceful as a cat, then she’s gone, and I’m hollering.

“Stop the bloody car! She’s out! She’s out!”

Sean slams on the brakes. The SUV fishtails, then straightens. As soon as we slow enough, I’m out of the car and running after her.

What kind of woman jumps from a moving vehicle?

While handcuffed?

She’s either an idiot, a daredevil, or more goddamn trouble than she’s worth.

It’s not like she’s exactly incognito, either. Dressed all in white, she stands out like a candle. She’s fifty meters in front of me, running barefoot down the middle of the street.