Page 55 of Her Wicked Knights (Their Hallowed Queen #3)

Panic floods my lungs, making it hard to breathe the stale air trapped in here with me.

I knew something was wrong, that I wasn't crazy.

Someone's been creeping around my apartment for months, and now they've finally made their move.

I shouldn't let myself think too much about who it is or what they'll do to me; it won't help me get away to lay back here and analyze why they'd chase me out of town all those years ago and then come kidnap me at random.

No, I need to stay calm. I saw what happened to Audrey; I still see it sometimes when I close my eyes, grisly flashes of carnage.

The men who did this to her are monsters, and they're coming for me now.

But I know what they're capable of. Audrey didn't, and so maybe I'm in a better position than she was.

My arms are tired behind my back, but I still have all my clothes on, which is a small comfort... particularly when I force myself to relax enough to decide what parts of me are covered and what aren't.

Panic squeezes my chest in a vice grip when I realize it's not just that it's dark in the back of the trunk. I'm blindfolded, and unable to reach to take it off.

The walls of the trunk feel like they're squeezing in around me, like they're going to crush me in a collapse of twisted metal, but I force myself to calm down, to count the breaths through my nose and the exhales I blow past my pursed lips.

The cadence tricks me into relaxing just enough to be able to breathe, and I press my cheek flat against the bottom of the trunk, which smells faintly like corn chips.

I try not to think of what other things may have been thrown back here as I nuzzle the ground like a dog who wants petted.

I can feel my hair tangling and snagging from the friction, and I think I may have carpet burn forming on my cheek, but the motion is enough to loosen the blindfold, shoving it up onto my forehead so that the dark lessens ever so slightly.

I could sob at the victory, but I keep myself in check, because when I look around, it confirms my suspicion of where exactly I am.

There's no doubt about it. I'm in the back of a trunk, bound at the wrists and ankles, and there's a duffel bag next to my head.

For all I know, it's full of all the things you need to get away with murder.

.. all the things you need to cover it up.

I pull at the restraints, testing the give. Whatever my captor used to tie me, it's got a little give. It's not much, but it's enough that when I move my arms, I can feel around the empty space, looking for anything sharp I can use to cut the binding.

I don't find anything sharp, but I do feel something smooth and thin against my palm. Once I manage to get it in my hands, I know exactly what it is, and my heart jumps at the stroke of luck. My phone.

When I crane my head just enough, I can see the screen from the corner of my eye. The lock screen will open with my fingerprint if I can get it in just the right place...

There's a small vibration as I get the phone successfully unlocked. My hands are sweaty, and the phone feels slippery at such an awkward angle, but I manage to get to the contacts and have to squint to see the letters as I scroll through the list, panic at being so close threatening to consume me.

I can barely hear the phone ringing above the base, and as we hit a bump in the road, the phone slips from my fingers.

I can only hope I dialed the right number.

"it's Marley Lavigne." I explain, trying to sound calm despite the panic.

"I've been kidnapped. I don't know who took me.

I'm in the back of a trunk... it seems small, maybe like a small sedan.

I have my phone with me, but I can't reach it. My location is on if you can track it."

Predictably, there's no sound from the other end of the line. If there is, I don't hear it. And I can't be sure they heard me, so I repeat myself despite the panic making my voice shake.

I can't even tell if the phone is still connected, so I just repeat myself, two times, three, four.

And when my hope is fracturing and the car begins to slow, I resort to just asking for help.

.. I'll accept it from anyone. Whether that's Detective Morgan or some deity above or even just a random person who can get this trunk open.

I'm not too proud to take help, however I can get it, and I'm also not too proud to beg.

That's why, when the trunk opens and lets the moonlight in, I don't bother trying to stem the flow of tears down my cheeks. I don't try to bite my tongue.

"Please, let me go!" I beg, staring at the eyes that greet me from the other side of a black balaclava. "Just let me go and I'll pretend this never happened."

He laughs, and it's so unhinged that it sends a chill down my spine and dashes all hope of appealing to my captor.

But his laughter fades, and his eyes narrow on me.

He reaches into the trunk, and I cringe away, not sure what he's going to do to me.

He reaches over me, though, and picks up my phone.

The white glow of a connected call lights up his black mask, illuminating his eyes.

Eyes I recognize from when I walked in on him getting a blow job from his secretary, from when he caught my eye and held it as another woman drove him to orgasm.

He tosses my phone into the trunk as I'm opening my mouth to ask, "Logan?"

"What the fuck, Marley?" He rips the mask off his head, his wild hair falling into his face as he throws the balaclava down next to me. "You called the cops?"

"You kidnapped me?" I challenge.

We've done some kinky stuff. I've let him fuck me in his office, he's bound me to my own bed, I've bent over the center console and let him fuck my ass from behind.

But he's never kidnapped me... never tried to take it this far.

He knows about that night, about being bound, about the masked men.

And he knows, more than anything else, the one limit I gave him, the one boundary I told him to never cross, is blindfolding me.

"It's a kink, you freak!" He drags a hand down his face and grabs his chin, rubbing it as he thinks through what to do next.

"Really?" I snap. "Because you told me to trust you, and I have! You told me to be open, honest, and vulnerable. You asked me to submit, and I have, in more ways than one! There's just one thing I told you I wouldn't agree to, one limit I asked you to respect, and you fucking did it anyway?"

To say I'm pissed would be an understatement. I feel betrayed, and for what? He came into my apartment and took me in my sleep. A blindfold was completely unnecessary.

"Get me the fuck out of here!" I roll my eyes at him, embarrassed now that the heat of the moment has subsided and I'm not in any danger of anything other than being with an asshole who doesn't obey my only limit.

Logan clenches his jaw, which is very visible from my angle, still in the trunk. He moves, and I expect it's to untie me; instead, the trunk snaps shut again, eking out all the light from before, and outrage rockets through me.

"Logan!" I scream, kicking my feet against the side of the car in an effort to make as much noise as possible. I'm barefoot, and that's when it occurs to me that I'm still in my fucking pajamas. "Let me out of here!"

"Calm down, or I'll leave you in there until you get too tired to keep carrying on."

"Calm down?" I laugh. Calm down.

He betrayed me. He did the one thing I told him I wasn't okay with.

And he threw me in the back of a trunk, kidnapped me when he knows I've had a fucking stalker lately.

He had to have known that I would jump to the worst-case scenario, that I wouldn't suspect him, and of course, I wouldn't be fucking calm about it.

I take a breath, deciding to play nice if that's what gets me out of this trunk. I'll make him suffer later, but for now, I just need out.

"Better?" Logan asks, his voice far too light given how much of a dick he's being right now.

"I'm calm." I lie.

It takes a moment before he opens the trunk again, his arms crossed as he appraises me. "Don't be so dramatic, Marley."

I say nothing, ignoring the tears that stopped coming when I realized there was no actual danger here. They still linger on my face, dripping down my chin. Apparently, they must look pathetic, because Logan frowns. "I really scared you, huh?"

"Yes." I don't say anything more. I don't trust myself to speak without pissing him off, and there's no way I'm letting him shut me back in the trunk again.

"Oh, sweetheart," he chuckles, pulling me close, so that my face is cradled against his chest as he reaches behind me and fiddles with the thing that's binding my wrists. When I hear the faint clink of metal and he pulls back, I realize it's a belt.

Did he plan this whole thing, or did he just happen to be driving by my house and decide to let himself in for some fun?

"Seems like an abuse of the key I gave you for emergencies..." I say, watching his face carefully as I shake out my wrists.

"It was an emergency." He raises his hands, like he is trying to show me he's innocent in all this. "You weren't answering my messages. I was worried about you, so I let myself in. Imagine my surprise to find you dead to the world." He shakes his head. "I thought you flushed all the prescriptions?"

I told him I did. And to be fair, I was going to.

Everyone has convinced me that I'm going crazy, and I've started to believe it myself.

If I am, maybe having antipsychotics on hand wouldn't be the worst idea?

Besides, the sleeping pills aren't exactly recreational.

I only took it because I don't think I've had a full, decent night's sleep in the last four months.

"I was going to." I tell him honestly. "But then I thought maybe I needed them. Am I crazy, Logan?"

He's got the faintest smirk on his full lips as he traces mine with his thumb.

I'm still sitting in the trunk, which is absurd.

He seems to realize as much, because he moves to my ankles, untying the tie he used to bind my ankles together.

When he does, he pulls me against him, fitting an arm beneath my knees so that he can heft me out of the trunk and set me flat on my feet.

"Maybe you are, Marley. But I'll tell you the same thing I told you when you first walked into my office." When I simply stare at him, he smirks. "You may be crazy. You may be broken. But I can fix you."

I can fix you.

“So fucking romantic.” I scoff.

It's not a promise to love me in spite of my brokenness, or even because of it.

It's not a promise to love me at all. We've been together for over a year, but that doesn't mean that we love one another.

It just means that he's as fucked up as me, that our brokenness calls to each other. Together, we can pretend to be whole.

I turn to the building we're standing in front of... a Victorian looking home with a wraparound porch and turrets on the roof. It looks like a bed and breakfast you'd take someone to if you planned to murder them.

"Where are we?"

Logan tips his head toward the house with a proud grin. "Welcome to my house, Marley."

His house?

In all the time we've been together, he's never taken me to his house. I didn't even know where he lived, but I can't imagine we're all that far from the city... though a quick glance around assures me that there are no other houses nearby.

"What are we doing here?"

"I thought we could spend the weekend together." He laughs. "But it was meant to be fun and kinky, not to feel so real that you cried." He laughs, though, so I can't imagine he feels that guilty about it.

"Or called the cops?" I roll my eyes. "I better call back and tell them it was a misunderstanding."

Logan smirks as I reach for my phone.

"I'm going inside. Come find me when you're done?"

I wave him off and watch him climb the stairs to his front door, where he messes around with the keypad for a minute before letting himself in.

Detective Morgan answers just as the screen door shuts, and I grapple for the words to explain that my kinky not-boyfriend decided to kidnap me for a weekend of sexual degeneracy.

As soon as I get done with this call, I'm going to kill him.