Page 24 of Need (Men of Inked Sinners #3)

LULU

I take a last sip of my iced coffee, ready to get this final appointment of the day started. Oliver and I have plans later, and I can’t wait to try a new restaurant that opened down the street.

I shoot off a text to Oliver, letting him know I arrived and will be unavailable for a while. He’s been worried lately and reminds me more of a paranoid father than a boyfriend.

Me: Headed out to an appointment. I’ll text you when I’m on my way back to the city.

Only a few seconds pass before he replies.

Oliver: Send me your location .

I groan as I stare at the screen, my eyes stuck on his words.

Me: Why?

Oliver: Safety, babe.

I’m not dumb enough to think I’m invincible. I know the realities of walking into strangers’ houses and being a woman in today’s society. It’s almost impossible to trust anyone anymore.

Even though I hate the idea, I turn on my location sharing with Oliver so he’ll have peace of mind. I already share my location with my sister and parents, something they required when I was younger and never stopped because I didn’t feel like there was a need to.

Me: Done. Talk soon.

I tuck my phone into my bag and climb out of my car, soaking in the warm sunshine and the crisp air. Spring is near. I can feel it. Only a few more weeks before the frigid temperatures completely vanish until next year. It can’t come soon enough. This winter has been brutal.

The house is beautiful and looks like it could be in an architectural magazine, but that’s not uncommon for homes in this area.

One thing I love about my work is seeing the insides of houses that I would never be able to see otherwise.

Even the most put-together houses when it comes to decorating have overfilled closets and too many junk drawers stuffed with items the homeowner will never use.

I knock on the door and glance down at my watch. I’m right on time. I need to cut down on the small talk and get to work so I can be home at a decent hour and miss the worst part of rush-hour traffic. It doesn’t matter if you’re going into the city in the afternoon, it’ll still be awful.

The door opens, and I glance up, my eyes locking on someone I never thought I’d see again. My entire body goes cold, and I suddenly freeze, my body feeling like it’s filled with cement.

Before I can do anything, he reaches out and grabs my wrist, yanking me inside with so much force, my bag flies off my arm, scattering the contents everywhere.

The sudden motion is a shock, but one my system needs to remind my brain to fight back. I try to pull my arm away, but he’s too strong.

I scream, hoping someone will hear me.

“Ah. The sister,” Mark says with a sneer, his eyes filled with so much hatred. “This was way easier than I ever could’ve imagined.”

No. No. No. This can’t be happening.

We were all so worried about Zoey’s safety, I let my guard down about the possibility that I might be in danger too. I had been with Zoey when she’d confronted Mark, and I never thought he’d come after me because my mind doesn’t think like a criminal or a madman.

I struggle against his grip as he talks. His strength is no match for my tiny arms, and my gun is lying ten feet away, along with the rest of my things from inside my bag.

Everything Oliver said is true. I am an easy mark on social media. Anyone can get to me and lure me to their house, and today, that someone is Mark. The gun gave me the illusion of safety, but it does me no good when I actually need it.

“Let me go,” I beg, yanking my arm backward, but his grip is too tight on my wrist.

I took basic classes in self-defense, but in this moment, when fear grips my insides, I can’t remember a damn lesson.

“Please.”

Mark laughs like it’s a game. “Not on your life, baby,” he says, and the last word makes my skin crawl.

I’m not only worried for my life, but what he’ll do to me before he steals my last breath. I should’ve known better when Sarah, the person he was supposed to be, wanted a booking as early as possible.

Her social media presence wasn’t big, but a quick glance over her posts and everything appeared to be okay. I searched the property online, and it was owned by a Sarah Newel, who obviously isn’t Mark, but here he is .

“We’re going to have some fun first.”

My stomach twists, and every part of my body comes alive, screaming for me to get away from him.

He pulls me forward as I plant my shoes into the tile, trying to get the rubber soles to work in my favor. But even the rubber is no match for Mark’s strength against the shiny floor.

I use my nails, digging them into the skin of his arm as he drags me deeper into the house. I pull them toward me, ripping open his skin enough to make him bleed.

“Fuck,” he growls and stops moving.

For a moment, I think I have a small victory until he rears back, his fist clenched, and unleashes a blow against the side of my face.

Pain explodes behind my cheek, and everything goes gray, the colors of the foyer fading.

Never in my life have I been hit that hard, and never in my face.

I would’ve fallen backward, but his grip on my arm is too tight.

As I lift my head and my vision returns, he hits me again before I have a chance to brace myself.

But this time, nothing is gray, and everything goes dark.

My face throbs as I come to. Panic grips my insides as I realize where I am and who’s with me.

I don’t dare open my eyes. Not yet. I do a quick check, listening for the sound of Mark near me, but I hear nothing.

My clothes are still on, which is a relief, but everything else about my current situation has my heart beating double time.

How long have I been out?

Is anyone coming to get me?

I know Oliver will, but it could be hours, and I don’t know how many minutes I have left.

Mark isn’t sane. That much, I knew. No man does what he did to my sister and then goes through all the trouble to lure me here if they’re of sound mind.

Never in my wildest dreams did I think he could be a murderer when we were standing in his place as Zoey told him to drop the charges.

But the fact that he could punch me in the face twice without a second thought has me thinking I was wrong about him.

He’s way more dangerous than I ever could’ve imagined.

“You’re awake,” he says, his voice way too close to me. “You snore.”

I’m horrified to hear I snore. No one has ever told me that, but I push it out of my mind right now because it’s not important. I thought by staying still, he wouldn’t know whether I was still knocked out. I was wrong.

“I texted your bitch sister,” he says, “but she has my number blocked.”

I will my eyes to open, but the right side is too swollen to be any good. “Don’t hurt her.”

He laughs, and the sound sends goose bumps skittering across my skin. “The bitch deserves whatever she’s going to get.”

Man, this guy hates women. There’s no one sweeter than Zoey, and although she told him to drop the charges, he is the one who violated her. She’s the victim, not him.

“What did she ever do to you?” I ask, figuring if I can keep him talking, he’ll have less time to hurt me.

“She’s a whore.”

I do another body inventory, realizing my hands are bound and I’m lying on a couch as he sits on a coffee table next to me.

The look on his face is nothing short of terrifying. He has a wicked gleam in his eyes, one I didn’t see the last time I saw him. Mark is good-looking and has probably lured in way too many women with that face, making them all live a nightmare by making the wrong decision to sleep with him.

“Zoey’s not a whore,” I argue. I know I should keep my mouth shut for my own safety, but I can’t let him talk about my sister that way without speaking up to defend her. “She’s a good girl.”

His laugh is deep and sinister, making my goose bumps grow larger. “That bitch wouldn’t know good if it hit her in the face.” He reaches out, running the pad of his index finger along the top of my hand. “But I bet you do. I have a feeling you’re a very good girl, Lulu. ”

My stomach threatens to spill its contents, but somehow, I keep everything down.

Do not freak out.

Do not freak out.

Do not freak out.

I keep repeating the statement inside my head, but it doesn’t help an ounce to tamp down the fear that’s taken root deep in the pit of my stomach.

“Don’t touch me,” I tell him, pulling my hands away from his.

“Or what?” he says, scooting to the edge of the coffee table, closing the space between us.

“Or today’s the last day you’ll taste freedom,” I promise him, hoping Oliver will be here soon.

“I’d rather taste you first,” he says.

And with that, I freak the fuck out.