Page 19 of Stockholm (Angel of Mercy #1)

The Kept

I still remember every moment of my wedding night like it was yesterday.

My mother had spent an entire year planning the whole thing.

The wedding was gorgeous, of course, set in a large protestant church that could accommodate all of her and Father’s friends.

The afterparty was held at their country club party house, where the men drank until they were smashed beyond reason, loudly thumping each other on the back and falling all over the golf course while their women sat at the tables with their ankles crossed, discussing whose husbands had been seen with whom in hushed voices.

I hated the service. There was nothing of me in it, because nobody had thought to ask my opinion.

Mom had spent the better part of my life preparing me for and arranging my match to the perfect family, and throwing a grandiose send off for me into my days of marriage.

If I’m honest with myself, I wouldn’t have been able to contribute much anyway.

I had zero strong opinions, or any idea of what my likes and preferences were when planning started.

I’d simply done what Mom said a lady should—finished school, courted Eric, and accepted his proposal.

I hadn’t expected anything more from life, except to continue passively being present in a new house.

My house. The only difference being instead of pleasing Mom and Dad, it would be my new husband.

An older cousin of mine had warned me that the Eric I was seeing while we dated wouldn’t be the same one I would see after I married him.

His politeness was simply to prevent me from convincing my dad to throw off the wedding.

Her words had echoed in my head the entire service until I was an anxious mess in the back of the limo as we drove to the airport. The plane took us to London instead of Iceland, where I’d wanted to go for the honeymoon.

The full-body shaking started as we made our way up the elevator to the room.

I knew what sex was in theory. Mom had broken down what should happen tonight.

My cousin’s words had me convinced that Eric would be a totally different person once we closed the door.

That the man I’d started to understand would disappear.

I promised myself I’d try my best to be what he wanted during our honeymoon, while also knowing that if he became a stranger in those first moments it would break my heart.

All that stress had been for nothing. Eric had treated me like glass—all soft touches, and gentle handling.

The discomfort of being with him had been worth it to feel cherished for maybe the first time in my life.

I was absolutely starved for touch, and he barely went a moment without his hands on me somewhere.

His soft kisses and the whispered instruction to wrap my legs around his waist as he moved torturously slow inside me had eased the pain.

Whispers in my ear bit out the same mantra over and over.

Angel. His angel.

I felt beautiful. I felt seen.

I felt like I would happily dedicate the rest of my life to this man.

Now, only five years later, I’m staring at a barred window. Stolen away by a pair of the scariest men I’ve seen because of what they think Eric has done.

How do I reconcile this?

My reverie is broken by the sound of the lock and I push up to sit on my bed.

I’m not hungry. I’ve actually considered a hunger strike, but I’m not sure what to ask for from my captors if they ask me what my demands are.

In fact, I’m not sure that Noah would even care if I went through with it.

Surely my starved, dead body would be great for his campaign to hurt Eric .

The door opens and Noah fills the frame, sucking the peace from the room and filling it with a sharp energy.

He kicks it shut and lands his bizarrely colored eyes on me before gripping the back of the chair and dragging it forward.

The sound grates my skin as he pulls it to a stop a few feet away from where I lounge on the bed, and sits on it backward, so that his arms cross over the back.

His plain, black t-shirt strains at the movement, and my gaze lingers on his arms crossed over each other for a moment before blinking back up at him.

My panic over the last week has kept me from really looking Noah in the face, but the fear has bled away slowly. If he was going to kill me, assault me, wouldn’t he have done so already?

There’s a rugged, masculine energy to all of him, like his body just hums with strength and decision.

Thick, black hair lies haphazardly, always managing to look like he’s recently run his hands through it.

I catch myself picturing it in my grip, but shake that thought away.

His face has no softness to it, the dark stubble across his jawline wasn’t there the first time I met him.

This version looks a little too dangerous.

“If I’d known you’d be checking me out, I would have worn gray sweatpants,” he says and my face instantly flushes.

“I—no, I was not . What do you want?” I finish lamely, ready to crawl under my blanket.

He shrugs, watching me. I hate when he does this. I never know what to do with myself as the object of attention. I don’t know how to handle it. I pull my knees into myself and cross my arms around them, my nails digging into my skin, betraying my nerves.

“Just checking in on you. I know our last visit ended…abruptly,” he says. Abrupt is an interesting word for him insulting me and stalking away, slamming my door shut behind him.

“Mmm. Could be better, I guess. I have been locked in this room by an angry, strange man.”

Noah appraises me. “I’m not angry right now.”

I scoff. “That’s not really the most important part of what I said, is it? How long are you planning on keeping us?”

He shrugs again .

“I want to see Bo.”

He shakes his head. “Not yet.” When my eyes question him, he explains. “He’s okay. You two are closer than I had first assumed. You don’t need to worry, he’s fine.”

How can that be? The Bo I know is strong, full of life, outgoing and spirited. Being locked in a room? There’s no way he’s fine .

He must see the distrust in my eyes, because he pulls up his phone again.

When he turns it, I see Jesse sitting back on Bo’s bed, his head against the headboard, his body relaxed.

Bo’s reclined next to him, resting his head on Jesse’s stomach as if it’s a pillow, Jesse’s hand running slowly through his unruly mop of hair.

My heart skips when I realize I can hear them.

“No, I think we had different tastes in music. Plus you’re like, old as hell so that’s another reason we never ran into each other at any of the local concert halls,” Bo says, a small smile on his face.

Jesse scoffs, pulling lightly on Bo’s hair. “I’m not that fucking old. I’m only thirty.”

Bo’s body shakes with silent laughter. The corner of his mouth lifts in a bratty smirk. “Sorry, anyone in their thirties feels old to me.”

Jesse forces his head back so that he’s looking into his face. “Call me old again,” He says, running his thumb along Bo’s mouth.

I can see the flush in Bo’s cheeks through the camera, and it makes perfect sense with the way that Jessie looks at him.

“Um, right,” Bo’s flustered voice breaks the stareoff. “My turn. Hmmm…what was your favorite movie as a little kid? I’m talking about one you watched over and over again.”

Jessie leans back against the pillow, staring up at the ceiling as he considers this. “Probably Watership Down”

Bo’s brow furrows. “I don’t think I know that one.”

“I was obsessed with it. It sounds weird, just a bunch of rabbits that are leaving home and looking for a new place to live. But it was intense, man. And there was this one little guy that was always getting picked on for being small but he would have these visions that would save them over and over. I think I liked that, since I was a scrawny thing as a kid. He might not have been the biggest but he was still one of the most important characters.”

Bo watches him as he talks, rolling onto his back and putting his hand behind his head so that they’re both laying side by side. “Maybe we can watch it, I’d like to see.”

Jessie raises a brow, “Noah might break the TV if he sees it on. He had to watch it enough times as a kid because of me. He reminds me of Hazel. You’ll get it when you see it. Your turn.”

Considering this, Bo looks up at the ceiling, and for a moment it looks like he’s looking right at us. “Probably Land Before Time.”

“Oh, hell no,” Jessie says, spinning his lip ring back and forth. “They don’t make kids movies like that anymore, that leave you ready to off yourself after.”

Bo laughs. “No matter how gutted I was, I never considered not watching it one more time. It was the start of my found family obsession. I just wished I could find a group of friends like that to make living with my family more bearable.”

My heart aches for him and his words, and Jesse turns to look at him, studying the way Bo looks lost in the past. After a moment, Bo plasters a smile on and looks at the man next to him. “Sorry, didn’t mean to drag the mood down.”

Jesse just stares at his mouth. “You don’t have to do that here. With me. You don’t need to pretend to feel a certain way so the people around you feel better.”

Bo’s eyes widen. “I’m-I’m not…We just don’t need to talk about them right now.”

Jesse brushes his finger along Bo’s cheekbone, then curving to trail it along his jawline–pausing when he sees him swallow thickly. “What would you like to talk about now, Bo?”

Bo seems unable to form the words as he takes in the beautiful, almost elfish face that fixates on him.

Then he bites his lip and smiles. “Do you want to talk about how it's bad manners to kidnap people ‘cause honestly that was a wild choice to make if you just wanted to know about what movies I like. ”