Page 33 of The Professor

“You’ll all go to prison for this, for a long time.” I bucked against the chair. It was no good. I was stuck to it. “You’re a bunch of fucking assholes.”

“You’d better check it is her?” The posh guy again, he was close, taking off the handbag I’d had over my head. “You’re the only one who knows her.”

I flicked my head from side to side, trying to shake the hood off, trying to stop him taking my bag that held my iPhone.

And then suddenly the hood was gone. I blinked and took in the room. It was large and shadowy, with a bay window and big table. But the most notable point were the five masked men standing staring at me. They were a mixture of sizes and wearing a mixture of fashion styles, but what they all had in common were Union Jack bandanas over their faces.

All I could see were their eyes.

“Is it her?” The beefy guy said. He was the one who’d grabbed me.

They all turned to one broad-shouldered man who was standing further back, in the shadows. He wore a baseball cap pulled low, a black t-shirt, and dark jeans.

I stared at him.

Stared some more.

He nodded.

“Thank the good Lord for that,” Irish Guy said, “we’ll put the demand in. You coming, Mitch?”

“Don’t use my fucking name, moron.” The guy at his side shoved him.

“Ah sorry, mate, forgot.”

“Smooth!” I snapped. “I’m guessing it’s your first time kidnapping, eh Mitch?”

He turned to me and waggled his finger. “Shut the fuck up, little Miss Rich Girl.”

Suddenly the man from the shadows emerged and clasped Mitch’s shoulder in a firm grip. “Watch how you speak to her,” he growled.

Mitch shrugged, and a frown drew his dark eyebrows together. “You wanna handle her, you’re welcome, this ain’t my comfort zone.”

“Yeah, I wanna handle her, so get out, all of you. Now!”

I froze. I swore all the blood in my veins turned to ice, glacial ice.

What the hell?

The men trooped out, a shuffle of feet then the slam of the door.

Bossman, or at least he appeared to be in charge, came toward me, eyes flashing and mask giving nothing away.

I stared at him. Stared even though my vision was blurring, closing in, and my pulse beat so loud I could hardly hear my thoughts. Crazy thoughts—this-couldn’t-be-happening thoughts.

I-knew-who-he-was thoughts.

He walked behind me and set his hands gently on my shoulders.

“You have to let me go,” I said with a shake in my voice.

“No.” He leaned closer, his cheek near my temple, pressing on my riotous hair. “We can’t do that. There’s too much at stake.”

His name caught in my throat. His voice. His cologne, the way he touched me…

I’d been kidnapped by my goddamn professor.

“No one is going to hurt you, Chelsea Taylor. I’ll make that promise to you. No one will hurt even a hair on your head.”He swept my mass of hair over my shoulder. “So no fucking screaming, okay.”