He Didn’t Kidnap Me. Not Exactly

{Daisy’s POV}

The first thing I noticed when I woke up was that my hands were taped together.

The second thing I noticed was that the floor beneath me was vibrating.

Not gently. Not like a washing machine on the spin cycle. It was more like the steady, angry rumble of a vehicle moving over a road that had clearly been given up on… which led to the third thing I noticed.

I was lying on the floor of a moving van.

For a moment, I stayed perfectly still, because my brain was still booting up like an old laptop that had seen too many bad decisions.

Hands taped…

Moving vehicle…

Dark metal walls…

Two large men sitting across from me…?

Oh. 

Oh.

Oh shit. I had been kidnapped.

I would like to say that my first reaction was graceful and brave, something heroic and stout, but it was not.

My first reaction was to blink several times and think, “Well, this feels inconvenient.”

Then panic arrived.

My heart began hammering against my ribs so hard I was genuinely concerned it might break something on the way out. I sat up slowly, the tape around my wrists pulling uncomfortably against my skin.

Okay.

Okay.

Think, Daisy. Think.

The last thing I remembered was leaving the campus library.

I worked the evening shift there because apparently my life wasn’t stressful enough on its own and I needed financial anxiety to really spice things up.

It had been late and cold and I had been walking across the nearly empty campus parking lot. And then—

Blank.

Nothing, and now I was here; in a van, with duct tape and two men who looked like they could bench-press refrigerators.

Great.

Just absolutely fantastic.

I cleared my throat now and one of the men looked at me.

He had a bald head and the expression of someone who had never laughed a single time in his life. Pitiful.

“Good evening,” I said and he frowned at once.

“Stop talking.”

I blinked at him.

“Well, you kidnapped me,” I pointed out reasonably. “I feel like talking is the only compensation I have left.”

The man stared at me like he was reconsidering his life choices.

Across from him, the second guy frowned.

“Don’t say anything to her,” he told the first guy, then turned to me. “Can you shut up?”

I sighed also.

“Technically, yes,” I said. “Emotionally? Probably not.”

The van hit a bump then and my shoulder slammed into the metal wall.

“Also,” I added, wincing, “this ride is extremely uncomfortable. If you’re going to kidnap someone, you should really invest in better seating arrangements.”

The bald-headed guy rubbed his face like he had just been told his wife was pregnant with twins when he didn’t even want another baby.

“Fritzo,” he muttered to the driver and a voice came from the front.

“What?”

The man leaned forward slightly.

“She doesn’t look or act like the quarry. I think we grabbed the wrong girl.”

Silence.

The van continued moving and then the driver spoke after a moment.

“That’s the girl. And DeLuca will deal with things when we get to base.”

DeLuca.

The name sounded important and hearing them, I tried to sit up straighter now, ignoring the tape digging into my wrists.

“So,” I said conversationally, “who’s DeLuca?” I asked and neither man answered.

Rude.

The second guy muttered something under his breath now in apparent distress and I caught only part of it.

“…boss finds out we messed up with the Viper job…”

The Viper.

Well, that sounds extremely normal and not terrifying at all. I decided to ask about that too.

“What Viper?” I asked and both men glared at me. I looked between them. 

“You know,” I said, “I feel like if there’s a Viper involved in this situation, I should probably be informed.”

“Stop talking!” the bald-headed guy voiced firmly now. 

“I’m just saying,” I continued, “communication is important in stressful environments.” I preached. 

The van slowed now and the engine growled as it turned onto what sounded like gravel.

Both men suddenly straightened and one of them glanced out the back window.

“We’re here.”

Here?

Here where?

The van rolled forward, then suddenly the vehicle stopped after which I heard a mechanical sound outside— a deep metallic groan.

Curiosity got the better of me as I leaned sideways, trying to peek through the tiny back window, and that’s when I saw them.

Massive iron gates.

Like the kind you see in movies where rich villains live in dramatic mansions on cliffs.

They were opening slowly now and then the van drove through them.

I sat there in stunned silence as the vehicle rolled down a long driveway lined with perfectly trimmed hedges and glowing garden lights.

This was not a warehouse or a shady alley. This was not even remotely the level of kidnapping I had mentally prepared for.

This was as we passed a fountain; an actual fountain!… with lights and elegant statues.

What kind of criminals had landscaping?

The van finally stopped, the engine cut and then the doors opened.

Cold night air rushed inside while one of the men grabbed my arm and pulled me to my feet. I stumbled slightly as he dragged me out of the van.

And then I saw the house.

Calling it a house was actually insulting to it because this thing was enormous:

A massive stone mansion rose in front of us, lit by warm golden lights that spilled from tall windows.

Balconies.

Gold columns.

Glass doors.

The kind of place that looked like it belonged to a billionaire or a European royal family— or someone who owned at least three yachts.

I stared at it, then I looked down at my taped wrists. Then back at the mansion.

“Wow,” I said quietly.

The bald-headed guy shoved me forward.

“Walk.”

I walked toward the enormous entrance doors, still staring. Because if I was going to be kidnapped, I had honestly expected something a little less… expensive.

As the doors opened and I stepped inside the mansion, one very clear thought crossed my mind, something I was supposed to have addressed before now.

Who is my kidnapper?