Chapter Two

The call went dead without warning.

The shrill dial tone echoed through the cold, empty warehouse. The three kidnappers stood there. The youngest scratched his greasy hair, completely lost. "Wait, boss, what did that rich boy mean? When he said 'as long as you've got the nerve to touch her, I've got the money,' it sounded more like he was looking for an excuse to have us taken out."

The scarred leader spat and ground his cigarette butt viciously into the floor. "Who cares what he meant! All I want is the money! This girl was on the front page of The New York Times yesterday as his fiancée. A family like that would pay anything to save face. Set up the camera. Get some footage that'll scare them, and I bet that Walker kid pays up!"

Before he'd even finished, he pulled out a handkerchief that reeked of something sickly sweet and pressed it hard over my mouth and nose.

The strange smell rushed into my lungs. The world spun violently, and my nerves started to tingle and burn like they were on fire.

The sound of tearing fabric exploded in my ears. The neckline of my knit sweater was ripped open.

The young one hesitated. "But boss... we were only supposed to hold her for a couple of days for ransom. Young Mr. Victor just took over and he's cleaning up the family's old business. He's banned us from touching any of this dirty stuff. If he finds out..."

"Don't you dare mention him!" The scarred man slapped him furiously. "You actually believe that kid can make us go straight? What's the Mafia supposed to live on, doing honest business? That's just a show for the FBI! And even if he catches us, we'll hand the girl to him. The things he does to people are a hundred times worse than anything we'd do!"

"Is that so?"

A man's voice, completely without warmth, cut in suddenly from the doorway.

Two bodyguards in black pushed the heavy iron door open. Against the cold, gray light outside, a tall, lean man walked in, unhurried.

He wore a beautifully tailored black cashmere overcoat, idly turning a silver lighter between his fingers. His pale gray eyes swept over the mess in the room, and the corner of his mouth held a dangerously amused smile.

"Why don't you show me right now how you're planning to hand her to me?"

The three desperadoes who'd been so full of themselves a second ago dropped to their knees on the concrete floor in unison, as if someone had pulled out their bones.

"M-Mr. Victor..."

The scarred man's face went white. Shaking like a leaf, he scrambled forward and pointed at me. "Sir, we... we got her as a present for you! An Upper East Side girl! We already gave her the drug, so she won't fight..."

The man they called Victor frowned, and his eyes fell on me.

His face was almost wickedly handsome, every line of it sharp and deep as a sculpture. But the menace coming off him was so heavy it was hard to breathe.

The fever from the drug was racing wildly through my body, but the second our eyes met, I still couldn't stop myself from shuddering. On instinct, I curled up and shrank back.

He raised an eyebrow, walked slowly over to me, and crouched down on one knee.

From his coat pocket, his long fingers drew out a silver folding hunting knife. With a click, the cold blade flashed in the dim light.

"This might hurt a little. Hold still." His voice was low and pleasant, but in my ears it was colder than a blizzard. "I'll get you out of here."

Get me out?

He was going to kill me?!

The last thread of reason snapped, and the instinct to survive took over completely. Ignoring the burning heat and weakness inside me, I grabbed his cashmere sleeve with my bound hands, looked up at him with red eyes, and begged. "Please... don't kill me! I can give you money. If I live, I'll find a way to pay whatever ransom you want!"

"I really... I really don't want to die in the next couple of years. Please..."

Victor looked down at my hands clutching his sleeve, then raised an eyebrow, half amused. "You don't want to die in the next couple of years? What, you're picky about the date?"

My mind was a mess. The drug had burned away almost all my logic, but I didn't dare not answer. "B-because... my parents spend all their time doing ecological research in the Amazon rainforest. They only come out every two or three years... If I die now, there'll be no one to bury me. I haven't even gotten to enjoy anything yet. It'd be such a waste to die now..."

The hand holding the knife paused, so slightly you could barely see it.

A rare flicker of surprise crossed his cold face. Then the corner of his mouth tugged up, just barely.

And the heat inside me finally swept my reason away.

Being torn apart by a few desperate thugs, or giving in to this dangerous man who held all the power. I barely hesitated.

Borrowing courage from the drug, I leaned in, trembling, tipped my head up, and pressed my burning lips to his cool, thin ones.

"I'll be good... I won't fight you."

"Whatever you want... it's okay..."

The whole warehouse went dead silent. Even the bodyguards seemed to stop breathing.

For one second, Victor's eyes went frighteningly dark.

The next, his cool hand gripped the back of my neck and firmly pulled me away.

With one clean stroke, the knife sliced through the rope around my wrists.

"I never planned to kill you." His voice was rough, with the weight of a verdict. "And I don't take anything from a woman who can't say no."

He shrugged off his cashmere coat, wrapped it around my torn sweater, and lifted me into his arms as if I weighed nothing.

"You're coming with me, Chloe. And you're going to sleep this off."

Over my head, his voice dropped, flat and lethal, to the men still kneeling on the floor. "Take them. I'll deal with them myself."

I sank into the coat, which smelled of cigars and cold cedar, and finally let the dark take me.