Capture Me(35)

Here? My heartbeat jumps as I realize we’ve already landed. I must’ve fallen asleep at some point during the flight, my exhaustion outweighing my anxiety.

It’s another man carrying me now—Diego, the leader called him. His grip on me is not especially gentle as he holds me in front of his chest. However, I’m glad they’re not making me walk. After spending the whole flight with my ankles and wrists cuffed together, I’m not sure my cramping muscles would be up for the task. Not to mention that I’m so hungry I feel sick and dizzy. They took off my gag and gave me some water mid-way through the flight, but they didn’t bother feeding me.

As soon as Diego exits the plane, a wave of warm humidity washes over me, making me feel like I just entered a Russian bathhouse—or maybe a rainforest. The latter is probably a better comparison, given the thick, vine-draped trees surrounding the air strip.

Despite the terror circling through my veins, I’m dazzled by the greenery around me. I love nature—I always have, ever since I was a small child—and this place appeals to me on every level. The air is rich with the scent of tropical vegetation, insects are chirping in the grass, and the sun is bright despite a few clouds in the sky. For a couple of blissful moments, I feel like I’m in paradise.

Then I hear a car approaching and reality crashes in.

The owner of this paradise is going to torture and kill me.

My empty stomach clenches. I don’t want to give in to the fear, but I can’t help the dread that spreads through me as the car—a black SUV—stops in front of the plane.

The driver’s door opens, and a tall, broad-shouldered man steps out, the sun glinting off his short, light-colored hair.

I stop breathing, my eyes glued to his hard features.

Lucas Kent.

He’s alive.

His pale eyes lock on mine, and the world around me recedes, blurring out of focus. I forget all about my hunger and discomfort, about the cuffs restraining me and my fear of the future.

All I’m cognizant of is the stark, irrational joy that Lucas is alive.#p#分页标题#e#

He starts walking toward me, and I force myself to breathe again. He’s even bigger than I remembered, his shoulders wide and thick with muscle. Dressed in a sleeveless camo shirt and ripped jeans, with an assault rifle slung across his torso, he looks exactly like what he is: a ruthless mercenary working for a crime lord.

“I’ll handle it from here, Diego,” he says, approaching me, and I begin to shake as he reaches for me, his gaze sliding away from mine. Diego hands me over without a word, and my shaking intensifies as I feel Lucas’s hands on me again, his touch burning me even through the rough material of my prison jumpsuit.

Stepping back, he turns and begins carrying me to the car, holding me flush against his chest. He evidences no disgust at my unwashed state, and a shudder ripples through me as I feel the heat of his body seeping into me, melting some of the residual chill inside. I should be terrified, but instead I feel that awareness again—that irrational attraction I’ve only experienced with him. At the same time, a pressure gathers behind my temples, and my eyes prickle, as though I’m about to cry.

Alive. He’s alive.

It doesn’t seem real. None of this seems real. My reality is a gray, smelly cell in a Russian prison. It’s Igor’s greasy hands and Buschekov’s mirrored interrogation room. It’s hunger, thirst, and longing—longing for the life I lost when my parents’ car slid on black ice, for the brother I only saw in pictures, and for the man I’d known just one day.

For the man I thought I’d killed—the one holding me right now.

Could all of this be a dream? A fantasy concocted in my exhausted, sleep-deprived mind? Could I even now be passed out at the interrogation table, with that screeching alarm about to jerk me back to consciousness?

Lucas’s face blurs in front of my eyes, and I realize I am crying, fat, ugly tears welling up and spilling down my cheeks. Embarrassed, I automatically try to wipe them away, but my hands, still cuffed to my ankles, can’t reach that far. The motion ends up being jerky and awkward, and I see Lucas’s face turn to stone as he glances down at me.

“You fucking bitch,” he says so softly that I can barely hear him. “You think you can manipulate me with your tears?” His grip on me tightens, turning hard and punishing as he stops in front of the SUV and glares down at me, as if waiting for a response. When I don’t give him one, his features harden further. “You’re going to pay for what you did,” he promises, his voice filled with quiet fury. “You’re going to pay for everything.”