Page 11 of Captive Heart
Who are they? Where did they come from?
Why the hell do they have guns?
The three men work as a unit, forming an obvious and cohesive triad. But it’s the first one who I make eye contact with, the leader of the pack.
I have the strangest sensation of connection in that moment. I don’t know how to explain it properly.
For a solitary moment, it feels as though the fabric of the universe reveals itself to me, thousands of invisible strings connecting me to everyone and everything around me. These cobwebs are mostly the stuff of gossamer, too delicate and fragile to see.
But the webs connecting him to me are stronger somehow. A pulse of pure energy travels directly between us, shuddering along those strange strings.
I look into his exquisite, darkly lashed pale green eyes and I swear, I see a moment of recognition in their depths. I find him deeply attractive.
The men I find attractive are villains, nearly by their nature.
Then reality comes crashing in on me, time speeding up as if playing catch up for the moment before. One of the other men in suits shoots the other young man, dropping him where he stands. I straighten and turn, already running away.
“Fuck,” I hear one of the men mutter. From the sound of his voice, low, deadly and still so melodic, I know it is Him. “Get her.”
There is a grunt. My eyes widen as I flee across the parking lot. For a second, my heart pounds, and my brain allows me to think I might get away.
But then my right hand is grabbed. A scream escapes my lungs as I am ripped away from escape. I turn my head and look at the one that captured me. Not Him.
No, this one has the same dark hair and large frame. But he is rougher, his expression meaner. I feel his arm slip around my waist at the same time as I feel the push of cold steel into my belly.
He’s got his gun pressed flush against me, a wicked glint in his eye. My whole body revolts, kicking at him even though I know that he is probably going to shoot me. He reacts by jamming the gun into my tender belly. His face twists with a grimace.
“Quit resisting.” His lilting accent, I realize now, is Irish or Scottish.
“No!” I scream, fighting his hold. “Let me go!”
He jerks my hands behind me, neatly zip tying them together. He does it so fast that I have no doubt that he’s done it a thousand times. Then he grabs my arm and hauls me over to where the other two men in suits wait.
Out of the corner of my eye, I see that the young woman has fled. Maybe she will get help.
The main one of the three men in suits snaps his fingers in my face. “Hey. Right here.”
I focus on him, hearing blood rushing in my ears. He looks at me, a moment of humor passing across his face. It’s gone before I can name it, though.
“Persephone Corbin, I presume.” He tilts his head, waiting for a response from me.
I swallow, nodding. “Yes.”
His eyes rake over my body. I don’t know what conclusions he’s drawing about me, but I feel as though I am a fat pig being considered for slaughter.
“I am Hades Lyon,” he says, his Scotch burr rounding the vowels in his pronunciation. It’s pleasant enough that it sends a hot shiver rushing through my blood. Admittedly, I catch myself thinking that I could listen to him talk in this low, urgent voice all day.
He clears his throat. “These are my brothers, Ares and Eros. We are looking for someone with just yer skill set.”
I lick my lips, darting a glance to the bodies that the men left on the ground. “I’m… I’m not interested.”
My voice sounds desperate and cornered. I flush, though I don’t know why.
“We were told ye might feel that way.” His lips curl faintly at the corners of his mouth. “Ye didn’t ask what the skill set we require is.”
I look at Hades, feeling my heart skittering in my chest. “I don’t care. I want to be left alone.”
The one who holds my arm, the one Hades referred to as Ares, releases a sound of disgust. “Who cares what ye want?”