"No!" I thrashed against the restraints. "Let me go! I helped him, you can't–"
The world went black as they shoved me into the back of an SUV. When my vision cleared, I found myself face to face with him – the man I'd saved, the one who'd repaid my kindness with this.
"You son of a bitch!" I tried to headbutt him, bound hands swinging uselessly. "I should have left you to die!"
He caught my wrists in one massive hand, using his weight to pin me against the seat. Before I could scream again, his mouth crashed into mine.
The kiss was violence itself – all dominance and possession. His free hand tangled in my hair, holding me still as he invaded my mouth, teeth grazing my lower lip. I couldn't breathe, couldn't think, could only feel the brutal press of his lips and the heat of his body caging mine.
When he finally pulled back, I gasped for air. His smug smirk made me want to claw his eyes out.
"Ready to finally calm down now, sweetheart?" Mockery dripped from every word. "If not, and you're planning another tantrum – I wouldn't mind giving my boys in the front row a live PornHub show to finally shut you up and make you ride with us in silence like a good girl."
Ice flooded my veins. I froze, horror stealing my breath more effectively than his kiss had.
He smiled, satisfied by my silence, and turned to face the window. "Go," he ordered.
A black satin sleep mask appeared from the front seat. "Put this on, please. Don't remove it until told."
Time disappeared behind the mask. Each turn, each acceleration melted into the next until direction became meaningless. My bound hands had gone numb, my heart still racing from that forceful kiss – a warning of what he was capable of.
I stayed silent, his threat about the "PornHub show" still ringing in my ears. The man I'd saved sat beside me, his presence a looming shadow even through the blindfold. His occasional sharp intake of breath told me his wounds were bothering him – good. He deserved every twinge of pain. Asshole.
After what felt like hours, the SUV stopped. Hands guided me out, surprisingly gentle and polite compared to earlier. Someone untied my wrists, and finally: "You can remove the mask."
I blinked against harsh fluorescent light, finding myself in what had to be an office. Dark wood paneling, expensive furniture, power carved into every surface. The man I'd saved was already sprawled across a massive oak desk like he owned it – which, for all I knew, he did. A cigarette dangled from his lips while an elderly man in a white coat worked on his reopened wounds.
"Out," he commanded, and his men evaporated like smoke, leaving only the doctor continuing his careful work.
I stood there in my ridiculous fluffy pink bathrobe, painfully aware of his predatory gaze traveling from my bare feet to my tangled hair. My mind raced through escape scenarios, each more impossible than the last. The weight of my stupidity – helping him, saving him – pressed down like lead in my chest.
"Your name." His voice cut through my panic.
"Juliette," I answered, proud that my voice didn't shake.
"Not exactly a lucky name, is it? Nothing ever ends well for a girl with that name, I guess." His smile didn't reach his eyes.
Wow, how original. Something like that I haven't heard probably since school.
Annoyance flared, burning away fear. "Lucky enough to have survived dragging your not that lucky ass out of that alley."
His expression turned predatory. "Looks like this spicy kitten has sharp baby teeth, huh? But pulling them out won't be that hard."
"That's fine. Stronger, sharper ones will grow back in their place." I met his stare, refusing to back down.
His eyes locked with mine, tension crackling between us. Then his voice dropped lower, heavy and full of feigned curiosity.
"Do you keep those teeth hidden when you're working that pretty mouth of yours?"
The crude insinuation stunned me silent. The audacity this scumbag has!
Before I could recover and pick up my dropped jaw, he jerked suddenly, cigarette forgotten as pain contorted his features.
The doctor had pressed deliberately into his wound.
"What the hell, old man?!"
"A man your age should know better than to talk to a young lady like that," the doctor scolded, utterly unintimidated. "Especially one you've dragged to God–knows–where without explaining why."
Gratitude toward the doctor warred with fear for his safety. But the man just huffed and took another drag of his cigarette, glowering.
Finally, I found my voice. "So where am I? And why did you bring me here?"
Silence answered until the doctor finished his work, giving brief instructions about wound care to the man. Then he turned to me, his warm eyes a stark contrast to the office.
"Excellent stitching work, my dear." He cast a disapproving glance at the man on the desk. "This brute would have bled out without your help. Where do you study?"
I told him my university and specialty.
He nodded approvingly. "No need for a résumé then. Dante will explain to you everything else."
The doctor shuffled out, leaving me alone with... Dante, I guess.