“No. Just you.”
I pull her closer to me and swipe a wisp of hair behind her ear. Our hips are flush together, and there’s nothing I want to do more than kiss her, but I want to hear what she says first. I need to know she’s in this with me, or I might as well walk away now.
“I like you, Blake, but honestly, I’m not the relationship kind of girl,” she says, resting her hands against my chest. I slide my fingers around her neck and into her hair, holding her head up so I can watch her. Her lips part, waiting for that kiss that’s right between us, and I can feel how much I affect her, how much she wants to give in. “I just … I've never done what you're asking for, and we barely know each other.”
“I’m not proposing, Ivy, but I won’t share you. I’m too possessive for that. Just give us a real chance.”
She closes her eyes for a second, as if searching for words.
“I …” But I don’t let her answer. I slam our lips together and kiss her, the ferocity bolting us together. Her tongue licks against mine, and I curse the fact we’re not in her apartment. With a bed. So I can fuck her and make her realise just how serious I am.
“Oh, um, excuse me.” A man’s voice interrupts. My eyes open to see a grinning Ivy, and we both stifle a giggle before pulling apart, but I keep my hand locked around hers.
“Yes?” I prompt, not impressed with the disturbance.
“Have you seen a dog? A puppy. Little black springer. He’s run off.”
“Ah, no man. Sorry.” I look towards Ivy and see her face morph from pure mischief to one of shock and fear.
“Blake!” Her voice cuts through the air, and I turn in the direction she is looking at, but it’s too late. I don’t see anything, but I do feel the pain split across the side of my skull.
And then nothing.
Chapter Fourteen
IVY
No amount of me screaming into this hand is doing any good. I kick out with my feet, twisting and turning about in this one’s hold, and glance back at Blake on the ground as I’m being tugged away. A set of van doors opens in my periphery, and I’m dragged swiftly until I’m pushed inside, and the doors slammed shut.
My hands start beating the sides of it hard,screaming and bellowing for escape. Nothing happens until a side door opens, and Blake’s body is hauled into it by the balaclava-wearing guy who dragged me, and another guy dressed the same.
I launch at them both, anger and venom spitting out of my mouth to get them out of my way. I’m not being abducted in my own damn country. Kabul is one thing; this is entirely a different situation. And if they think they’re doing any more damage to Blake, they’ve got another thing coming, too.
A fist hits me in the jaw before I manage to gain any ground, enough power in it to send me crashing back towards the back doors. I cower, shocked at the red flash and throb of it on my face, and scoot my feet up into me. Christ that hurt. I swallow down the bitter taste of blood in my mouth and watch on as they wrap cable ties around Blake’s wrists and pull his phone from his jeans. It isn’t until they start coming for me again that I manage to find my voice.
“NO! Get off me!” The one approaching me smothers my mouth again and digs about in his pocket, eventually bringing something to my face and stuffing it inside my mouth. I gag, uncomfortable with the suffocating sensation, and then feel a piece of tape slapped across it. Try as I might, the mumbled fuck yous and swearing coming out of my mouth, as they cable tie my own hands, too, just get lost in the muffling. I fight to get my breathing under control, steadying my inhales as I watch on in horror as he grabs my phone out of my pocket and then slams the door on us.
The van’s moving within seconds, and I’m left not knowing what the fuck is happening or where we’re going to. Abducted? Who’d want to abduct me? Or Blake? I sit in shock, eyes wide and mouth trying desperately to get this tape off me. And then shoot across the floor to Blake to check he is actually breathing. He is, thank God, but the slash of blood coming down the back of his neck isn’t good. I nudge him with my shoulder a few times, then kick out at his leg gently in the hope of waking him up somehow. I can’t even touch his head with my hands behind my back, let alone try and do something about the blood still pouring from his wound.
I collapse beside him and slump against the side of the van. What now? This is worse than Kabul. At least there, I had an idea where I might be going and what for, but this is unknown territory. In fact, this sort of thing just doesn’t happen in the UK, and certainly not to a Broderick.
All sorts of thoughts run through my head as the van stops making jagged movements and eventually picks up speed. Ransom? Something to do with the author being dead? Something to do with my brother? God knows he must be involved in some dodgy shit to have friends like Locke hanging around. Oh god, there isn’t even a team of unknown soldiers out there that might be able to help this time, and this one—I look down at Blake still out cold—is about as much use as a newborn lamb in a fox house at the moment.
Shit.
Time drags on, with nothing happening but the road rumbling under us, and I eventually just start thinking of nice things to clear my head of the unending worry I’m trying to navigate. A walk in the park, hands held, an open man who wanted to talk and see where a relationship might go. That was nice. More than nice actually. It was real, honest, and authentic. Real talk—real thoughts.
A dead wife.
I frown and look down at him, watching the way his body shakes and shudders against the vibrations from the road. Married. I can see that. I can see a man who would be married and in love. I expect he was a good husband. Faithful, decent, happy. The quick succession of images of him with another woman make me wonder what he wore on his wedding day, what she wore, too. Wedding bands, smiles. And then thoughts come of her death, of having to watch your wife die in that kind of experience. Jesus. I can’t even comprehend that, but one thing’s for sure, I now know why he’s the way he is, why he has done nothing but try to protect me since we met.
I slump further down and end up with my head on his chest, hoping for his hero status to wake the hell up and get us out of this. I try smiling at that around the gag in my mouth, remembering him the first time we met. I can still hear the words now, still remember him telling me that fighting him wasn’t useful to the situation we were in. Maybe it wasn’t, but how was I to know he’d be anything more than just another man? He was back then—just another man in another country. Cute, but just someone who needed to know that Ivy Broderick doesn't need anyone, let alone a man, to complete her. I don’t know how I feel about that now, or him, or my own feelings on the matter considering his want for something other than just casual.
At least he’s honest.
And there’s no denying that he is hot.
And he makes me laugh.
