Filthy Bastard by Madison Faye
Chapter Two
Nicole
The hot water streams over my skin, and I finally, finally, feel the stress of the day easing out of me. Actually, it’s more like the stress of the last month, or maybe a year, who knows. Whatever it is, I close my eyes, and try to let the rest of the world just fade away.
Coming back to Boston is never a pleasant experience for me, and if history says anything, this trip back home in particular should be horrible. It’s my mom’s birthday this weekend, which is never a joyous occasion, seeing as my mother is the type who’s going kicking, screaming, and surgically enhanced into older age.
This time, however, I got a small reprieve before diving into the viper’s nest of my parents’ house. Since I have an important interview set up at Harvard this weekend—tomorrow, actually—as part of my law school application. Since I was flying in so late, I mentioned maybe just staying at my dad’s downtown condo for the night instead of driving all the way out to the suburbs only to drive right back in tomorrow morning.
Dad thought that was a great idea.
The real truth is, I did the Harvard interview over a video conference a week ago, but I didn’t need to tell my parents that. I needed an excuse to take a night before diving into my mom’s birthday nightmare, and I definitely needed an excuse to get the hell out of New York for a breath of air.
Yeah, it’s been a week. Or a month. Or a year, who knows. There’s school, law school applications, the LSATs, my job at the courthouse records department, and my creep of a boss.
And then there’s Trevor.
My lips pinch tight, anger flashing over me and ruining the moment of shower-calm. I blink, reliving what happened a few nights ago, before I finally left to stay with a friend. Looking down and half turning, I scowl at the bruise on the side of my ribs, and then turn to glance at the other one on the opposite shoulder from where the first hit knocked me into the table.
Fucking asshole.
My boyfriend—well, my fucking ex-boyfriend now—tried to make up for it by then trying to get me into bed, like that was his big “please forgive me” move. And then when I said no, he decided that trying to drag me in there was the next move.
Yeah, fuck that little prick with the little prick.
Thankfully, I got out, called a friend, and spent the rest of the night there before getting on the first flight I could into Boston. And so, here I am. It’s not like I ever love coming home, but it’s better than what was back in New York right now. I look up through the fancy non-fogging glass of the shower and into the equally non-fogging mirror across the bathroom. My eyes take in the bruises, but then I pull back and take in the rest of me too, naked and wet under the shower spray.
Yeah, fuck Trevor. He doesn’t deserve this anyways.
I close my eyes again, letting the steam and the water surround me and letting the world melt away. I honestly have zero idea what I’m doing next, but I need a change. Or a vacation that lasts a freaking year. At this point, it feels like I’ve been moving, and studying, and working, and cramming, and ignoring all pretense of a social life for years—maybe my whole life. And with one punch from my asshole of a boyfriend, it’s all come sharply into perspective.
I soap up and rinse off, deciding to skip washing my hair for now. I stand under the spray another few minutes, luxuriating in the opulence of it and trying my best to not think too hard about what my father does here. Yeah, gross. It’s not even that big of a secret why he has this luxury, total bachelor pad of a pied a terre. Yeah, he says it’s for those late nights when it doesn’t make sense to drive all the way home just to come back to the city first thing in the morning. But at this point, it’s pretty clear it’s so that he can get away from my mother and sleep with other woman.
As it happens, my parents are also in the middle of one of their epic screaming fights. Apparently, mom found lipstick marks, or a phone number or something, which means their house is probably World War Five right now.
Yeah, no thanks. One more reason to avoid this debacle of a birthday weekend.
I’d feel awful for my mother. But as it happens, I’m also well aware that she’s been screwing their gardener for the last three years, so at this point, they both deserve each other and whatever misery that brings them.
Yeah, a regular happy TV family over here at the Keen residence.
But at least for one night, I won’t be around them to hear them nit-pick every single detail of my life. No dad scowling that I’m not somehow already a supreme court judge at twenty-two. No mom asking me when she’ll be getting grandchildren.
Yeah, you now, in all my free time when I’m not too busy becoming a judge or a partner at a firm. No big deal, mom.
Eventually, I shut the water off and step out to grab a big fluffy towel. I dry off slowly before plugging in the hairdryer and combing out my long red tangles. Okay, maybe I should have conditioned. But seriously who the hell am I trying to impress?
I finish and put it away and take another second to look in the mirror. I pull the towel away, my eyes moving again to the mean looking bruise on my side, and the scraped second one up on my shoulder.
Fucker.
I turn, still holding the towel as I pad across the bathroom and open the door. I step out into the condo and head for the bedroom, when suddenly, every hair on the back of my neck goes up. It’s like a sixth sense—like there’s a little tingle that goes up my spine. I shiver, and I start to turn, when suddenly, there he is.
Oh holy fuck.
A primal, animal instinct explodes through me, and I’m half frozen as I start to open my mouth to scream. But the man is on me in a second, his huge hand clamping over my mouth as I scream into it. My pulse spikes, and panic and fear lance through me as he suddenly just lifts me into the air and hugs me tight to his chest.
And the man is huge. The arms holding me are like steel bars, the chest I’m pressed against rock-hard and chiseled under his shirt. I scream another muffled scream into his hand as the kickboxing classes I took last year start to rush into my head. I lash out, slamming a knee into him and making him grunt as he staggers into the bedroom. My pulse hammers harder, my eyes seeing the bed as my body goes cold.
I know he’s much bigger than me, and stronger, but that doesn’t mean I’m giving in without the fight of my life.
I scream again, clawing and thrashing at him like a fucking rabid animal. He grunts, absorbing every hit before he suddenly snatches something off the bed. I don’t know what it is until he stuffs it into my mouth, and then realize they’re the fucking panties I laid out for after my shower.
I scream again, but this time it’s even more muffled. He starts to turn, and I grunt as I slam my knee into him as hard as I can. The guy snarls, but we go stumbling out of the bedroom and into the main living area. I kick him again, and he hisses in pain as we both go toppling over the arm of the couch and onto it.
And suddenly, I’m face to face with him, looking up into his eyes as he pins me thrashing to the couch. I blink, and I go still for one second as our eyes lock.
Holy shit.
The guy is freaking gorgeous. Like, ridiculously hot—like it’s a rough-around-the-edges model pining me to the couch. Sharp, crazy-intense blue eyes, a strong jaw, and dark, short cropped hair. Instantly, my breath catches, and my pulse skips. And fuck me, butterflies flutter through my stomach.
...What the fuck is wrong with me?
I wrench myself back from the fantasy that burns through my head, forcing myself to realize what’s really going on here. Hot or not, a huge fucking psychopath has me pinned almost naked to the couch, his weight holding me firm as his eyes burn into mine.
I gasp as he suddenly flips me over, and that same pulse of fucked-up fear-meets-excitement rushes through me as he pins me face-down to the couch. He tugs my hands behind my back, and I shiver as I feel him slip something that feels like plastic rope over my wrists and pull it tight.
He moves to my ankles, and I buck against him before I remember I’m fucking naked. Crimson burns my cheeks, and I clench my legs as tight together as I can. I lash out, feeling triumphant when I feel my foot connect with his face. But those huge hands are on me in seconds, pinning my ankles together and binding them with the same plastic that’s around my wrists. A blue and white bandana goes around my jaw, tied tight to keep the panties in my mouth.
Oh God. Oh God.
He yanks at the towel, and I feel like I’m about to cry before he pulls it around me, tucking it in so that it’s actually covering me up entirely. I frown, blinking in confusion until, with a gasp, he’s lifting me effortlessly up in the air again and tossing me over his shoulder.
I scream and thrash as he marches across the condo to the front door and opens it. He glances out, seemingly totally oblivious of my muffled screams and twisting body before he steps out into the hallway, towel-clad me over his shoulder. He moves quickly, storming down the hallway to the maintenance door. Past it, he pushes the button for the cargo elevator, and the doors open instantly.
Where the fuck is he taking me?
I keep fighting, kicking and screaming into my gag as we ride it all the way down. He steps out into the empty parking garage for the building, completely ignoring my muffled yells as he marches right over to a jet-black and chrome muscle car.
He pops the trunk, and my heart jumps into my throat as he puts me down, barefoot on the cement floor, and pins me to the side of the car. His huge hand slides over my hip, and when the other one slides to my neck, something insane pulses through me.
I want to say it’s fear, but shamefully, that’s not all it is…
He lowers his face so that he’s eye-to-eye with me, and once again, I’m utterly frozen staring into those big, gorgeous blue eyes of his. My eyes slide over his face, really taking him in for the first time and trying to ignore how much it makes my heart race.
Dark, close-cropped almost shaved hair, those piercing blue eyes of course, a chiseled, slightly scruffy jaw, and absolutely perfect lips.
Yeah, my kidnapper might actually legit double as a fucking model.
His eyes burn hotly into mine, and a shiver slowly trembles through me as my pulse hammers in my ears. I force myself to glare at him, anger covering fear and whatever other shameful feeling he’s making me feel right now.
“Listen to me,” he growls deeply, his voice this rugged, smoky baritone. I swallow, narrowing my eyes even more at him. And almost infuriatingly, he smiles.
“We can do this two ways. You can sit in the car like a normal person and keep quiet while we drive out of here.”
Oh, fucking sure.
“Or if you don’t think you can handle that, there’s always…” his eyes slide to the back of the car and the popped trunk, and my stomach sinks.
Oh, fuck that.
“Fuck you!” I spit at him. But of course, through freaking panties and a bandana, it sounds like utterly ridiculous mumbles.
The gorgeous asshole smirks.
“I’m not here to hurt you, sweetheart. But you are coming with me.”
He reaches for me, and the last of my fighter instinct kicks in.
“Fuck you, you fucking piece of shit!” I bellow through my gag as I lunge foreword and slam the top of my head into his face. He grunts, and I know I’ve hit his nose based on the stream of swears. He snarls and pushes me back, pinning me to the car at arm’s length.
He glares at me, a little drop of blood trickling from one nostril.
“Right, so trunk it is.”
“Wait, no!”
I scream, kicking and squirming as he grabs me. But c’mon, who am I fooling—the man towers above me and must be twice my weight in pure muscle. He lifts me like I weigh freaking nothing, effortlessly hauling me to the back of the car.
I’m still screaming and thrashing as the gorgeous kidnapper sets me down in the trunk, gives me one last piercing, smoldering look, and the shuts it.
The car rumbles to life a second later, and my heart is still racing like a train as we start to move, going who knows where.
…Who knows where, naked, in the trunk of a car driven by possibly the most sinfully attractive man I’ve ever laid eyes on.
Yeah, there might be something very, very wrong with me.
