Stolen Mafia Bride by Mae Doyle
Tess
Marcelo busies himself in the kitchen while I tend to my ankle. It really isn’t that bad, but the last thing that I want to do is ignore it and then have a problem later when I’m trying to make a run for it. I’m getting out of here, no matter what he says.
It also gives me a chance to keep an eye on him while I pretend to be fussing with it.
Marcelo may say he’s not a monster, but the collar around my neck tells me something different. Reaching up, I run my fingers along its smooth edge looking for some place where I can grab it and pull it apart. The metal is cool against my touch and I grip it tightly, yanking hard in opposite directions.
But of course it doesn’t budge.
“Fuck,” I mutter, still keeping my eyes locked on Marcelo. It’s like he has no idea that I’m trying to get the collar off. It smells like he’s cooking bacon on the stove and even though I hate myself for it, my stomach grumbles at the aroma.
Closing my eyes, I exhale hard, then pull again, my elbows up and out to the side as I try to free myself. The collar is a hell of a lot stronger than I gave it credit for. Panting, I stop yanking on it and instead run my fingers along its smooth surface, trying to find out if there’s any other weakness I can exploit.
A button, perhaps, that will let me turn it off or open it, or maybe a crack that I didn’t notice? I’m willing to sacrifice all of my fingernails trying to yank it off if that’s what it takes for me to get free.
“You can try all you want, but there’s no way to get it off by yourself. That’s kinda the point of it, don’t you think?” Marcelo’s back is still to me but he talks as if he was watching me struggle with the collar. “Trust me, Tess, I’ve had it tested.”
“On whom?” I can’t help myself from asking. Carefully, so that I don’t put too much weight on my bad ankle, I slip from the counter and walk over to a stool. My ankle hurts, but I did a good job wrapping it and the Tylenol should kick in soon.
“That’s not something that you need to worry about.” He turns and brings a plate over to the counter, like he already knew that I’d gotten up and switched places. “Just trust me: it works, and it packs a hell of a punch.”
I let my eyes drift over him while he speaks. He’s beautifully sculpted, that’s for sure, with broad shoulders that narrow to a perfect waist. I have no doubt in my mind that, under his clothes, he’s wrapped in muscle. Hell, I could tell that from the way he picked me up like I didn’t weigh a damn thing and carried me over his shoulder.
His thick, dark hair is short, with a little bit of a curl in it. If I were out with him on a date instead of utterly terrified of the man, I’d already be thinking about forking my fingers through it and hanging on while I took him for a ride. Hell, I’m thinking about that now. Guilt washes over me at the thought.
Marcelo’s eyes flash to mine like he knows exactly what I was thinking. Flushing, I look at the plate of food he set in front of me just so I’ll have something to do besides stare up at him.
“Club sandwich. I really hope that you’re not vegetarian, because I don’t believe in that shit.”
“You don’t believe in vegetarianism?” Part of me wants to lie and tell him that I don’t eat meat just because I’m feeling contrary, but my mouth is watering so hard right now I’m sure he’d be able to tell I was lying.
“Nope. Fuck that noise.” He pauses for a moment like he’s drinking me in. His eyes flick across my face and down my chest, taking in the collar as looks at me. “Eat up and then you can take a shower. I’ll show you where you’re allowed to go.”
I tap the collar. “I thought that this would let me know when I’d gone too far.”
“Sure, but there are still some rooms in the house you’re not allowed to enter. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have a phone call to make. Eat up.” He turns away from me and leaves the room, pulling a phone from his pocket at the same time.
For a moment, I just watch as he leaves. I know that I need to eat but I can’t tear my eyes away from the man who kidnapped me. Because that, as much as I hate to admit it, is what just happened. He kidnapped me and put a collar on me like I’m some sort of dog and now he’s made me food that I’m actually considering eating.
Talk about fucked up.
Even though I can’t see him or make out what he’s saying, I can hear the low rumble of his voice from the other room. If I weren’t panicking over what just happened to me, I’d be enjoying the way his voice sounds.
“You’re one messed up bitch, Tess,” I whisper to myself, picking up a half of the sandwich. As I do, my mouth waters and I feel guilt over what I’m about to do. I shouldn’t be eating this right now. I should be doing everything that I can to get away from Marcelo and whatever he wants to do to me.
But I’m just so damned hungry.
I take a bite, closing my eyes as I taste it. The bastard put bacon, avocado, and turkey on it. It’s fucking delicious and I swallow quickly, cramming another bite into my mouth. I’m starving, even hungrier than I thought that I was a moment ago.
“You’re eating. Good.” Marcelo strolls into the kitchen, crossing his arms on his chest. “I didn’t want to have to tie you back up and force you to eat.”
The bite turns to sand in my mouth and I put the sandwich down on my plate before pushing it away from me. “You can’t just keep me like a stray dog. People will be looking for me, Marcelo.” I want to use his name as many times as I can. Once I watched a true crime documentary with Kristen and that was one of the survival techniques they talked about.
Apparently, using your kidnapper’s name can make them feel like you have a connection to them and will make them less likely to want to kill you. Of course, the documentary didn’t mention whether or not it would make the kidnapped person feel like they have a connection to the kidnapper.
I have a pretty good feeling that it probably goes both ways. The last thing that I need is to feel some sort of a connection to this asshole.
“That’s the thing, though, Tess. Nobody will be looking for you. I made a couple of calls. You just quit your job at the ER due to a “family emergency”. Your landlord is disappointed that a moving crew will be coming by later to clean out your apartment, but understands. It’s unfortunate when people just pack up and go like that, but sometimes that’s exactly what happens.” He shrugs, like we’re talking about something that’s happening to another person, not something that he’s making happen to me.
“I hate you.” Standing up, I push back from the counter before planting my hands on it and leaning forward to get a better look at him. It’s insanely unfair that the only man I’ve ever met that makes heat coil in my lower belly from how ridiculously hot he is, is also the one who kidnapped me and holding me hostage.
“Fine.” Marcelo waves his hand in the air like he’s brushing away what I just said to him. “Hate me if you want, Tess, I don’t give a shit. But you’re mine. You hating me isn’t going to fucking change that, so you might as well get used to the idea. You belong to me now. Everyone else that existed before me is gone. I could have killed you but I didn’t and you should be fucking thrilled that you’re standing here breathing. Or do you want to go back in time and have it end differently for you?”
Even though I’m almost completely certain that he’s not really threatening me and he wouldn’t shoot me just to prove a point, I swallow hard and shake my head. “You aren’t going to get away with this, though, you know that, right? Kristen won’t ever believe that I just left, because I wouldn’t do that to her. My job, my landlord, they might fall for it, but not her.”
“I have ways of dealing with Kristen, don’t you worry.” There’s a gleam in his eyes that I definitely do not like but I force myself to keep my eyes locked on him. I want him to know that I see him. I’m not going to look away, no matter how ugly he gets.
If I know who he is, through and through, then I have a much better chance of getting the fuck out of here.
“Now, Tess, are you going to finish your meal or do I need to put it in a blender and shove a feeding tube down your throat? Because honestly there are other things that I’d rather put in your mouth, but I have to keep you alive, and unfortunately you can’t survive on just sucking my cock.”
My cheeks flame hot. I feel them burn and I tear my eyes away from him, plunking myself back down on my stool. There isn’t any way that I could come up with an answer to that. It wouldn’t be coherent, that’s for sure.
To show him that I’m going to eat, I pick up my sandwich and hold it in front of my face, but before I take a bite, I have one more thing to say to him. “If your cock ever gets close to my mouth, I swear to God that I will bite it off.”
