Black Wedding by Emma Luna
Waking up feels like the most arduous task in the world, and I’m rocking the world’s worst hangover. For some reason, I can’t even remember what the hell happened last night. It’s really unusual for me to get so pissed that I’m like this the next day. My whole body feels like it’s held down by lead weights. Even opening my eyes is painful. Fuck, what did I do last night?
Even giving myself a mental pep talk isn’t quite enough to help me open my eyes. It’s a lot harder than it should be. But slowly, my eyelids start to open, and the bright light flooding into the room feels blinding. I mean, the light physically hurts, and I groan in pain. Shit, I really am in worse shape than I’ve ever been before. I need some painkillers and quickly. Luckily, I keep some in the drawer next to my bed, alongside my toys and knife, so I wouldn’t have to physically stand up. I’m not sure my stomach contents can survive that.
I feel like I’m running the last few meters of a marathon, when really I’m just trying to turn over in bed far enough to get the damn pain pills. Not that I have ever run in an actual marathon before, I just assume it’s very tiring and painful. I mean, I’m physically fit, but I’m not a crazy fitness freak. Most I’ve ever run is a 5k, and I was happy with that, but right now, my body feels like I barely know how to walk correctly.
I need to stop being a pussy and get my ass in gear so I can take my pain medication and then get on with my day. I’m sure I had something planned, but I can’t remember what. I also need to give Mia a call. If I’m this fucked up, she will be even worse. She’s the only person I ever drink with, and she knows how to let her hair down. We don’t go out often, but when we do, we really go for it.
Keeping my eyes firmly open this time, I roll over, causing my stomach to flip, but not because of my hangover. My vision clears rapidly as I take in the room. I don’t recognise anything around me. I jolt up in surprise, or at least I try to. My head starts to spin and I rest it back on the pillow quickly. I may live in a mansion with more rooms than I can count, but I know they all have some degree of floral wallpaper, except for two rooms; my own and my fathers’ office. Hell, my mum even decorated my fathers’ bedroom, despite never even sleeping one night in that bed. She decorated mine several times over, but every time I would get black paint and paint over it. Finally, after about the fifth time, she realised she shouldn’t have even thought about messing with a very stubborn fourteen-year-old.
Eventually, I ditched the black and settled for a gorgeous purple design, but this room didn’t have a hint of purple anywhere. The creams and blues, along with sparse decorations, told me this has to be a guy’s bedroom. I must have been totally wasted to break all of my rules. I rarely go home with guys, and if I do, I never stay the whole night. It had been close to a year since I had sex with a guy and a few months since I last let Mia drag me out. I have never really been into that lifestyle. It’s most definitely a buzzkill knowing my father’s men are standing outside the door. It isn’t exactly a big turn-on knowing they can hear, which is why I stopped doing it. For some reason, I left all of that at the door for this guy.
Looking around for any clues, I can’t see much with my head on the pillow, so I risk the inevitable headache and nausea and try to sit up, but they don’t come. Instead, I feel pain around my wrists and ankles and notice my arms and legs are tied to the bed. Some slackness in the ropes makes me think I might be tied down to prevent me from moving in some kinky sex game. This doesn’t feel like it’s about keeping me tied up for sex, I think it’s about making sure I can’t get up off the bed. Looking down, I see I’m in the same Led Zeppelin t-shirt I usually sleep in. I’m fucking relieved I’m not tied to this bed naked. But the fact someone has the fucking audacity to kidnap me is infuriating. What’s worse is my father’s fucked up excuse for security allowed it to happen. I won’t be relying on them to get me out of here. If I can, I will do it myself. I just need to work out where I am and why this asshole took me in the first place.
Take into account the cotton wool feeling in my mouth, the pounding in my head, and the rope around my wrists, it all helps my brain piece things together to try and work out what is going on. That’s when I remember the missing information. It all comes back to me like flashes of memories. The noise that woke me up and was followed by the large man that came bursting into my room. I also remember shooting the bastard, but he carried on advancing towards me. He was decked out in full combat gear, which is why the bullet didn’t stop him. Instead, it hit him straight in the vest, and that gave him the upper hand.
The last thing I recall is the guy’s big arms curling around me and his hand clasping something white over my mouth. Fucker drugged me, most likely with chloroform. I remember the smell so clearly. That sweet scent of acetone that reminded me of the cleanliness smell you get when you go into a hospital. What I want to know is why the fuck he chose me? Stupid question really since I already knew the answer. This could only be because of my last name. But this guy is messing with the wrong girl.
“Oi, you stupid fucker. Get the fuck in here and get me some water, pain killers, and a knife to cut this rope. I promise not to try to stab you with it.” I struggle to hide the sarcasm in my voice because I can’t even pretend that I’m not going to try to stab this dick with the sharpest instrument I can find when I get free. Of course, if he hands me the knife, that will be even better.
Looking around the bedroom as best as I can, I take in the lack of furniture. There is the double bed that I’m currently laying on, a bedside table with a lamp, two doors, and a chair in the corner. The small table next to the chair has two glasses on it, one is half empty. Some may have used the term half full instead. But I’m not an optimist most of the time, let alone at this fucking moment. Not while some guy has the upper hand over me. The thought of him sitting there, drinking a glass of water and watching me sleep, it infuriates me.
One of those doors is obviously the way in, but I’m not sure if the second door is a closet or a bathroom. Why the hell am I trying to analyse the structure of this damn room? I try to convince myself it’s because I’m planning my escape route, instead of what I’m really doing…snuggling into the comfiest bed I have ever slept in. Wow, whatever was on that white rag really has scrambled my brain.
“Get in here, you coward!” I yell, thrashing around and pulling on the ropes, but it isn’t helping. All it does is cause rope burns and makes the contents of my stomach slosh around to the point I’m starting to worry they will make an appearance very soon. My head is pounding like a marching band is holding a concert in there, but that doesn’t stop me from screaming a string of expletives at the top of my lungs. I figure it is better to shout abuse at my dickhead kidnapper rather than continue moving excessively. That will just result in me being covered in my own vomit.
I’m in the middle of another tirade of swear words that are so creative I’m not even sure they are actual words—apparently, I’m very confident that he is a massive thunder cunt, a douche canoe, and a jizznugget all at the same time—then halfway through trying to invent some new names for him, I hear the door swing open. A dark chuckle fills the room.
Am I hallucinating? I know chloroform can leave people messed up. Hell, my head aches and my mouth tastes like the bottom of a budgie cage, so they’re testament to that. But I have never heard of chloroform causing hallucinations. But, that’s the only explanation I can possibly think of to explain why I’m currently drooling over the man who kidnapped me.
Tall, dark, and handsome is like describing the Mona Lisa as simply a painting. It just doesn’t do him credit. He’s over a foot taller than me, but he doesn’t seem too tall because his broad, muscular frame makes him seem proportionate. He just oozes hard, ripped muscles, and they are easily visible, given how tightly his black t-shirt is plastered against his rock hard chest. I mean, the damn thing is nearly tearing at the seams around his biceps. At this point, I can’t drag myself away from continuing my perusal of this delicious excuse of a man.
If I thought his t-shirt fit him well, that’s nothing compared to how fitted his jeans are. The dark blue denim is stretched so taut across his thighs, I’m mentally begging him to turn around so I can check out his ass. I bet it will be one hell of an ass.
When it finally dawns on me that I’m staring at the guy’s crotch, I drag my eyes upward, all while hoping and praying that he has a face that makes me want to stare at his ass instead. He can’t be all perfect, I have to find some reason to hate him, besides him kidnapping me, of course. I should have known; I’m not that lucky.
This guy has the face of a God. His black hair is so dark that it shines. It’s just long enough to grab hold of when you’re running your fingers through it. It flops over his forehead slightly, and it won’t take much for it to cover his piercing green gaze. His angular, sharp jaw is covered with a splattering of dark stubble that matches his hair, but it’s his dark red, plump lips, currently drawn up into a smirk exposing those pearly whites, that really has my stomach flipping. His smirk is growing the longer I’m stupidly staring at him.
“You called, Princess?” he asks with a rugged drawl that totally matches his appearance. Fuck, trust me to get kidnapped by a gorgeous, cocky twat.