Chapter 4

EMMA

No.

Something is happening.

It’s like there’s a black cloud hanging over my head, about to explode with rain at any given moment.

No, no, no.

Whatever it is, whatever this nasty shadow is, it’s coming for me. There isn’t a damn thing that I can do to keep myself safe.

It’s like there’s a snake creeping up my spine, chilling me to the bone. I have never experienced a fear quite like this before.

It’s horrible.

It doesn’t help that there’s a builder’s site in my head. My skull is absolutely pounding with pain, like someone is drilling in there.

It would really help if that could stop.

I blink a few times, letting a searing bright light slide into me. God damn it, what the hell is going on? Why do I feel like this is the worst hangover I’ve ever experienced, but I don’t have any memory of a night out?

Actually… I don’t remember what happened, how I got here.

Even though it hurts to do so, I push myself up into a sitting position and I try to steady myself. But since I don’t know where the fuck I am, it isn’t easy.

What the hell?

Why would I be in this strange place? A place that has the feeling of a cabin in the woods? That isn’t the sort of place I’d go on vacation, so this is so weird…

Oh shit.

Flashbacks of the previous night hit me like snippets from a film reel. Wilson Anderson, the man who I thought was my friend, who I wanted to help me, with his gun. His gun in my face as he demanded I come with him. To keep me safe… to stop me from dying too, at least that’s what he pretended at the time. I don’t think that was true, though.

What the hell was that all about?

Who the hell is he?

How does he know my father’s safety password?

Wilson Anderson pretended to be someone he isn’t to get close to me, and I really can’t figure out why. All I know for sure is that man is not a friend. He can’t be trusted.

With my heart racing in my throat, I step lightly on the floor and take one step forward. It’s then I notice a giant weight strapped to my ankle. A monitor or something.

The more I try to wrench it off my ankle, the tighter it feels. My heart sinks. My father is a mob boss, sure, but I’m not part of that world.

I’ve purposely kept away to avoid situations like this, to remain safe. That’s why I’m here in New York, not in Ireland, so I can be me.

Or not.

I guess my past, or my family’s past, has come back to haunt me anyway.

I tip toe over to the door, trying not to get too weighed down by the monitor on my leg, and I brush my fingers over the wood. Much to my intense surprise, the door swings open.

Why the hell am I not locked inside?

That seems seriously odd.

With my pulse pounding, I dare to step forwards. A part of me expects to be taken down in an instant, but that doesn’t happen. Not only do I not get tackled, I don’t see anyone either. No one yells at me, tells me to get down, threatens me…

What the hell am I doing here?

I definitely don’t know this place. It’s someone’s family cabin, but not mine. Unless it’s a safe house owned by my father that I know nothing about.

But then why do I have a monitor on my leg?

I’m pretty sure if this was my father, then I’d known about it by now.

I don’t know why I’m here, but since the bedroom door opened easily, without me even needing to push it, and I can see the front door right there…

It doesn’t matter if I’m monitored. If I can run fast enough, then I can get away. I can escape and get someone to help me tear this shit off. Maybe even the police.

I know I shouldn’t ever go to the cops about anything… my dad has always made that very clear. But then I never expected to end up in this situation, did I?

The anticipation builds as I step closer to the main door, but this feeling is hopefully the worst of it. Once that door is open and I run as fast as I can, I won’t have time to freak out like this. I will have something to do.

Tentatively, I reach my hand forward, still expecting to be knocked over by my attacker, but since no one comes, I finally connect with the wood…

It starts with a little shudder running through my fingertips, but soon grows into something more. Before I can even wrap my head around anything, it becomes a lightning bolt of shock, a jarring experience that leaves me momentarily paralyzed.

So paralyzed that I can’t stop my body from flying backwards like someone has shoved me.

I’ve been zapped by something, and now it’s knocked me on my ass.

Hard.

Holy shit, I was not expecting that.

Since I’m already in pain, it takes me a moment to regain myself. I prop onto my elbows, just as a hand stretches out in front of me. Panic threatens to consume me. Who is this?

Ever so slowly, my eyes run up this man’s body. He’s shirtless, with muscles covering his torso, and beardless, too. But that doesn’t mean I don’t recognize the face. I’d know that God damn face anywhere, even if he’s shaved now.

Wilson.

I scoot backwards, so I can really see him. He’s sweaty, but clean now. He has less hair and he’s no longer hunched and disheveled, but there’s no denying it’s him.

Wilson Anderson really did have me fooled.

I hate the way my mouth runs dry. The way the sexy dream I had about him floods me, especially since he looks more like my fantasy version of him. I do not want to be thinking about any instant attraction right now. That’s insane. This man kidnapped me and now has me in his cabin… why?

Well, I don’t know what he wants me here for. That’s the worst part of all of this.

“Come on,” he says in a much softer voice than he used on me last night when he was barking endless orders my way. “Let me help you.”

I shake my head hard. My fight or flight instincts have kicked in and I need to run. I try again, racing for the door, hoping that now that I’m prepared I can overcome the electric shocks, but that doesn’t happen.

The shock hits me just as hard, if not harder, and sends me flying backwards again.

There’s no escaping this, but I’m not upset about it. I’m not about to weep like a freaking baby. In fact, I’m fuming.

“What the hell is going on here, Wilson?” I snap in a much stronger voice than how I feel inside. I stagger to my feet, acting like I’m tougher than him, even if he did overpower and kidnap me. Even if I do know that there’s a gun somewhere. “Why are you doing this to me? I don’t understand. I helped you in the clinic, or I thought I did anyway. I guess that was all a trick, wasn’t it? You know my father runs the Irish Mafia, don’t you? This shit is insane.”

But Wilson continues to ignore me. He walks towards the kitchen like I just asked him what’s for breakfast or something.

“Are you even listening to me, Wilson? You can’t keep doing this to me…”

He shoots me a death stare. “Owen.”

“Huh?” I have to admit, that stops me in my tracks. What the hell is he talking about now?

“My name. It’s Owen Jackland.” Owen Jackland?

Wow, that’s weird.

I’m so used to thinking of him as Wilson Anderson, so this is strange. But I guess it makes sense that he lied to me since he didn’t tell me anything real about himself. The beard, the sickness, the struggles… it’s strange to think that none of that was true, and I was so deeply sucked in.

But I’m not about to be sucked all the way in.

“Okay, whatever, Owen Jackland,” I spit out while waving a dismissive hand. “You still don’t have the right to bring me here, wherever this is. You haven’t even explained to me what’s going on. You just stormed into my place of work with a gun, telling me that Blake had been killed, repeating my father’s password, and for what? For this?”

I wave my hands around in dismay. I don’t want to be here, with this monitor clipped to my leg, staring at the man I thought I knew, but who has become a stranger. I honestly wish that I could just close my eyes and wake up in my own bed, with none of this being real.

I’d even take waking up in the clinic and having a few more hours to the end of my shift than this.

“Are you hungry?”

I blink in surprise. Did he really just ask me that? I’m trying to get answers out of him. Why is he refusing to give me anything?

“I’m just about to cook. Do you want anything, Emma?”

My stomach growls, betraying me, but still I shake my head in irritation. “I don’t want anything cooked by you. You might poison it.”

Owen offers me nothing more than a one-shouldered shrug. “It doesn’t matter to me what you do. If you want to starve, that’s up to you.”

I don’t know how I’m supposed to feel, but it’s like all the air has been whipped out of my lungs. All I can do is watch in shock as he starts preparing a meal that’s obviously just for one. Him. He really doesn’t give a shit if I starve or not.

I remain standing where I am for a few moments, basically in shock, while I watch him move around the kitchen with ease. He obviously knows this place well. The so called homeless man has clearly spent a lot of time here, cooking and living in comfort. Not on the streets like he told me he did when he had me fooled.

But I don’t have time to focus on that.

Not when he’s still topless and his muscles are rippling.

The attraction I didn’t want to feel for Wilson Anderson flows through me.

The desire I definitely shouldn’t feel for my kidnapper, Owen Jackland, surges through me as well. He really does have a body to die for.

I’m intrigued by the tattoos covering him as well, and the scars that run all over him in different places. Where has all of this come from? What does it all mean? Who is he?

Owen catches me looking, and cocks a knowing eyebrow at me, which instantly heats up my cheeks in flushed embarrassment.

It’s bad enough that my body is betraying me, I don’t want him to know about it.

With an irritated huff, I storm off, back into the bedroom I woke up in not so long ago. All I wanted to do was escape this room, but now it’s the safest place in this cabin. At least here, I can throw myself onto the bed without him watching me.

How God damn dumb is fate? How unfair is fate?

Earlier on today, I was trying to make a plan to escape one prison, the marriage to Rickie Flynn Junior and all that would entail, and now here I am in another one.

One with the very mysterious Owen Jackland. How the hell am I going to get out of this?