Prologue
Mikayla Bryant
Long Beach, California
“You will listen and comply to every command I make from here on out,” my abductor orders. “Obey, and you live. Disobey, and you die.”
There’s no confusing what he just said. Even though the drumming of my heart pounds in my ears, I heard his threat just fine. It’s just the two of us in the ladies’ room at Gianni’s Café. Travertine tile, silver finish fixtures, and soft Italian music had created quite the ambiance before he’d followed me in here. Now, there’s an equally impressive Magnum revolver pressed between my breasts. The nozzle is still warm, maybe from its last use. With that thought in mind, I glance down nervously at the long, shiny barrel, and another random thought pops into my head… his gun complements my accessories and the golden shimmer of my dress. After this observation, my world suddenly faded to black…
I awaken seconds later in the powerful arms of this seemingly deranged, beautiful man. He smells like heaven, with undertones of death and… of hell.
This is supposed to be my last day, or night rather, in California. I recently graduated from Cal State University, in Long Beach, at the beginning of summer. It’s early fall, and I’ve waited until the last possible minute to leave for medical school. Tonight, I’ve donned an expensive little dress, and paired it with a cheap tiara. I’m at the classy yet quaint Gianni’s Café. This was supposed to be my last hoorah. Yet the celebratory buzz, I picked up from my three apple martinis, has now gone to shit…
My abductor spins the shiny revolver in his hand with agility and grace, like he belongs in an old western film. He presses it down at his side before holstering it in his jeans. Damn, why hadn’t I noticed it before. When he’d walked by my table earlier this evening, I stared maybe a second too long. His beautiful eyes seemed to have seen straight through me. Either I was intoxicated on the drink in my hand or it was him. Heck, it was definitely him.
Regardless of his obviously psychotic murderous tendencies—which I just literally became aware of—he’s the type of man that women salivate over. It takes my mind ages to decipher that my blatantly staring, while drooling, is bad etiquette. Though bad boys are not my type, it’s hard not to be captivated by a man who’s tall as hell and built to perfection. He’s perfectly proportioned, not like one of those muscle-heads who spend so much time in the gym only to have a strapping top half with tiny stick legs. No, his jeans fit like they were made just for him. When checking out his muscular ass earlier, I was so lost in its deliciousness, I forgot how to think and speak. His flannel button-up caresses cut muscles and broad shoulders. I could have believed he was wearing football padding, but clearly, with me clutched to his warm solid chest, that’s not the case. I tell myself no more fainting. He’s crazy as hell and there’s no telling what he’d do.
After noticing I was no longer passed out, he set me back down on my own two feet. He shoved a mass of shoulder-length, wavy blond hair from his face. I catch a glimpse of a tattoo that’s just as intimidating as the Magnum that he scared me with. I have never been so afraid, yet so turned on, in my life. His eyes are the color of a warm summer’s day, which I was hypnotized with, for at least twenty seconds, earlier. He grabs me again, gripping my arm harder than before, and then pulls. “Let’s go.” The harshness of his voice sends a chill down my spine.
“No, you listen to me. You don’t want to do this. It’s a mistake.” My voice is filled with a sudden reemergence of the confidence that I thought had died out only moments ago. I rear back on my stilettos. “I’m the princess for the night, okay, psycho? You have the wrong woman! I spent half of a month savings to purchase this damn dress, but the tiara is fake. It was bought by my friend at the–”
“I’m not robbing you, Mikayla, I’m taking you,” the man says through gritted teeth.
Alright, next form of defense. I slap at his thick forearm. “There’s a table full of eight of my closest friends out there that will kick your ass–”
“You’re celebrating your last night in town, before beginning medical school, with six biker friends and another girl. If you value their lives, you’ll stop fighting me, and come along quietly. Got that?” He grabs my chin. “Sweetheart, I’m a man who gets what he wants. Taking a life is just like asking for a few extra pieces of bacon at breakfast for me, so consider your friends before defying me.”
He presses the door open with one hand and guides me with the other. My favorite server, who welcomed me by name, even during the token times when I couldn’t afford to actually eat at Gianni’s, is lying flat and unmoving on the ground. My abductor undoes a silencer from his Mangum when he steps out. There’s a tiny hole in the server’s head. I gulp down bile as I make the connection that the beefy psycho murdered him!
“C’mon, Dr. Bryant, let’s agree that this will be the only casualty tonight.”
After hearing that, I almost trip over my heels. He knows my first name. That, along with me leaving off for medical school, is easy to gather during my night of partying, but my last name? How is he aware of it?
The man walks straight over the server’s dead body, with me in tow. The hallway to the restroom is angled, but I turn my head toward the large table I’d been seated at an hour ago. The balloons decorating the table block the view of my friends still partying and drinking. None of them even glance over.
“Not that way, Mikayla,” my abductor says, noticing the direction of my gaze.
He escorts me through the kitchen, instead. The crew of cooks, support staff, and servers eye us questioningly.
“Hey, you can’t be in here…” The dishwasher starts to speak up, but quickly shuts his mouth when my abductor pulls up his shirt to display his impressive piece. He offers such a deadly glare that there’s no reason to insert an audible threat.
Without further interruptions, we make it outside. The air is crisp, and my breath fogs out before me. He moves swiftly, causing me to take two or three steps to his one, around to the front of the parking lot. We stop before a black matte motorcycle. The lights of the lamp post reflecting off its smooth surface. The bike has a much larger back wheel, like the one in the Batman movies. There isn’t a license plate or any information to help identify the type of motorcycle.
“Kayla?” Suddenly, a familiar voice calls out, making my heart jolt with hope. “Mikayla, what are you doing outside?”
I whip around in the voice’s direction. My boyfriend Cree’s best friend, Ronald, is standing next to his motorcycle. His eyes narrow. “I came outside to grab a ring. For Cree. For you. Who the fuck is this?” he demands, getting angrier by the second. His confusion morphing into damnation right before my eyes, temporarily halting my thoughts of getting some help.
“Crap, this is not what you think,” I say quickly, trying to figure out how to put what’s happening, without endangering him, too.
My eyes tear at the thought that there is already bad blood between myself and Ronald. Now, he probably thinks I’m breaking up with his bestie and ditching him for this guy. My cousin was adamant that Cree intended to propose. It sounds like she was right. A newfound sense of dread slams into me. At the last second, I finally remember that Ronald might actually be able to save me. “Help–”
“The name’s Jagger.” My abductor cuts me off, his tone cold. His Magnum seems to magically appear in his hand. The sound of the gunshot rings in my ears. Ronald’s face doesn’t have time to change from disappointment before his body, with the new gaping hole in his chest, slams down onto his bike. His Kawasaki begins to fall over, from the impact, causing a domino like effect with some of our friend’s motorcycles.
I stutter, “You-you–”
“He saw my face, Kayla,” he says, cutting me off, again. He rubs a hand over his prickly, strong jaw, seemingly in thought. “I like that. I think I’ll call you Kayla, too,” he says, like he didn’t just kill a person I know, right in front of me.
Jagger grabs my waist and pulls me onto the back of his ride. Although my boyfriend runs with a crew, I don’t know much about bikes, but this one growls like the hounds of hell when it starts up.
“One last command, for now: let go of me, and you die,” Jagger warns, slamming a helmet down over my head.
I tremble against his rock-hard body. He starts the bike as his boot flips up the kickstand, taking off so fast that it’s just too dangerous to try and jump off.
“Mikayla!” my boyfriend, Cree, screams.
Was he honestly going to propose tonight? More tears slide down my cheeks, the air whipping past them so fast they dry instantly. Our eyes connect as Jagger does a 360 and stops. That’s when Cree notices Ronald and all the blood drains from his dark brown face.
“Cree, help!” I scream out. I have just enough time to breathe in the smell of burning tires before Jagger takes off and zips over the curb onto Pine Avenue. Car brakes screech, but I still hear the faint sound of motorcycles starting up just as Jagger guns for a yellow light.
He’s a murderer. He said it himself. There’s no telling what sort of psychosis he is in the throes of. Driving like mad, Jagger shifts back and forth between two lanes. The side of a Lexus is only a fraction away from scraping my knee. In shock and fear my body begins to waver, but I don’t dare pass out.
“Let me go,” I scream at the top of my lungs, yet my screech doesn’t come close to meeting the sound of his engine roaring.
Pine trees blend into one another, along with the buildings lining the streets and their buzzing lights. Bright yellow illuminates the night from the traffic light before us.
We won’t make it!
My fingers unlatch from around his waist.
I close my eyes and fully let go…