The house they take me to is small and dingy. I don’t know where we are because they blindfolded me during the drive. There’s a room in the back with a single filthy mattress, stained with things I don’t want to think about. The man who seems to be the ringleader shoves me down onto it, then — a small mercy — tosses my t-shirt and sweatshirt on top of me.

I can’t put them on because my hands are bound in front of me, but I pull them up to cover my nudity. The man crouches down beside me. “Lucky for him, Adamo’s worth more to us alive than dead.” Relief filters through my dread, but I don’t respond.

“You, on the other hand … you better hope you’re worth it to him. He plays nice with us, we play nice with you. Otherwise, we just play.”

He traces the muzzle of his gun along my cheek, and I close my eyes. “You know my father’s a cop,” I whisper.

“What?”

“Adam Grant. Homicide detective. Look him up.”

The gun presses into my flesh. “You think that’ll protect you, think again. We’re gonna own this city, and no one — not the Adamos, not the cops — is gonna get in our way.”

Is he really that stupid? I hope not, but I can’t be sure. “You tell Adamo,” he goes on, “and you tell your pig father. They step aside or they pay.” He leans closer, and his rancid breath assaults my nose. “You got any sisters?” I flinch, and he lets out a low, ugly laugh. “Do them and your mother, too, while we’re at it. You want your family alive and healthy, be a smart girl and make the men see reason.”

Then he’s gone, turning off the faint overhead bulb and plunging the room into darkness. I wait, listening. Voices come from the hallway outside and I stay still until they move away. When everything is silent I roll cautiously to my knees, ignoring the pain from my scabbed skin.

There’s no light anywhere; I saw when we came in here that the room’s single window is boarded over. My hands are bound with duct tape, wrapped so tightly it’s cutting off my circulation. They’re numb but I have to try.

Moving cautiously, I get to my feet and creep an inch at a time across the room to where I remember the window being. I find it after a few tries and tug at the bottom board to see if it’s loose, but it’s nailed tight and the wood doesn’t feel old or soft.

Frustrated, I make my way across the room to the door. I can barely get my hands to grip the knob, but I manage to turn it and ease the door open a crack. A floorboard creaks and then I hear movement in another part of the house. At least two men, then.

I’m tempted to make a run for it anyway, but I know better. Later, when they’re asleep, I’ll try. Retreating to the mattress, I hug Kosta’s clothing to me. If I put the sweatshirt to my nose and breathe deeply, I catch a hint of his clean masculine musk.

Did they let him go or are they holding him somewhere else? Is he searching for me? Does my father know?

The heat of the day has gone with the sun. The house is cool; my bare back is chilled. I curl into as tight a ball as I can and steel myself against a long night.

* * *

I’m too uncomfortable to sleep, but I’ve fallen into a light, uneasy doze when the house erupts in gunfire. I stay curled up, my eyes squeezed shut as if that could protect me, my heart sending a wordless prayer out into the universe. Then the door bursts open and the light comes on.

Kosta and my dad come in side by side, both of them carrying guns. My heart leaps as they move swiftly to me and kneel down. “Knife!” Kosta yells over his shoulder, and another man enters the room. He’s huge, even bigger than Rico or Tonio, but he has Adamo stamped all over him. He produces a large, scary knife, says, “Don’t move,” and cuts through the tape around my wrists like it’s butter. Then he’s gone again.

Tears spring to my eyes as my circulation starts to come back. “Can you get dressed without help, Erin?” my dad says. I don’t think I can. I look at him, then at Kosta.

Without a word, Dad rises to his feet and turns his back, going to the door to push it shut while Kosta helps me on with the t-shirt and sweatshirt. Then I’m in his arms and he’s carrying me from the room, my father behind him. Over my man’s shoulder, I meet my father’s eyes. We don’t speak, but we have a very intense conversation while Kosta takes me to a waiting ambulance.

* * *

The hospital keeps me for observation and fluids. Exhaustion carries me down into sleep, but I stir when the door to my room opens. I recognize the warmth of Kosta’s presence as he comes to sit by my bed, and keep my eyes closed.

“I know you’re awake, Blondie.”

So much for that ruse. I open my eyes and look at him. He’s in another pair of snug-fitting jeans and a chambray shirt. I want to gobble him up.

“The doctors say they’ll let you go later today.” He reaches for my hand. I pull it away, and his gorgeous eyes narrow.

“I can’t do this,” I whisper.

“Do what?”

I move my hand back and forth between us, my bandaged wrists like white flags of surrender. “This.”

His eyes narrow. “What did those assholes say to you?”

Before I can think of a response, the door opens and my parents come in. “Can we have a minute with her?” my dad says. His tone is grudgingly respectful.

Kosta gets up. “I’ll be back,” he says to me, and leaves before I can make a dorky Terminator joke.

“Is Kosta all right?” my mother says as my parents sit down.

I stare at the ceiling. “I’m breaking up with him.”

There’s a long silence before my dad says, “Erin—”

“Dad, please.” I have to stay strong and keep it together or I won’t survive this.

Another pause, and then by some unspoken agreement, my dad goes out again and leaves me with Mom. “Those two are a lot alike, you know,” she says. “Kosta and your father.” I don’t answer. “Strong, stubborn men who want to do the right thing and take care of the people they love.”

I turn my head to her, then, and let the tears leak out. “I can’t,” I whisper. “I can’t.”

I can’t tell her what my kidnappers said. Can’t tell anyone. I especially can’t tell Kosta that he’s better off without me. Now that I’m a target, I’ll never be anything but trouble to him. Nightmare images of him in a morgue, those awful men with my little sisters … no.

This has to end.

Mom searches my face, but her maternal x-ray can’t penetrate my bleak resolve. “Get some rest, sweetheart,” she says finally, and kisses my forehead.

* * *

I’m not sure how much later it is when the door to my room opens again. Kosta stalks in with a blanket under his arm. Without a word, he starts unhooking my IVs.

“What are you doing?” I say.

“Takin’ you home.”

“Kosta—”

“Shut up, Blondie.”

I shut up. He throws the covers back, swaddles me in the blanket, and swings me into his arms. We pass through strangely vacant corridors to an elevator, ride down to the main floor, and go out to his waiting car, and nobody stops us or even says a word.

It’s late afternoon outside. Kosta beeps his car open — this time it’s an SUV — without putting me down, then manages to get the passenger door open the same way. Setting me gently on the seat, he fastens my belt himself. “Kosta,” I say again.

His eyes meet mine and their amber fire burns into me. “What’d I tell you would happen if you said yes to me?”

I claim you, I’m not letting you go. “Baby,” I whisper.

He doesn’t say anything else until he’s finished buckling me in and has gone around to the driver’s seat. “Whatever they put in your head, we’ll get it out.”

We don’t talk on the drive to his house. When Kosta carries me inside I half expect him to go to the kitchen, but he takes me straight up to his room and lays me down on his bed. He stretches himself out over me, propped on his elbows, not quite touching me, his heat soaking through my skin, down into my bones.

“You here with me, babe?”

“Kosta—”

“I want all of you, carina, not just your body.”

“Baby, please.” I’m not even sure what I’m asking for.

His mouth brushes mine, and I shudder beneath him. “If you can’t do this,” he says, “tell me now. I need you to say the words.”

I should say them, for both our sakes. But I can’t resist him, can’t deny him. Sliding my hands under his shirt, I let them feast on the warmth of his skin, the hardness of his muscles.

“Look at me, Erin.” His face is only inches from mine, the promise of his mouth a constant temptation. “You think I’ve forgotten what you told me in the car, before they took you?”

“I was afraid I’d never see you again.”

“Yeah, and you wouldn’t pick a moment like that to lie.” His lips graze mine again, and my hips arch against him. “Why did you lie to me in the hospital?”

“Baby—”

“Why?”

“I was trying to protect you!”

“Not your job,” he says against my mouth. “I protect you, not the other way around.”

“They said they’d kill you.” My voice cracks. “And my father. They said — my sisters—”

One quick, hard kiss. “That’s not gonna happen, babe. Not any of it.”

“How do you know? What if they—”

Another kiss, longer and even harder. “Because the cops are doing their thing right now, carina, and by morning there won’t be anyone from that organization breathing free.”

“But—”

“Babe.” He traces a finger along the shell of my ear, making me quiver. “These are not tough guys. They’re rodents who thought they could threaten me and mine and get away with it. I don’t allow that, and you should know, your father doesn’t either.”

“So it’s over?” I’m afraid to believe it.

“It will be, soon.” He holds my gaze. “You got any other concerns we need to talk about?” Slowly, I shake my head.

His mouth captures mine, and then we’re done talking. The blanket, my hospital gown, his clothes, all seem to melt away and then we’re naked, skin to skin. Kosta reaches between my legs and finds me ready. “So wet for me.”

“Always.”

Parting my thighs, he settles between them and sinks into me, my hands over my head, his fingers laced with mine. He keeps his eyes on mine while he moves in me, slowly, every stroke branding my most private place. Even when I arch against him, urging him on, he keeps the pace deliberate.

I glide gradually up to peak, and my climax shimmers through me like morning sunlight. When he follows me over the edge, his face buried against my neck, I close my eyes and give thanks for stubborn alpha males.