I was in that closet for an hour before I finally heard the apartment door open. I slowly stood up, weakness, exhaustion, and anger all warring inside me.

I heard footsteps come toward me. “You awake?” he asked.

I didn’t answer. I just got myself ready.

“Hey,” he said, “listen to me. Are you awake?”

My whole body felt tensed.

“Shit,” he said, and I heard him unlock the door.

He opened it up, and I threw myself at him.

It was like running right into a brick wall. He grabbed my wrists, holding them back as I tried to punch and kick him.

“Fuck, girl,” he grunted, pushing me over toward a couch. “Stop it, god damn it.”

“Fuck you,” I yelled and kept struggling.

He was strong, so damn strong, but I didn’t care. I wasn’t going to be his fucking toy to play with. He wasn’t going to use me up and then throw me aside when he was done with me.

He dragged me over to the couch and then pressed me down onto it, pinning me down with his overwhelming size and strength. I kept struggling, trying to get away, but he just grinned at me and held me there.

Finally, I felt myself getting tired. I wanted to fight more, but it was no use. He was just too strong and could hold me down so easily.

“You done?” he asked as I slowly gave up.

“Fuck you,” I said, looking into his deep green eyes.

He couldn’t help but smirk at me. “I bet you’d like that, wouldn’t you, girl?”

“Never. You’ll never have me.”

He laughed. “Fine by me.”

“What?”

“I’m not going to force you into anything,” he said. “Do you understand me? I’m not here to do anything you don’t want.”

“Then why the fuck did you take me?”

He stared at me for a second, like he was seriously considering the question.

“If I let you go, are you going to come at me again?”

I frowned. “Probably.”

“Look, I don’t feel like doing this all night. How about this. We’ll talk, you won’t try to scratch out my fucking eyes, and if you don’t like what I have to say, then I’ll let you walk.”

I blinked at him. “You’ll let me leave?”

“You’re not going to want to, but I will.”

“Fine. Let me go and open that door.”

He moved back, releasing me.

“First, what’s your name?”

I sat up, rubbing my wrists. “Emma.”

“Emma, I’m Brooks.”

“Talk fast, Brooks. As far as I’m concerned, you’re a murderer and a kidnapper.”

He clenched his jaw. “Did you want to die back there?”

“No.”

“Okay. The only way for me to save you once my partner saw you was to bring you home like this.”

“Should I thank you?”

“Maybe,” he said, smirking, “but I’m guessing you won’t.”

“No, Brooks, I won’t. I’ve been around men like you my whole life. You only want one thing from me.”

He raised his eyebrow. “What’s that?”

“You want to take from me. Whether that’s money or my body or whatever, you want to take it.”

I watched his expressive eyes take me in slowly, raking down along my skin. I felt exposed sitting there in nothing but my panties and my T-shirt, but I wasn’t giving in.

“If I get you clothes, are you going to run?”

“Yes,” I said honestly.

“Thanks.” He grabbed me by the arms again and hauled me up off the couch after him. I struggled a bit, but that didn’t help. He pulled me after him and pushed me into his bedroom, shutting the door behind him.

I should have felt afraid in that moment. I’d never been with a man before, never actually had sex. I’d been sexual, kissed boys, touched them, but I’d never had sex. It just never felt right; I’d never found a guy who wanted to be with me for me, and not just to control me.

It was funny. All those years and my father was convinced that I was some whorish tramp, but that was so far from the truth. Now, standing in front of Brooks, I felt incredibly exposed and naïve, like I knew nothing.

This man was a killer. He had experience and knew how to do things I could only guess at. And I couldn’t stop fighting him like the idiot I was.

He opened a drawer and my heart started hammering. I didn’t know what it would feel like, if I should scream or try to run. I flinched as he pulled something from the dresser.

“Here,” he said, tossing it at me. It was a pair of black sweatpants and a gray hoodie. “It’ll be big, but it’s probably better than what you have on.”

I stared at the clothes and then back at him. “Thanks,” I said.

“Don’t mention it.”

“You going to leave, or am I getting changed in front of you?”

He grinned. “I was hoping you’d just take off your clothes, but you can have some privacy.” He turned his back to me.

Was he flirting with me? I shook my head, totally unsure. This guy had kidnapped me, and now he was turning his back while I put on clothes.

I quickly yanked the sweatpants on, cinching the tie as tight as it would go. I pulled the sweatshirt on over my head.

“Okay,” I said.

He turned back at me and frowned. “I liked you better without the clothes on.”

“I bet you did.” I sat down on his bed and crossed my legs. “You said you wanted to talk, so talk.”

“In my line of work, we’re allowed to take home a little something extra from time to time. Usually it’s in the form of a woman. Men like me use her up and then kill her when they’re done with her.”

“Is that what you’re going to do to me?”

“No,” he said, “I’m not. But I’m supposed to. See, you can’t walk away from this apartment. If someone spots you, we’re both dead. Not only will my people come after you, but the Russians will want your head as well. They aren’t too happy about your dad double-dealing on them.”

“So let me leave town,” I said.

“That’s one solution, but do you know how many guys the Italians and the Russians have all over this country?”

I shook my head, genuinely ignorant. I’d never been outside Chicago, let alone in another state.

“A lot,” he said. “A lot more than you think. Besides, I need to present your dead body as proof to my boss that I killed you.”

“That’s disgusting.”

“Yeah,” he said, nodding, “it is. But I don’t hurt women. It’s just not my thing.”

I couldn’t help but laugh. “You’re a killer and you don’t hurt women?”

“I’ll kill men whenever and however my bosses want me to, and I love to fuck a wet, willing pussy, but I don’t hurt them.”

I couldn’t help but shake my head. “Mister Hit Man with a conscience. How noble.”

He sighed. “You don’t get it, do you? I’m supposed to kill you soon, and I very much don’t want to do that. I also can’t let you leave, because that’ll only make things worse.”

“So you want me to, what, hang around here until you eventually decide you have to kill me to save yourself?” I stood up. “No, thanks.”

He stared at me with that intense gaze again, his green eyes flashing and expressive. “That isn’t going to happen,” he said firmly. “I’m not going to kill you, Emma.”

“Why should I believe you?”

“Because you don’t have another choice.”

“You said you’d let me leave.”

“I will. But if you leave, we’re both dead.”

I sighed and sat back down, frustrated. “I don’t get you. What kind of killer are you?”

He grinned at me. “A pretty fucked-up one.”

I watched as he turned and left the bedroom. “Where are you going?” I called out.

“Sleep,” he said. “You can have the bed.”

“Are you kidding me?”

“I kid you not,” he said, and he stripped his shirt off. I couldn’t help but gape at his strong chest covered in tattoos, at the ripped muscles corded along his length. I felt my heart beat hard in my chest, and my pussy was dripping wet.

I’d never experienced this sort of reaction to a man before in my life, but Brooks was unlike anyone I’d ever met. His confidence, his intensity, and, damn it, his body all made me so incredible intrigued.

“Got something to say?” he asked, grinning.

I stuttered, clearly caught staring. “You’re not great at this kidnapping thing.”

“We’re in this together now, Emma,” he said. “Like it or not, we have to figure this shit out together.”

“Why are you doing this?” I asked again.

He just shrugged. “Good night. If you get lonely, come join me out here.” He smirked and then lay down on the couch.

I retreated back into his bedroom, shutting the door behind me. I got into his unfamiliar bed, my head spinning, totally unsure about what was going on.

He could have killed me at any moment, but he didn’t. He could have taken me any time he wanted, but he put clothes on my back instead. He could have kept me locked in that closet, but instead he was letting me sleep in his own bed.

Brooks was a killer. He’d murdered my father and countless other men. But he was being kind to me, even if he was a little cocky.

I didn’t know what I was feeling. I couldn’t decide if he was lying to me or if he was telling the truth. Part of me believed him, and I knew that a lot of what he was saying was pretty logical.

Still, I’d promised myself that I’d never let myself get owned by another man. I’d spent too long acting as a slave for my father.

I had to get away. Even if Brooks was telling the truth, I had to run. I’d rather take a chance and die out on my own, a free woman, than let him control me.