My head hurts like hell. It feels like someone smacked me with an iron skillet. I open my eyes but it's dark, and something's buzzing. Or roaring.

I groan and try to bring my hands up to rub my eyes, but I can't. What the hell? My wrists are tied behind my back.

“Help!” I gasp, my throat burning. Disoriented, I can't sit up. Something's pinning me down.

“You're all right. We're almost there.” A deep masculine voice I've never heard before addresses me from the front seat. I'm in a car, I think, in the back seat.

“Where am I? Who are you?” Panic seizes through me as memories shoot into my brain. That feeling I'd had of being watched. The moment I'd realized I’d been right.

Men had grabbed me and tied me up. One had stuck me with a needle. “Help!” I scream, louder, struggling against whatever’s holding me down.

“Calm down.” He sounds authoritative, commanding. It probably shouldn't calm my nerves, but something about the way his voice sounds does. “Breathe,” he instructs me. “Don't panic. You're going to be all right.”

“What happened? Why am I tied up?”

“Some men tried to hurt you. I stopped them.” Outside the restaurant, I remember, in the alleyway. “You shouldn't go into dark alleys alone. Anything could have happened to you.” His voice sounds tense, as if he’s clenching his jaw.

“Can you untie me?” If he's rescued me, why am I still tied up and in the back of a car?

“I will, as soon as we arrive.”

“Are you taking me to a doctor?” My voice sounds weak as fear seeps in again. Even as I ask, I know it's not happening. He said he stopped the bad men, but I can sense that this nightmare isn't over.

“You don't need a doctor. They gave you something to knock you out, but once that wears off you'll be fine. They didn't hurt you anywhere else.”

I can tell my arms, my legs, everything feels all right. It's my head that pounds, groggy, like it’s under a pound of sand. “Where are you taking me?”

“Somewhere safe.” His voice sounds dark and ominous, and a shiver runs down my spine. I don't feel safe. I feel trapped. I struggle against my restraints, kicking and wriggling until I'm sitting upright. I can't unbuckle because my wrists are bound tight. But sitting up, I see him for the first time.

He's huge.

The back of his neck is broad, and his shoulders are thick and wide. I'm in the middle seat behind him, so I can't see his face, but he has a strong profile, his jaw locked and firm. He's wearing a short-sleeved T-shirt even though it's November. His biceps strain against the cotton and his forearms are corded with muscle.

I swallow, feeling even more powerless than before. Whoever this man is, I can't outrun him. Definitely can't overpower him. I'll have to use my wits. I'll have to stay alert, observing as much as I can about my surroundings until I can seize my opportunity to escape.

The dashboard clock is lit: 4:04 a.m. I left my shift at the restaurant at 11. Had we been driving for five hours?

I try to remember what I can. Outside the restaurant, two men grabbed me. One of them had a gold tooth. I remember it glinting in a streetlight as he’d come at me with the syringe. After that, it’s a blur.

Outside the car windows, it's pitch dark. We’re not in the city anymore. The road we’re on is made of dirt, narrow and uneven. It looks like we’re in a big truck, but we’re still getting tossed around by ditches and bumps.

In the headlights, I see trees everywhere, trees growing close in a canopy overhead, trees framing the road like walls. We’re in the deep, dark woods. Terror grips my heart.

“Please don't hurt me.” The words escape my lips even as I know the futility of my plea. He can do anything he chooses. “Where are you taking me? What do you want?”

“We’re in northern Wisconsin. Sit tight, we’re almost there. Then I’ll answer your questions.” He turns down a road even less traveled than the one we've been on. We lurch and plunge into the darkness until, suddenly, we stop.

In the headlights, I see a log cabin, rough and sturdy. It's small and it's in the middle of nowhere. No one knows where I am. No one can find me.

He parks, walks around and opens the passenger door. I don't think. I act. The second he undoes my seat belt I bite his arm, trying to sink my teeth into his bicep but I get his shirt instead. I kick at him, pushing my way past, trying to squeeze out the passenger door and away.

It's like trying to get past a steel wall. His arm wraps around me, an iron band of muscle pulling me against his body. I struggle and scream. The woods answer me, dark and silent. He doesn't even break his step as he hoists me up and over his shoulder.

Inside, he flicks on the lights and places me onto a large bed.

“Stop! Help! Please!” I beg, words tumbling out of my mouth as I wildly kick and flail.

“Stop struggling.” Large hands hold down my shoulders. With one of his thick thighs, he easily pushes down my knees. I'm immobilized beneath his muscle, his heat.

Panting, I look up, straight at him for the first time. My mouth drops open. Has Superman abducted me? With laser-blue eyes, thick, black hair, and a square, set jaw he looks like he’s stepped straight out of a movie. He’s got the body of an action hero, too, every inch of him hard and corded with muscle, from his broad shoulders to his tapered waist where his shirt rides up, exposing a glimpse of flat, defined abs. My captor’s hot as hell.

He gazes down at me with such intensity, conflict and pain it takes my breath away. I know somehow, on instinct, they are not the eyes of a cold-blooded killer. I don't know who this man is, or what his intentions are, but I hold still. I can feel my heart beating, the weight of his thigh against mine. I swallow, bewildered, my emotions swirling.

“Can you listen to me?” His voice is deep and gruff, as if he's not used to speaking often. I'm struck with the sense that my presence is as disturbing to him as his is to me. “What’s your name?” he asks.

“Liv.”

“Short for Olivia?” I nod. “Olivia, I’m Knox, and I’m not going to hurt you. I want to talk to you. Will you sit still and listen if I let go?” I nod again, vividly aware of the contact between us, the tension coursing through his body into mine.

He gives me one last look, his eyelids low, his gaze resting on my lips. I catch my breath, almost wondering if he's about to kiss me. But the moment passes, gone as soon as it arrived.

He stands, rising to his full height. He must be 6'3" or 6'4", and his broad frame and strong jaw make him look like a superhero. Only he’s a villain, I remind myself. He’s taken me against my will.

He looks down at me on the bed, then rakes his hand through his hair. “What kind of trouble are you mixed up in?”

“What?”

“Crime? How are you connected to the mob?”

“Are you kidding? Are you asking if I’m a criminal? I’ve never even stolen a pack of gum.”

“Do I look like I'm joking?” He stares at me, dead serious.

I shake my head. “No, I’ve never broken the law. I have nothing to do with the mob.”

“You do,” he insists, starting to pace the floor.

“I don't.”

“Think.” He sits down next to me on the bed, his weight dipping the mattress down. It makes me slide closer to him, and I try to scoot away. He glances down at my thighs, exposed as my skirt rides up. I stop my movement.

He looks away. “Those men, the ones who grabbed you, they work for the Corretti family. Why would they want revenge on you?”

“I've done nothing! I'm a waitress. I take online classes.” I search my mind, doing a mental inventory of my days, and come up with absolutely nothing. “I live a quiet, boring little life.”

To my surprise, he seems to believe me. “Then who do you know who's dirty? A friend? A relative? A boyfriend?” He almost growls the last option, his gaze dark.

“No, I don't have a boyfriend.” The muscle in his jaw seems to relax, his fists unclenching a bit. “I mostly keep to myself,” I insist. “My roommates are all like me, taking classes, waiting tables, working at Starbucks or Old Navy.” I’m at a loss. I don’t know any of them that well, but I have a hard time imagining any of them doing anything criminal.

“What about family?”

“No, my mom...” I trail off. It’s not my mom, I realize. It’s my dad. I exhale, my chin dropping to my chest. If my damn hands were untied, I’d give my forehead a rub. I need a Tylenol. Or 20.

“Who is it?”

“It might be my dad.” My voice sounds like a lost, scared child’s, and that's exactly how I feel.

“Why do you think it might be him?” His voice grows quieter. He shifts closer, almost as if he’s about to put his arm around me. Then he stands up instead. “Where does he work?”

“I don't know.” I shake my head, all the suspicions I’ve had over the years taking root in my mind. “It might be bookkeeping, but...” I shrug. The cash handouts. The unmarked building. The thugs he works with. “Do you think he's in trouble?” I look up at my captor, tears brimming in my eyes.

“Two men drug and try to kidnap you, and you're worried about the guy responsible?” I guess it’s an accusation, but he doesn't say it like he thinks I’m an idiot. He sounds astonished.

“I don't know what's happening.” I can't stop the tears from spilling down my cheeks. “Why can’t we just call the police?”

“The police can’t help you. I can.”

“Why?”

“I have skills.”

“Skills? Like…?” I look around the cabin in the middle of nowhere. “Wilderness skills?” He just looks at me with his arms crossed against his massive chest and I realize he’s not talking about being able to survive in the woods. “Are you an assassin?”

He grunts, like that guess is closer. “Was in the military.”

The second he says it, I know it’s true. It’s only my own naiveté that didn’t ID him instantly. Close-cropped hair, all muscle, all business, he’s like an ad for the armed forces. But if he’s a good guy, why are my wrists still tied behind my back? “Can you untie me?”

“I’ll untie you, but you have to promise you won’t run. You won’t get away from me. And you might hurt yourself if you try.”

“I promise.”

He takes out a Swiss Army knife and cuts through the zip tie. The second my hands are free, I run. I bolt out the front door, racing as fast as I can, tearing away from the cabin, blind in the darkness.

Before I get even 30 feet, his arm wraps around me, stopping me like a steel band. He scoops me up like I weigh nothing. And I weigh something. I’m no ballerina, but he lifts and hauls me over his shoulder. My fists pounding on his broad, strong back don’t make the slightest bit of difference.

He tosses me down on the bed and yanks off my shoes. I lie there panting, frustrated, adrenaline still coursing through my body.

“I’m going to have to tie you up again,” he growls. “For your own good.” He grabs something I can’t see. It’s soft, like fabric. As he leans over me, I can smell his masculine scent, feel the heat of his chest. I struggle and kick as he forces my wrists behind my back and binds them tight.

I can’t escape now. Drawing up, he kneels over me on the bed. Looking down at me bound before him, he pants, his massive chest heaving. I don’t remember him getting winded from carrying me. He did that effortlessly. He must be struggling with something else, some other burden he’s fighting.

I wriggle under his gaze, a strange heat creeping into me, the hard muscle of his leg pressing rough in his jeans against my thigh. I should feel frightened. I do, but I feel something else, too. Something confusing and insistent, licking its way into my core.

“You’re bound tight now.” His voice is gruff.

“Why are you doing this?” I struggle on the bed, working my way down and away from him. But then I stop, realizing my movements are twisting my shirt, making it ride up and expose my stomach. He watches the rise and fall of my breathing, my quivering skin. He licks his lips.

“Please,” I plead, feeling so vulnerable, so confused by my body’s reaction to him. I need to get away. Heat radiates from his masculine thigh pressed against my own, pulsing through me. “Please, untie me,” I ask, breathless.

He looks down at me struggling beneath him, his blue eyes dark and dangerous. “I like it better with you tied up.”

What does he mean? I’m trembling and I want to pull my skirt down. It’s barely covering anything. He clenches his hands, looking at my exposed thighs. His fingers are so large and strong, inches away from my body. He could reach right out and slide his hand up my bare leg. I bet it would feel rough and hot against my skin.

There’s a bulge in his jeans, thick and long. My eyes widen. That can’t be what I think it is. I don’t have much experience when it comes to men, but that looks gigantic. I swallow, my eyes wide, my lips parting as I watch it grow even bigger. He makes a sound low in his throat, almost like an animal.

I rip my gaze away, confused. I feel like I’m going crazy, so many warring emotions tearing through me. Tears sear my eyes.

“Are you going to gag me like they did, too?” I want to hurt him, make him feel guilty, show him he’s no better than the men who attacked me. Lashing out puts distance between us. And it reminds me—he’s the bad guy here. No matter how hot.

“I don’t need to gag you. Scream as loud as you want. No one can hear you.”

Oh God. I whimper, trapped in the middle of the woods with this giant of a man. He’s tied me up and can do anything he wants with me.

And the worst part?

I’m wet at the thought.