Taken.

Kelli Maine.

To the king, the queen and the muse. Howard Stern.

E.L. James, and Joe Manganiello.

Chapter One.

The club is packed. Bodies grind together on the dance floor. There's barely room to move. You catch my eye.

You're alone.

Ba.s.s pounds through my body, rushes from my head to my toes, takes the same path your eyes follow. Your dark-eyed stare is flutter-soft on my skin. It raises goose b.u.mps. Makes me flush. My vodka and cranberry-soaked blood runs hot with need.

You smile. Dimples pierce your cheeks. Your eyes flash. I can't resist.

"Rach!" Shannon grabs my arm. She's sweaty from dancing and pulls her blonde hair up off her shoulders. "I'm going." She tilts her head toward Shawn or Shane or Seth-I'm not sure-the guy she met two hours ago.

"How am I supposed to get home?" She drove.

Shannon shoves her car keys in my hand. "See you in the morning." She winks and pushes back through the crowd toward the guy whose name starts with an S.

When I turn from watching Shannon go, you're standing right in front of me. "Hi," you say. Familiarity strikes, but I don't think I'd ever forget meeting you.

"Hi." I fall into your dark eyes and can't get out. They're serious and focused on mine. Looking away would be a crime.

You run a hand through your wavy black-brown hair. Are you nervous? I can't tell. "What were you drinking?" You tap my gla.s.s, empty except for melting ice.

"Vodka and cranberry." I take in a thick, damp breath. Dancing bodies fog up the air, make it heavy to breathe.

You shake your beer bottle, indicating its emptiness. "I'm headed to the bar. Would you like another?"

I have to drive Shannon's car home, but I don't want to stop talking to you. I nod. "Please." I'll drink slowly. I'll drive even slower.

I follow behind you, taking in the view of your incredible backside in jeans. A black long-sleeved shirt shifts with your strong, wide shoulders and hugs your narrow waist. You work out. A lot. The body I'm staring at didn't come from luck and a good gene pool.

You glance back to make sure I'm following. When a group of people push between us, you reach out and take my hand. My fingers curl around yours like they're possessed.

We reach the bar. You squeeze between two men. I stand back to wait while you order. I watch you reach into your pocket. A second later, you turn to me and hand me a gla.s.s.

"Thanks." I take a deep drink, ignoring my self-promise to sip and make it last. Looking at you, I need all the courage this vodka is offering.

You sip your beer, watching me. An intense magnetism pulls between us. I'm sweating. I wipe my forehead with the back of my hand. The vodka is kicking in fast. I stumble sideways. You grip my arm.

"Feeling okay?" you ask.

The room spins and tilts. Black spots swim through my vision. "No. I need to sit." My drink slips through my fingers and splatters on my bare leg.

"I've got you." You put an arm around me and lead me toward the door. "You need some air."

I'm blacking out and coming to, over and over again. This has never happened from three and a half vodka and cranberries before. "I need to get home."

"I'll take you," you say.

"No. I..." The words won't come. They buzz around in the darkness inside my mind searching for the light. I watch them break apart and fade.

You usher me through the parking lot. Open the door of a black car. Put me inside. "We'll be home soon," you say, buckling a seatbelt around my waist.

I try to grip the door handle to get out. My arm won't move. My head lulls on my shoulder. The blackness narrows, leaving a small tunnel focused on the dashboard. Then it closes completely.

No more words.

No more light.

No more sound.

Just like that-I'm taken.

Chapter Two.

My eyelids are heavy, too heavy to lift. Light glows white behind them. I turn toward its source, and it gets even brighter. I crack my eyes open, peel their stickiness apart. Everything's blurry. Light shoots through my head like an electric shock. I cringe and squeeze my eyes shut again.

My mouth is dry. My tongue, stuck to the roof, is limp and swollen. I swallow, but there's no wetness to quench my thirst.

I open my eyes again, slowly this time, just narrow slits to get used to the light. There's a window. All I see is sky, clear and blue. Where am I?

Panic surges through my chest and squeezes tight enough to make me gasp. I don't remember anything-where am I? How did I get here?

I sit up. Ropes tie my hands to the bed. My heart rate speeds, my muscles quake, my eyes dart around the room and land on you.

"You're awake," you say, standing from a leather couch and thumbing a b.u.t.ton on a remote to turn off the muted T.V.

I remember you. The club. The drink. "You put something in my drink."

Quickly, I take stock of my clothes. Skirt-still on. Top-still on. Underwear, bra-both in place. My shoes are the only things missing.

"I didn't touch you," you say, coming to the side of the bed and pulling up a straight-back chair. I shift away as far as I can, press my shoulder against the cold windowpane. The bed sits higher than mine at home and it's smaller, narrower. You lean forward and rest your elbows on the mattress.

We stare at one another. Your intense gaze is the same as the last time I saw it-when you drugged me. My chest heaves with the effort of breathing. My heart races. "Why am I tied to the bed?" My voice cracks.

You reach for a bottle of water on the nightstand, twist the cap off and hold it to my lips. "Drink."

I shake my head and pull away. The ropes scratch and burn my wrists.

You smile. "There's nothing in it. I promise."

Your dimples make you look like a nice guy. You're not a nice guy. "I want to go home."

You run your finger underneath the rope and stroke my wrist. "You are home, Rachael."

I try to pull away from you. "Don't touch me!" Sobs roll up my throat and out my mouth. Tears gush from my eyes. "I want to go home!"

You sit back and prop your foot up on your opposite knee, thread your hands behind your head and watch me crumble. Your face is etched with remorse. You close your eyes-I want them open, want you to feel pain and guilt for what you've done to me.

Flames of rage dance in my belly, crackle and roar inside me. I dart for you, thrashing against the ropes. I will kill you. Tear you apart. "This is fun for you?" I curl my feet up underneath me and push against the ropes with my toes. "Let me go! Let me leave!" I manage to get my teeth on a rope and try to chew my way to freedom.

You reach out and grab my shoulders. "Stop. You're going to hurt yourself."

I lick blood from my torn, raw lips. My wrists bleed. I throw myself back onto the pillow and scream at the top of my lungs. I scream until my eyes throb, until my ears pop, until my voice is only a rasp.

You stand over me and stroke my hair back from my forehead. "Rest," you say, and walk out of the room. I watch you leave hating myself for ever thinking your body was something I wanted.

Why did you take me? Is this human trafficking? Will you sell me as a prost.i.tute, a s.e.x slave? My chest aches, and my breath hitches and shakes. I have to keep it together and find a way out.

I run my eyes over the long, rectangular room. A nightstand sits beside the bed and the chair you sat in. At the end of the bed, a dresser is pushed against the wall. The couch and T.V. make up a sitting area on the opposite side of the room with a matching leather chair and a wood table between them. The ceiling is slanted. I'm held captive in an attic bedroom.

You didn't close the door. I'm not locked in. If I could get the ropes untied... Does anyone know I'm missing? My phone. Where's my phone? They can track me that way. Did you take it?

My mom will have a break down when they tell her I'm missing. My dad died last year. Her reaction to losing me to a job offer in Florida a few months ago was bad enough to keep me from taking it and leaving Ohio. She won't make it through this.

Shannon's my only hope, but she left before you bought me that drink, before you took me away. Did anyone see us together? Did anyone see us leave? If they flash my picture on T.V., would anyone know where to start looking?

Maybe that's what you were watching for on T.V. Maybe you're paranoid. "I hope they track you down and lock you in a cell for the rest of your miserable life!" I scream. You don't answer.

I close my eyes and try to think. My only way out of here is you. I have to be calm and rational when you return. What do you want with me?

I have no answer. You didn't touch me. I'm clothed. I'm not hurt. Why did you take me? I stare out the window, like it's written somewhere in the bright blue sky.

There's no clock. I don't know how much time has pa.s.sed before you return. You're carrying a bowl of soup and a pack of crackers. "You need to eat," you say. "Will you let me feed you?"

I don't want food. I want to be untied. "I need to use the bathroom."

You study my face, considering your options.

"You can't come with me," I say, praying you don't.

"If I untie you, will you behave?" You narrow your eyes at me, threatening. "If you don't, I'll have to come in with you."

You set the soup and crackers on the nightstand beside the bottle of water and sit in the chair. "Rachael, can I trust you?"

What makes you think you can trust me? Do you really think I won't run? "Yes."

You hesitate, dark eyes locked on mine. Am I giving anything away?

Slowly, you reach for the rope and untie my wrist closest to you, then reach across and untie the other. Before you can restrain me, I grab the steaming bowl of soup and throw it at you. It hits your chest, and I dart from the bed.

Your reflexes are fast, and mine are slow from being drugged. Your fingers wrap around my arm and yank me back against your wet chest. One strong arm wraps around my shoulders and holds me in place. "That was my fault," you whisper in my ear through clenched teeth. "You're not ready to be untied yet."

You spin me to face you and grip my shoulders. Your dark eyes bore into mine. "Do you need to use the bathroom?"

Hate wells in my chest. I glare back at you then spit in your face. Your fingers squeeze. Your thumbs could crack my collarbone. You close your eyes and breathe out hard. "Get in the bed." You shove me, and I fall back into it.

I grab the ropes before you have a chance, and we grapple with them. You press your forearm into my chest and pin me to the bed. I bite your shoulder. The ropes slide through my fingers and burn like hot liquid as you pull them from me.

I'm tied again. We pant for breath, winded from our struggle.

You collapse back in your chair and shove your fingers through your wavy hair, exasperated. Did you think this would be easy? "Don't look at me like that," you say, and stand to strip off your shirt. Blisters are already puffing out on your smooth chest. My teeth pierced your shoulder. I run my eyes down over your defined abs and turn away as heat pulses through me.

I can't think about you like that. I won't. You're holding me prisoner in your house. What is wrong with me?

I let my eyes roam back to you. This might be my only way out. "Would you untie me to let me touch you?" I whisper.

You study me with a blank expression. "When you touch me, it'll be because you want to, not because you want me to untie you."

A growl, like an animal, rips up my throat. "I will never want to touch you. Never!"

You ignore me and slip your jeans down over your hips. "I'm going to go wash the soup off. I'll be back, and then we'll try to feed you again."

I watch your bare feet pad out of the bedroom, willing my eyes to stay away from any other parts of your body. Why do you care if I eat? You kidnapped me.

A shower turns on somewhere down the hall. I hear you step in and slide a curtain closed. Something thuds, like a plastic shampoo bottle set down on a ledge. It doesn't take you long to come back with a towel wrapped around your waist, dark curls wet and glistening on your head.

You stand next to the bed, your low-slung towel level with my eyes, and open the drawer to your nightstand. After shuffling around inside, you take out a small white tube and rub some kind of ointment on your chest over the blisters.

"What do you want from me?" I ask. My voice is filled with defeat that's slowly taking over my heart. "I'll do whatever you want." Tears trickle down my cheeks. "Just let me go home."

You bend down and rub your thumbs across my cheeks collecting tears. "I told you, Rachael. You are home." Your warm lips press against my forehead. "It'll be good."

"What do you mean?" I whisper, afraid to ask, because I already know the answer. My lips tug down at the corners and quiver. You're never going to let me leave you.

You sit beside me and run your fingers down my cheek. "You've always been the person holding everything together haven't you?-for your mom when your dad was sick, after he died, for your brainless roommate."

I can't breathe. I can only stare at you. "How do you know about me?"