Taken: A Romance Novella

  Taken

  by JC VALENTINE

  Copyright © 2017 by J.C. Valentine

  Cover design by Brandi Salazar Editorial Services

  Interior book design by J.C. Valentine

  Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of the above author of this book.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. The author acknowledges the trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.

  Acknowledgements

  For my children: You’re the best thing to ever happen to me. You make every day brighter than the last. Everything I do is for you <3

  As always, thank you to my editor, Mitzi, for making my stories shine and for being a wonderful friend! For my PA, Mia, for having not run the other way yet lol. Everything you do for me is noticed and appreciated more than words can ever express. Everything.

  Finally, to you, dear readers, for reading. Whether you have been on board since the beginning with the Night Calls Series, or are new to my work, know that I cherish you. I couldn’t be where I am now without you. You give me the courage and drive to create these stories with your wonderful and kind words. I am always thrilled to hear your thoughts, and your feedback is important, so I hope you will consider leaving a review on Amazon, Goodreads, and/or your other preferred retailer sites. Xoxoxox

  Chapter One

  Holidays sucked. Especially when it snowed. And you had no one to share them with.

  Elise knew that life lesson all too well. Terminally single. Forever alone. Cursed.

  Okay, enough with the feeling sorry for herself routine. She was not a defect or a blight on humankind, as she so often considered herself to be. She was just…unlucky. Unlucky in life and in love. It didn’t mean the universe hated her, which she had accused it of doing quite a lot as of late. Why? Because she was sick of being alone and unloved. It wasn’t as if she had the plague, for Christ’s sake. Where were all the men? Oh, that’s right. They were taken—at least the ones worth her time.

  Maybe she was just too damn picky, her standards too high. The problem with that theory was that she’d already lowered them—considerably. She was down to the nitty gritty of requiring a job, unmarried, and with a functioning libido. She seriously couldn’t get any lower unless the guy was dead. Which, at this point, might be her only option.

  Christ, she reeked of desperation.

  Eying the shelves of wine, Elise selected a cheap white and made her way to the checkout. She tried to ignore the knowing look from the cashier as he rang up the wine, frozen dinner, and packages of egg-shaped Reese’s that screamed single female, while she sized him up for a potential matehood: shaggy brunette hair, slightly too big nose, thin lips, beady eyes, and waaaaaay too young. Since going to jail wasn’t a part of her life plan, she dismissed the idea and accepted his mandatory “Have a nice day” with a solemn nod.

  Could her day get any more pathetic?

  The moment she stepped through the automatic door, the icy splash of slush that splattered her from knee to ankle shocked the holy hell out of her, making her nearly drop her bags as she screeched and jumped to avoid the unavoidable.

  “Thanks a lot, asshole!” she shouted at the careless driver. Looking down at the dark, wet stain on her previously pristine white jeans, she cursed. Apparently, she could be more pathetic.

  The trudge to her car was nothing short of painful; the cold made even more so by her current state of soaking wet. A problem made even worse when she pressed the button on her key fob to trigger the trunk release only to realize that it wasn’t responding. That could only mean one thing…

  “No, please God,” she begged, her breath fogging in front of her. Out of sheer desperation, she jammed on that button, nearly depressing it permanently, but nothing. No flash of the tail lights, no beep of the alarm. Not a damn thing.

  She wanted to cry. Right there in the middle of the parking lot, surrounded by puddles of slush and snowflakes floating down around her, she wanted to drop to the cold, hard, unforgiving asphalt. But she did no such thing. Instead, Elise lifted her chin. She’d been through tough times before. No reason to break down now when she’d always found a way to pull herself up and power through the piles of shit life threw at her.

  Thankfully, she had a cell phone. She’d even remembered to charge it this morning—hallelujah! At least she had that going for her. She could wait in the car while she called for a tow truck. And she could use the money she’d saved from the 401K she’d received after she’d been let go from the printing press when they’d lost too much business to keep the doors open any longer. Silver lining. Always look for the silver lining. No matter how damn thin it was.

  Forcing herself to stay upbeat, Elise marched toward her car with renewed purpose, but that didn’t last long. About five seconds, give or take.

  That’s when she heard the car coming up behind her, the ominous sound of the engine gaining speed, the splash of tires through puddles of ice and snow. She didn’t have time enough to process what was happening before the squeal of brakes followed by the metallic slide of the door registered an instant before a pair of strong male arms banded around her middle and sent her pitching sideways as her feet were lifted out from under her.

  Elise was screaming before she knew what she was screaming about. She was operating on pure animal instinct, all her receptors telling her that this was not a drill! Holy Christ, was she being kidnapped? As she was dragged into the waiting van, falling back against a hard chest, and heard the deep, frantic voice beside her ear shout, “Go, go, go!” she thought, yes, yes, she was. Just her luck, being kidnapped on Easter morning. Silver lining: at least she didn’t have anywhere else to be. No one waiting for her to return home. Which also meant there was no one around to miss her.

  And the most pathetic part of all of this? She was actually thrilled to finally have a little excitement in her life.

  Chapter Two

  Candlelight. Check.

  A crackling fire in the hearth. Check.

  Bottle of wine and a box of chocolates. Check and check.

  Blindfold to heighten the senses and the romance. Check.

  Crazy kidnapper. Double check.

  Elise sat on a somewhat comfortable piece of furniture of indeterminate origin in an unknown location with her hands and ankles bound by a length of rope that made her skin itch. She couldn’t see a thing thanks to the damn strap of cloth her captors had tied around her head, blocking her vision. What she could surmise? There were two men, they were on the run, and they’d brought her someplace remote. From the length of the drive and the rough path they’d traveled, coupled with the dank, musty scent of the room she was in and the sounds of nature nearby, she was going with the whole cabin in the woods cliché. Which made her laugh.

  “What’s so fuckin’ funny, lady?”

  Aside from the sharp turn her life had taken? Not a damn thing. The harsh rasp of the man’s voice—the driver, she thought—shut her right up. She didn’t dare move or even breathe for fear of what he’d do to her.

  Her silence had the opposite effect though. Rather than forget she existed, she felt the air stir and the tension rise as the sound of his heavy footsteps rapidly approached. His tight grip on her upper arm made Elise wince,
but he didn’t seem to notice. Or care.

  “I said what’s so funny?”

  The sneer was evident in the tightness of his voice, and Elise decided she didn’t like this guy one bit. Out of the two, she knew this one was the driver of the kidnapping van by the slight Boston accent she detected. But he either hid it well or he’d been away from the area for long enough to water it down considerably. His buddy, the one with the grabby hands and the voice that sounded like river rock, hard but smooth, was straight Yankee, by her guess—no accent whatsoever, which meant he was probably from around these parts just like her.

  Driver, as she’d nicknamed him, jostled her around a bit more, perturbed by her lack of response. Tough tooties, as far as she was concerned. The way her life was going? He’d cut out her tongue as a reward. No thanks. She was just praying if she played it safe, she’d get out of here alive and in one piece. No need to rile the grizzly.

  “I asked you a question!” The slap across Elise’s cheek was unexpected, as was the bolt of pain that followed. She cried out then, rather than break down and sob or beg, and reeled her emotions in before they could get loose. She might be on the losing end of the stick, but she refused to show weakness. Weakness gave him power, and she was determined to retain what little she had left.

  “Cat got your tongue?” Driver grabbed her jaw in a punishing grip. “I bet I can make you talk.”

  Just then a door opened and the clomping of boots strode inside. Driver paused his abuse, his hold loosening a fraction. “What the hell are you doing?” said the one who’d kidnapped her. “I thought we discussed this. No violence.”

  “She was laughing.”

  “And you have something against a sense of humor?”

  Driver all but shoved her away, like she disgusted him. Behind the pitch black of her blindfold, Elise felt and heard him move away from her. “She’s a liability. I’m not taking any chances.”

  “She’s our ticket out of here.”

  “She’ll slow us down. Worst case? She manages to escape. Then she tells everyone who we are.”

  This time, Elise sensed the other man move toward her. She stiffened to feel him crouch down in front of her, feeling his eyes on hers, despite the lack of eye contact. And for some strange reason, she felt a tremor of heat wend its way through her body. “You planning to escape, sweetheart?”

  Her automatic response was a swift shake of her head.

  “See? She’s going to be a good girl, aren’t you?” She agreed wholeheartedly. As long as they didn’t slaughter her, she’d be the best damn prisoner anyone ever had. “Satisfied?” he asked his driver buddy.

  “Say she does escape, what then?”

  “She hasn’t seen our faces, doesn’t know our names, and hasn’t the first clue where she is. Even if she did manage to give us the slip, she’d die of exposure before she ever made it to civilization.”

  Well, that didn’t sound very hopeful at all. Elise pictured herself, the furthest thing from 007, the least stealthy person she knew, attempting a daring escape. She didn’t care who they were, but her captor was right. She didn’t know where she was. If her instincts were correct, though, and she was in some remote cabin, in the middle of a snowstorm in freaking April, she’d never find help. Elise had the worst sense of direction, didn’t know the first thing about reading a map—although, she doubted very much they’d be gracious enough to provide her with one—and she hadn’t the first clue how to live off the land. Not to mention, she’d probably bust an ankle in the first five minutes. On a pebble. She’d freeze to death out there, a one woman Donner party. So, no, Elise would not be attempting an escape.

  “This is a bad idea,” Driver grumbled from a distance.

  The other one, who was still poised directly in front of her, didn’t respond. She could still feel his eyes on her, and she wondered what he was seeing, what he was thinking. Making a mental roadmap of where he’d dismember her after he killed her perhaps?

  Elise jerked when he touched her cheek, the light dusting of a single fingertip a shock to her senses.

  “It’s a little swollen. You want some ice, sweetheart?”

  Was that regret in his voice? She highly doubted it. Kidnappers didn’t have regrets. But he was right. Now that he’d brought her attention to it, her cheek had its own heartbeat. “Yes, please,” she said faintly, not wanting to rouse the anger of Driver again.

  He grunted and then he was gone, leaving Elise alone on the couch once more. Only this time, with the idea forefront in her mind, and against her better judgment, she did think about escaping into the night. Her mind had already begun to sketch out a map of the room, where the door was located, the kitchen where she could hear her captors moving around, arguing with each other. She tested her bonds, finding no room for error. They’d bound her so tight, her circulation was compromised, the skin around her wrists on the verge of tearing. Short of them untying her, there was no easy way that she could surmise to free herself.

  “You’re hurting yourself.”

  Elise froze dead on the spot. She hadn’t heard him return. The bag of ice dropped on the cushion beside her, the cold radiating against her thigh as he grabbed her shoulder and pushed her face down toward her knees. Running his fingers around her battered wrists, he tested her restraints and cursed.

  “These are too tight,” he muttered to himself. Then cursed again. Then he was gone. Elise heard another hushed argument ensue, followed by Driver yelling as his friend returned to her.

  “You can’t fuckin’ release her!”

  Something cold and hard—a knife, she thought—slipped between her skin and the rope, and a second later, sweet relief. “I wouldn’t have to if you’d hadn’t tied her up so damn tight.”

  “What the hell do you think the rope is for!”

  “Any longer and she might have lost her hands. For Christ’s sake, we’re not savages!” The ice pack was suddenly shoved against Elise’s cheek, the blistering cold shocking her. As they continued to argue with one another, she lifted a hesitant hand and covered his, intending to take over her own care. But he didn’t let go. Not for a second. Too distracted with fighting with his partner to notice or care.

  Elise certainly didn’t know what to do. She was partially free, but both men were right there. It wouldn’t be smart to run now, even if she wanted to. They’d tackle her before her ass left the couch. Then what? Far worse things than rope burn would happen.

  So she sat there and listened to them argue, not really listening because it was catty and lacking any valuable information. They were careful, leaving names, places, and circumstances out of it. She knew nothing more than she did when they first arrived, which was precious little. For all intents and purposes, she was flying blind. Which meant they could be petty thieves, hardcore criminals…or murderers. There was no way of knowing.

  And that was the most dangerous position to be in of all.

  Chapter Three

  “I need to use the bathroom. Please,” Elise tacked on. The one who’d manhandled her into the van, which she’d decided to dub Manhandler, for obvious reasons, seemed to respond well to politeness.

  Only silence followed, but Elise knew that she wasn’t alone in the room. She could hear the subtle shift of clothing from time to time, the wheeze of a nostril over the crackling hearth. They were just ignoring her.

  “Excuse me,” she said more forcefully. “I need to use the bathroom.”

  “Hold on,” Driver grunted. Shifting sounds reached her ears then something small and hard hit her knee before falling to the floor with several clatters. Metal. “There’s a quarter. Call someone who cares.” Driver laughed at his own lame and outdated sense of humor.

  Elise wasn’t in a laughing mood. Apparently, neither was Manhandler.

  “For fuck’s sake. Would it kill you to have some decency?”

  “She’s a prisoner.”

  “You plan on getting friendly with a bucket and mop tonight? Even puppies piss themselves
if you don’t take them outside every now and then. So why don’t you step up and take the lady to the bathroom.”

  Elise was mentally shaking her head. The way these two were arguing, they were going to end up killing each other. And Driver’s pettiness didn’t inspire much confidence in how he’d treat her when his partner wasn’t looking. He’d already hit her once, and his disdain for her wasn’t masked. She’d bet money he liked to hurt things. It was just a matter of time before his pride and ego were bruised enough to lash out. The question was, who would he take it out on?

  “Why don’t you stop acting like I’m your little lapdog and do it yourself.” Driver was angry, his tone seething. Elise could picture the foam on his lips. She half-expected things to get even more heated between them, but once again, Manhandler diffused the situation without much effort.

  “You’re a pain in my ass,” he told his partner as, from the sound of movement, he got up and crossed the room. His hand above her elbow was firm but gentle, applying just enough pressure to give instruction. “Let’s go.”

  She went. Each step was an exercise in trust. When they reached the bathroom, she paused, wondering what to do next. She couldn’t see a damn thing. And she sure as hell wasn’t letting him into the bathroom with her. She’d rather wet herself than allow that to happen.

  “You have two minutes. Lights stay off. When I close the door, you can remove the blindfold. When your time is up, I’ll knock twice and you make sure it’s back on before I open that door. There’s no escaping in there. No weapons. Don’t try anything stupid, and you won’t have to find out what happens to those who cross me. Got it?”

  Crystal clear. The last thing Elise wanted to do was find out where they hid the bodies. Namely, hers. So she nodded once, sharply, before being shoved into the bathroom.

  As soon as the door clicked shut, she ripped the cloth from her eyes and got down to business. She counted the seconds as she relieved herself. Continued as she scoured the bathroom for anything she could use as a weapon, despite him already telling her there was nothing. As if she’d believe him? But everything—the shower stall, medicine, and sink cabinets were stripped bare. The only thing that could be useful was a bar of generic white soap that had cracked and split from age and use. Somehow, she doubted they’d give her time to lather up herself or the floors to create a slippery mess.