I Was Kidnapped, He Married His First Love

"Wake up, princess."

A heavy boot kicked the metal leg of the chair.

Falon Massey gasped. Her eyes snapped open.

The harsh glare of a tactical flashlight blinded her. She turned her head away. Her heart hammered against her ribs, a frantic, painful rhythm.

She tried to pull her hands apart. The rough hemp rope bit into the raw skin of her wrists. Warm blood trickled down her palms.

She was kidnapped. The air in the abandoned Brooklyn warehouse was thick. It smelled of rust, mold, and stale urine.

Dwayne Boggs grabbed a fistful of her hair. He yanked her head back.

Falon let out a sharp cry. Her scalp burned.

Dwayne reached into the pocket of his dirty jacket. He pulled out her personal phone.

He grabbed her right hand. He forced her thumb onto the sensor. The screen unlocked with a soft click.

The bright light of the screen illuminated Dwayne's scarred face. He scrolled through her contacts.

He stopped at a name. Jerod Mercer.

Falon's chest tightened. Jerod. Her fiancé. He would pay. He would get her out of here.

Dwayne tapped the screen. He put the phone on speaker and held it up.

The line rang once. Twice.

Then, a click.

The smooth, elegant sound of a live violin drifted through the tiny speaker. It was the string quartet from the Manhattan penthouse ballroom.

"What now, Falon?" Jerod's voice cut through the music. He sounded annoyed. Bored.

Falon's breath hitched. She opened her mouth to scream, but Dwayne pressed a cold, heavy tactical knife against her carotid artery. The sharp edge sliced a millimeter into her skin. A drop of blood slid down her neck.

"Listen closely, Mercer," Dwayne growled. "I have your fiancée. I want one million dollars in cryptocurrency. I will send you the wallet address. You have one hour, or I start mailing you her fingers."

"Jerod, darling," a soft, whiny voice echoed in the background. "They're waiting for us to cut the cake."

Abby.

Falon's stomach dropped to the floor. The string quartet. The cake cutting. Abby's voice. It wasn't just a party. It was a wedding. *Their* wedding.

"Is this your new PR stunt, Falon?" Jerod's tone dripped with absolute disdain. "Hiring a thug to interrupt our wedding? It is pathetic. I've already told you, this is Abby's wish before she dies, we're just having a fake wedding"

"Jerod, it is real!" Falon screamed. She did not care about the knife. The blade dug deeper. The sting was nothing compared to the ice forming in her veins. "He is going to kill me!"

"Your voice sounds completely unhinged," Jerod said coldly. "You lack basic class. Do not test my limits again."

"Jerod-"

"Do whatever you want with her," Jerod said to the kidnapper. "I am done."

The call disconnected.

A sharp, piercing beep filled the warehouse.

Falon stopped breathing. The frantic beating of her heart slowed to a heavy, hollow thud. Her hands stopped pulling at the ropes. The fight drained out of her muscles.

He left her to die.

Dwayne stared at the phone. His face turned red. The veins in his neck bulged.

"Son of a bitch!" Dwayne roared.

He threw the phone against the concrete wall.

The device shattered. Pieces of glass and plastic rained down on the floor.

The sound of the breaking screen mirrored the violent snap inside Falon's chest. The last four years of her life, her compromises, her desperate attempts to be the perfect fiancée-all of it turned to dust.

Dwayne paced the floor. He kicked a metal bucket across the room.

"No money," Dwayne muttered. "No money."

He stopped. He looked at Falon. A sick, twisted smile spread across his face.

He reached into his other pocket. He pulled out a syringe. The barrel was filled with a thick, neon-blue liquid.

"Since I am not getting paid," Dwayne said, flicking the needle. "I might as well have some fun. Black market stuff. It will make you beg for me."

Falon stared at the needle.Pure, primal survival instinct exploded in her brain.She thrashed against the ropes, the wooden chair rocked violently.

Dwayne lunged forward, he pinned her left shoulder down with his heavy hand.

Falon kicked her legs, but he drove his knee into her thigh.He jammed the needle into the vein on her arm and pushed the plunger down.

The cold liquid rushed into Falon's bloodstream, it felt like liquid nitrogen. She let out a muffled groan.

Dwayne pulled the needle out and stepped back, wiping his mouth.

In that split second of his retreat, Falon threw her entire body weight backward.

The chair tipped. The old, rotting wood of the chair back splintered and snapped. The ropes around her wrists loosened just enough.

Falon ripped her hands free, the friction tore the skin off her knuckles, but she did not feel it.

Dwayne cursed. He dropped the syringe and reached for his knife on the floor.

Falon scrambled to her knees, her hand brushed against a jagged shard of glass from her broken phone.

She grabbed it, the sharp edges sliced into her palm and Warm blood coated her fingers.

Dwayne lunged at her.

Falon rolled to the side. She drove the glass shard deep into the thick muscle of Dwayne's calf.

Dwayne let out a blood-curdling scream. He collapsed onto his knees. Blood spurted from the wound, soaking his jeans. He grabbed his leg, his face contorted in agony.

Falon kicked his arm away and stumbled to her feet.

She was barefoot, the rough gravel and broken glass on the floor cut into the soles of her feet.

At this very moment, the drug hit her.

Her vision blurred, the edges of the room melted into dark shadows. Her body temperature spiked, a strange, burning heat started in her stomach and spread to her chest.

She bit down on her tongue. Hard. The sharp pain and the taste of blood forced her eyes to focus.

She ran toward the rusted iron door and threw her body against it. The heavy metal groaned and gave way.

Freezing rain hit her instantly. It soaked her hair.

"I am going to kill you!" Dwayne roared from inside the warehouse. She heard the heavy dragging of his injured leg.

Falon did not look back. She sprinted into the pitch-black Brooklyn night.

The rain mixed with the mud and blood on her face. It ran into her eyes, stinging them. The heavy, wet fabric of her dress weighed her down. Her legs felt like lead.

She turned a corner into a narrow, dark alley.

At the end of the alley, she saw a sleek, black Maybach. The engine was running. The headlights cut through the heavy rain.

Dwayne's heavy footsteps echoed behind her. He was getting closer.

Falon reached the car, she threw her body onto the wet hood of the Maybach.

She looked up through the rain-washed windshield. She locked eyes with the man sitting in the back seat.

The man's eyes were dark, piercing, and carried a terrifying weight.

Falon lay on the hood of the car, gasping for air. The freezing rain pelted her back.

She dragged her body toward the side of the car. She slammed her bloody palms against the tinted passenger window.

Two bright red handprints smeared across the glass.

The window slowly rolled down. Just a few inches.

A blast of dry, air-conditioned air escaped from the cabin.

Bell Farrell sat in the shadows of the spacious back seat. He wore a tailored black suit. His posture was relaxed, but his eyes were sharp. He looked at her the way a predator evaluates a wounded animal.

Falon could not see his face clearly. The drug in her veins made her vision swim. The heat inside her body was becoming unbearable.

"Please," Falon begged. Her voice shook violently from the cold and the terror. "Open the door."

A harsh scraping sound echoed from the mouth of the alley.

Falon snapped her head around.

Dwayne was limping toward her. He held a heavy metal pipe in his hand. The pipe dragged against the wet asphalt, sending up sparks.

Falon's pupils dilated. Panic seized her throat.

She looked back at the man in the car.

Bell did not move. He raised his long, elegant fingers and tapped them slowly against the leather armrest. Tap. Tap. Tap. He was calculating.

Dwayne saw her. He raised the metal pipe. "You dead bitch!" he screamed.

He charged. He was less than thirty feet away.

A soft, mechanical click sounded from the Maybach's door.

The lock disengaged.

Falon grabbed the handle and yanked the heavy door open.

She threw herself inside. She tumbled onto the plush floorboards, bringing the smell of rain, copper blood, and wet dirt into the pristine environment.

She crashed directly against a pair of long legs clad in expensive wool trousers. A strong scent of cold cedar and musk filled her nose.

The door slammed shut automatically. The locks engaged with a heavy thud just as Dwayne reached the car.

The metal pipe smashed against the reinforced ballistic glass.

The impact produced a dull, muted thud. The glass did not even scratch.

Falon curled into a ball on the edge of the leather seat. She pulled her knees to her chest. Her entire body shook uncontrollably. She sucked in huge gulps of the warm, dry air.

Bell reached into the center console. He pulled out a folded Hermes pocket square.

He grabbed her bleeding wrist. His grip was firm, unyielding. He pressed the expensive silk directly against her open wound.

Falon flinched, but he did not let go.

She slowly lifted her head. The dim ambient light of the cabin illuminated his profile.

A sharp, chiseled jawline. A straight nose. Eyes so dark they looked like endless voids.

Outside, Dwayne pounded on the window. He screamed muffled obscenities, demanding the man inside hand her over.

Bell did not even glance at the window.

He pressed a button on the intercom.

"Drive," Bell commanded. His voice was a low, dangerous rumble.

The Maybach's massive engine roared to life.

The driver did not put the car in reverse. Instead, he slammed his foot on the gas and turned the steering wheel sharply.

The heavy front bumper of the Maybach surged forward, aiming straight for Dwayne.

Dwayne's eyes widened in terror. He dropped the pipe and threw himself backward into a massive puddle of muddy water to avoid being crushed.

The Maybach sped past him, leaving him in the dirt.

The immediate threat of death vanished. The adrenaline in Falon's system crashed.

The black market drug took full control.

A wave of intense, suffocating heat erupted in her lower stomach. It spread through her veins like liquid fire.

She felt like she was burning from the inside out.

Falon whimpered. She reached up and pulled at the torn collar of her Oscar de la Renta gown. The ruined fabric slipped off her shoulder, exposing the pale skin of her collarbone and the swell of her chest.

Bell's eyes snapped to her. He noticed the unnatural, feverish flush spreading across her cheeks. He saw the glazed, unfocused look in her eyes.

His dark eyebrows pulled together.

Falon's rational mind dissolved. She needed to cool down. She needed to touch something cold.

She leaned toward the man beside her. He radiated a cool, solid energy.

Her trembling fingers reached out. She touched the edge of his tailored suit jacket.

Bell's hand shot out. He wrapped his large fingers around her wrist. His grip was tight enough to bruise.

"Do not push your luck," Bell warned. His voice was colder than the rain outside.

The icy pressure of his fingers sent a jolt of electricity straight to her core.

Instead of pulling away, Falon leaned into his touch. She turned her hand and intertwined her bloody fingers with his.

A soft, desperate moan escaped her lips.

Bell's expression hardened. The air in the car suddenly felt dangerously thin.

He reached out with his free hand and gripped her chin. He forced her head up, making her look directly into his eyes. He searched her face, looking for any sign of a trap.

Falon's eyes held no clarity. Only a blind, consuming hunger. A single tear of physical frustration slipped from the corner of her eye and ran over his thumb.

Bell stared at the tear. A muscle in his jaw twitched.

He abruptly let go of her chin. He pushed her back against the seat.

He picked up the car phone. He dialed a number.

"Thaddeus," Bell said. "Bring the universal counteragent to the Tribeca penthouse. Now."

He hung up.

Falon curled into herself on the seat. She dug her fingernails into her own palms. She tried to use the pain to fight the overwhelming urge to touch him.

The Maybach sped across the Brooklyn Bridge. The bright, flashing lights of the Manhattan skyline blurred outside the window. Inside, the only sound was Falon's ragged, heavy breathing.

The drug was winning. Her defenses crumbled.

She could not take it anymore.

Falon uncurled her body. She lunged across the wide seat.

She swung her leg over his lap and straddled his thighs.

Bell did not push her away.

His large hands immediately settled on her narrow waist. His thumbs pressed into her skin through the thin fabric of her dress.

He leaned his head forward until his lips brushed against her ear.

"You are playing with fire," Bell whispered. His voice was thick and rough.

The Maybach descended into the private, underground parking garage of the Tribeca penthouse.

The heavy car doors opened. A blast of cold, subterranean air hit Falon's bare skin. She shivered violently.

Bell did not wait for the driver. He stepped out of the car and pulled Falon into his arms. He lifted her effortlessly.

Falon's arms immediately wrapped around his neck. She buried her face into the crook of his neck. Her hot breath fanned across his pulse point.

Bell carried her to the private elevator. He pressed his thumb against the biometric scanner. The doors slid open.

The elevator shot up to the top floor.

The doors parted, revealing a massive, minimalist penthouse. The interior was a stark contrast of cold black marble, gray steel, and white leather. Floor-to-ceiling windows offered a dizzying view of the city below.

Bell walked into the living room. He lowered Falon onto a wide, Italian leather sofa.

He stepped back, intending to go to the kitchen to get her a glass of ice water.

Falon's hand shot out. She grabbed his silk tie. She held on with a desperate, white-knuckled grip.

The sudden pull forced Bell to stop. He dropped down onto one knee at the edge of the sofa. He planted his hands on either side of her head to keep from crushing her.

The fire in Falon's blood was consuming her organs. She needed his skin.

She reached up with trembling fingers. She grabbed the top of his dress shirt. She pulled hard, popping the top two buttons.

Her fingertips brushed against the hard, warm muscle of his chest.

Bell's breathing hitched. His chest expanded rapidly.

He grabbed both of her wrists in one hand. He pinned them to her chest. His eyes darkened, turning into black holes that swallowed all the light in the room.

"If we cross this line, there is no going back," Bell warned. His voice was a low, vibrating threat.

Falon did not hear the warning. Her mind was filled with the echoing sound of Jerod's voice on the phone. Do whatever you want with her. I am done.

The absolute devastation of that betrayal mixed with the chemical fire in her veins. She wanted to erase Jerod. She wanted to feel something else. Anything else.

She looked straight into Bell's eyes.

"Save me," Falon whispered. Her voice broke on a sob.

She lifted her chin and pressed her lips against his throat, right over his Adam's apple.

That single touch destroyed the last thread of Bell's control.

He let out a deep, guttural growl. He released her wrists and grabbed her jaw.

He brought his mouth down on hers.

It was not a gentle kiss. It was a violent collision. It was a punishment and a claim. He forced her lips apart and invaded her mouth, taking all her oxygen.

Falon whimpered into his mouth. Her hands flew to his shoulders. Her nails dug into the expensive fabric of his shirt. She arched her back, pressing her body flush against his.

Bell scooped her up into his arms again. He carried her down the dark hallway.

He kicked open the heavy oak door of the master bedroom.

He threw her onto the center of the massive king-sized bed.

Falon bounced against the soft mattress. She sank into the black velvet duvet. Her wet hair spread out like a dark halo. The ruined designer gown hung off one shoulder. She looked shattered and beautiful.

Bell stood at the edge of the bed. He stripped off his suit jacket and threw it onto the floor. He ripped the silk tie from his neck and wrapped it tightly around his right wrist.

He stared down at her. His chest heaved. He looked like a god demanding a sacrifice.

He climbed onto the bed. He pushed her knees apart with his own.

His rough fingertips traced the curve of her waist. The touch sent a violent shock of electricity through her nervous system.

Falon gasped. She arched her spine off the mattress. Her hands blindly grabbed at his broad back, seeking purchase.

Suddenly, the sharp, shrill sound of the penthouse doorbell echoed through the apartment.

The video intercom on the nightstand lit up. Thaddeus's panicked voice filled the room.

"Bell! I have the counteragent. Open up!"

The noise pierced through the thick fog in Falon's brain. For one split second, reality crashed in. She flinched. Her eyes widened in sudden panic.

Bell felt her body tense. He saw the fear flash in her eyes.

A surge of irrational, possessive rage flared in his chest.

He slammed his hand down on the intercom's mute button. The room plunged back into silence.

He leaned down and bit the sensitive skin of her collarbone. Hard.

He left a dark, red mark on her pale skin. A brand.

Falon cried out from the sharp pain, but the pain instantly morphed into a hollow, aching need. She thrust her hips upward, chasing his weight.

Out in the hallway, the front door beeped. Thaddeus had used his emergency medical override code. The heavy door clicked open.

Bell froze.

He grabbed the thick black silk sheet and pulled it up, covering Falon completely up to her neck. He tucked the edges under her body, hiding every inch of her skin.

He stood up from the bed. His shirt was completely unbuttoned, revealing his sculpted torso. His hair was a mess.

He walked out of the bedroom and pulled the door shut behind him.

Thaddeus rushed into the living room, carrying a silver medical case. He stopped dead in his tracks when he saw Bell.

The doctor's eyes darted from Bell's unbuttoned shirt to the red scratch marks on his neck. He smelled the heavy, unmistakable scent of arousal in the air.

Thaddeus looked at the closed bedroom door. His jaw dropped.

"Leave the case," Bell ordered. His voice was deadly calm.

"Bell, are you insane?" Thaddeus hissed. "Whoever is in there, she has black market narcotics in her system. This is a massive liability."

Bell walked forward. He snatched the silver case out of Thaddeus's hand.

He grabbed his friend by the shoulder, spun him around, and shoved him toward the front door.

"Get out," Bell said.

He pushed Thaddeus into the hallway and slammed the door shut. The lock engaged with a heavy clunk.

Bell turned around. He walked slowly back to the master bedroom. His eyes burned with a dark, obsessive fire.