Neil (The Uncompromising Series Book 2) (17 page)

“You know me, Ariella.”

I know him?
“Stop calling me that.” And why
the fuck
couldn’t I remember how I got here?

“It’s your name.”

“No one calls me that.” Not even my mother. She knew better.

The lines in his forehead softened and his voice lowered. “I call you that.”

The way he said it, like he really knew me, or… Jesus. “
How
do I know you?”

He didn’t hesitate. “Through André.”

Every time another name came out of his mouth, my anxiety hit a new level. Who the fuck was André? My face must’ve given away my thoughts because the hint of warmth I’d seen in him immediately disappeared.

His face, his voice, they went back to all coldness. “What year is it?”

What kind of a question was that? “What’s wrong with you?” How fucking long had we been locked up in this… this… I looked around. Dirt-stained concrete floor, no windows, concrete-block walls, ceiling with exposed beams, there wasn’t even a damn dust bunny. I didn’t know where the hell we were but it smelled like shit.

“Year, Ariella.”

“Stop saying my name like that.”

“Like what?”

“Like I’m a child.”

“You are not a child.”

“No shit.”

“Year,” he repeated.

“I’ll tell you what year it is if you tell me how I know you and why the hell I’m here.” I couldn’t be sure because he was a couple yards away, but I thought his nostrils flared. I didn’t give a shit. I wanted answers. And maybe that would trigger me remembering what the fuck happened.

“What do you want to know first?”

“How I know you.” Maybe. I didn’t know. Everything he was saying, implying he knew me, it was starting to seriously freak me out. Snippets of my life were filtering in but it was like a faucet set to an agonizingly slow drip. Me kissing Conner good morning. Jason pissing me off but I didn’t know why. My routine at the strip club, but then I remembered dressing in slacks and lower heels and doing my makeup but not heavy makeup, not like stripper makeup. “Do I still work at a strip club? Did I hit my head or something? Why don’t I remember you?” And why didn’t I remember getting here? I struggled to think of the last thing I could remember before waking up here, but all I had was me lying in a bed, watching Conner sleep.

Muscle Man sighed and for some reason, I thought it was completely out of character for him. “You work for an acquaintance of mine, André Luna. He owns Luna and Associates, a personal security firm. You are the receptionist. We officially met for the first time when you began working for him.”

The slacks and low heels were for a receptionist job? “A day job?” Who watched Conner? “What about my son?”

“You use a daycare service.”

“I put my son in daycare?” The thought made me sick. The whole reason I stripped was so that I didn’t have to leave my boy during the day. God knew his father was a worthless shit. I had to pay rent somehow, but I didn’t want to be an absentee parent. “I don’t strip anymore?”

He hesitated. “No.”

I should’ve asked why he hesitated but I didn’t. “What’s your name?”

“Neil Christensen.” The corner of his mouth twitched.

His name meant nothing but his eyes, his stare, they gave me that kind of familiar feeling you get when you meet someone for the first time and you know you’re going to like them. It was familiar but new and all at once comfortable and disconcerting. And the twitch of his mouth, it was almost unnoticeable but it was there and I didn’t know jack shit about this he-man, but I knew it meant something. “What?”

“You do not call me Neil.”

“What do I call you?”

“Viking.”

If we were in any other situation besides the fucked-up mess we were in, I probably would’ve laughed. I scanned the length of him. There wasn’t an inch that wasn’t ripped muscle, the type of muscle earned from years of being a warrior. “You look like a Viking.”

“So you have said.”

“Why are we here?”

“The father of your son stole guns from the Lone Coaster MCs and was using your vehicle for transport when he was arrested on a traffic violation. Now they think you have the guns.”

Jesus
. “Do I?” I was going to fucking kill Jason when this was over.

He shook his head once. “No. I took them.”

What? “Why?”

“You called for help. You did not want to be in possession of them. Year?”

I called him to take care of my problems? “We’re both tied up and you’re worried about the fucking year? Give them the damn guns and let’s get the fuck out of here.” What the hell was he waiting for?

“Returning the guns will not guarantee our freedom. You swear too much.”

“Too fucking bad.” He was lucky I wasn’t a hyperventilating mess, or worse, crying. “I want to get back to my son. How do we do that?”

“You are going to kick the stool over.”

“Are you crazy?” Did he have a death wish?

“I do not have the leverage. If I kick, one side of the board will tip first.”

I could see from here why that would be a big fucking problem because whichever side the board fell, it would send the opposite block slamming into his leg
then
it would drop and choke the life out of him. “You can’t let it tip.”

“I will not let that happen. It needs to drop flat, both blocks dropping at the same time.”

What?
“No, then you’ll choke!” And die. And I didn’t want him to die.

Every muscle in his body tensed and I saw the frustration crawl across his body like an itch he couldn’t scratch.

I wanted to kick out, or break something. Or cry. “See?” I argued, even though he hadn’t said a word. “It’s frustrating as hell being helpless, isn’t it?”

“Neither of us are helpless. Twist your legs to loosen the tape. Rock the chair and move toward me.”

“And then what? Blondie will come in and see that I’m trying to get to you and he’ll hit you again.”

“I can take the hit.”

“Looks like you’ve already been taking them.” How many before it was too much?

“Move over here.”

“You’re kinda bossy for someone who’s trussed up like fresh kill.”

“I am not dead.”

Jesus, did he have an answer for everything? “Not yet.”

He dropped his voice to a sexy command. “Come here, Ariella.”

“Sure, be right there.”

“
Move the chair
.”

“Bossy fuck.” But I lifted my ass and tried to jerk forward. The chair scooted a whole inch.

Viking nodded. “Again.”

I did it again and involuntarily grunted with the effort. It netted me two inches and a sharp pain in my back. “
Fuck
. What happened to my back?”

“Ricochet,” he stated like it wasn’t a big deal.

Ricochet of what? “What the hell does that mean?”

“Bullet.” He issued another single-word response.

Jesus
fuck
. I was shot? Panic like I’d never experienced crawled up my spine and stole my breath for one whole heartbeat. Then I sucked in some air, pushed my back into the chair to feel for wet blood and wiggled all my toes and fingers. Nothing dripping, all my shit moving, I couldn’t figure out what was more alarming. Being shot or Viking starting to give me single-word answers like he might be losing his strength.

“First of all, I’m coming back to the whole being shot thing because,
what the fuck
? So you better answer this quick because I’m about to freak the hell out. Are you normally a closed-off, silent motherfucker or are you starting to pass out or something? Because I’m not doing this shit alone. You better wake the fuck up or soldier on or do whatever badass shit a Viking does so you don’t leave me alone with this fucked-up shit and the blond asshole.” I jerked the fucking chair another inch, cursing my shitty progress and my back and Jason and every fucking thing about my life right now.

“His name is Candle and I am not going to pass out.”

My head popped up because something about that was familiar, like a word you couldn’t quite remember. “Blondie is Candle? What kinda fucked-up name is that?”

“You swear too much.”

I gritted my teeth against his bullshit. My back throbbing, my head pounding, I moved another couple inches. “Deal with it.” If I couldn’t remember shit, I was giving myself permission to swear all I fucking wanted.

“No.”

I looked up at him again. “What are you gonna do? Spank me and send me to my room?”

Nothing changed in his expression, not even a blink, so I didn’t know how the hell I saw it, but everything, and I do mean
everything
in his calculated gaze turned dark. If I’d been standing, I would’ve stepped back. “You sick, kinky fuck. Don’t get any ideas,” I warned.

“Too late.”

I shook my head. I’d stripped for years. I knew his type. But he wasn’t getting anywhere with me. “You know what will happen if you ever try that shit with me?”

“Move,” he ordered.

I half hopped, half jumped another inch, not because he told me to but because I wanted out of here. “I’ll hit back. Hard. I don’t have a submissive bone in my body, so get that shit out of your head right fucking now.”

“I have no desire to dominate you.”

I grunted through another couple inches and sweat broke out across my forehead. “No, you just wanna control the shit outta me.” Everything about him screamed control freak. And how the hell did he get tied up? He looked like it’d take an act of God to get him to submit.

“Normally, you do not speak to me this way.”

“In case you hadn’t noticed, nothing about this”—I swept my gaze around the shit warehouse—“is normal. And you didn’t deny your control issues.”

“That is not what I meant and I do not have issues.”

Another agonizing inch. At this rate, I’d need four hours to get to him. “Everyone has issues, but go ahead, by all means, tell me what you
meant
.”

“You do not swear as much, nor use slang or blend words when you speak to me.”

“Blend words?” What the hell did that mean?

“Wanna, kinda.”

The words sounded like shit coming out of his mouth. I hated the fact that I could see his point, which only pissed me off more. “If you want an Ivy League educated woman, go find one.”

“If I wanted that, I would, but it is not my type.”

I purposely scanned the length of him but I didn’t need to. I’d sized up his
type
in about zero-point-two seconds. “Let me guess,” I enunciated each word. “Models. Accents preferred.”

His head tilted slightly, as much as it could with his neck covered in a thick rope time bomb. “Explain.”

“Explain what?”

“Your assessment.”

I scooted another few inches. I wasn’t educated. I’d barely graduated high school because I was busy chasing Jason around and spreading my legs for his stupid, addicting smile. I didn’t know how to divide fractions or conjugate a verb, but I knew people. I assessed everyone I met within minutes and I could sum up their personalities. I didn’t know how I did it, but I was almost always right, except for Jason, but I blamed that on being young and dumb. I moved another inch, my focus on the floor, watching my progress.

“You’re tall as hell, built like a Viking, controlling, bossy and unwavering. You probably are a bitch to work for, because whatever you do, you’re the boss. You like your women beautiful because you like excellence in all things. Your watch is expensive as fuck, your jeans are designer, your haircut isn’t from a barber shop and your teeth are perfect. But you don’t want commitment. You don’t want anything holding you down. Models fit that bill. Beautiful, flighty, more concerned about their weight and next cover shoot than getting a ring out of you.”

“Look at me,” he demanded.

Ignoring him, I glanced at my legs. The tape was loosening. “The accent part I threw in because you have one. Maybe it makes you feel like home, maybe it turns you on, hell, maybe you only speak Danish when you’re getting your freak on.” Another inch. My back screamed.

“
Ariella
.”

Panting, I glanced up. His gray-blue gaze stilled me the same as if he’d put his hand on my shoulder, and goddamn, something about that felt familiar.

“Take a break,” he quietly commanded.

Jesus, he was fucking gorgeous. And impenetrable, and dangerous in ways I was sure I didn’t want to know. “How did you get tied up?” Because suddenly, none of this made sense. Act of God or not, he wasn’t a man who let people get the best of him.

He studied me. “I made a mistake.”

Gooseflesh spread across my arms and I wondered what it would be like to be one of those models. “Bet that doesn’t happen often.”

“How bad is your back?”

“It’s fine,” I lied, mentally shaking away my ridiculous thoughts. “What kind of mistake?” I purposely spaced out
kind
and
of
.

His eyes focused on mine and his stare dangerously crawled under my skin. “I let my guard down.”

It wasn’t a statement, it was an admission. And it looked like it cost him. “Because?” Even though I asked, something told me I didn’t want to know.

“You were injured.”

The air shifted and the space between us narrowed to two people breathing. My hands tingled and my thighs ached. I wanted to touch him. His hand, his arm, his chest, it didn’t matter where, just one touch. But the way his gaze was burning into my soul like nothing was more important to him in this moment than me, I knew that one touch would be the biggest mistake of my life.

I didn’t say anything.

“Your back?” he asked softly.

Confusion, yearning, hope, anger, desperation, it all swelled into a storm and I couldn’t swallow past the sudden lump in my throat. “Who am I to you?” I had to know.

His chest rose with an inhale. “Someone important.”

The tingling in my hands spread over my whole body. “You don’t say that to many people, do you?”

“No.”

I dropped my gaze and moved the chair again. The slight screech-thump noise echoed like a gunshot but I did it again.

“Look at me.”

I focused so hard on the dirt-stained concrete floor that my vision blurred. I moved the damn chair again. And again. And a stupid sob broke free. I was a single working mom. I lived in a shit apartment on the third floor so junkies and gangbangers wouldn’t break in. I worked for my money and I took care of my kid. This wasn’t supposed to happen. I wasn’t supposed to get shot and kidnapped and duct taped. I was a good person. I even paid my fucking taxes on time.