FIERCED 2: A stepbrother Romance by Stephanie Brother

Chapter ONE
     
    Have you ever considered how you'd respond in the face of cold fear?
    No me either. And I'd even been trained for dealing with it. But I definitely never expected this. 
    When the FBI first instructed me on how to handle this scenario, I was freaked. All the vile possibilities the agent ran me through in the event of my kidnapping had me buried under the bed-covers every night for weeks, shivering with anticipation. He told me that more than half of kidnap victims are never returned. The abductors found it more convenient to take the money and run. Their victims shot and disposed of on toxic waste dumps.
    He wasn't supposed to give me that many details, freaking me out like that. Maybe he was trying to impress me with how bad-ass he was. Although he was the furthest from cool, nothing but a meat-head in a black suit who'd never seen any real drama. He was desperate for some action in his dull life and that I could relate to. Still, I was looking over my shoulder constantly, even in class at the academy. Every person walking past me seemed to fit the mold.
    So what happened when my night sweat terror became my reality?
    You think I'd be flipping out, right? Screaming, shaking, crying like every slasher movie ever made is onscreen in my head at once. Were the men that took me going to toss me in a dumpster? Maybe torture me first? If my father didn't send the ransom fast enough, or refused to deal with terrorists as was his standard response, they might cut off my fingers to send him a warning package.
    But the only churning going on is the clatter of the van across rough roads, that has me shake, rattle and rolling with every bump and turn.
    Not a single tear has rolled from my eyes. And I'm amazingly calm. Like, Buddhist monk calm. Maybe that's too laid back for the circumstances and I should be kicking out at my captors trying to land a bulls-eye in the groin instead of lying here in black sack darkness. The bag tied around my neck is not strangling me at least. But my arms pinned behind my back, tied at the wrists, are stopping me staying upright.
    Inside the blindfold I'm in my own little world, my own movie playing on the dark screen surrounding me. Where instead of screaming and crying, I wait calmly for my chance. Like an Avenger, or Katniss in the Hunger Games. Every sense is on hyper-vigilant mode as I listen with the ears of an Eastern Europe Police State concentrating on picking up any possible clues.
    Who has taken me and why? And most important, where are we going?
    Because when I get my chance to escape, I'll need to know where the fuck I am. Wearing the head bag I suddenly understood the appeal of being blindfold during sex. How every sense is invigorated a hundred-fold so that all my feeling is intensified. The sensitive folds between my inner thighs tingle with the thought. Fuck, that's weird, thinking about sex when I've just been abducted. It almost seems kinky, getting a thrill from being taken.
    Helpless.
    It has to be the climax still lingering there that the kidnappers hijacked me out of. Just when I was ready to go over the edge into bliss, the lights went out and I was stuffed in a bag. I'll probably connect orgasm and abduction in my sexual neural pathways for the rest of my life. My husband will have to play a thousand games of pretend abduction, tying me up and bagging me before I can get off. Again my pussy jolts with need, sending pressure throughout my body so my skin pushes and tingles.
    The rough jolts of the road over every rock and crevasse have stopped, as well as the hairpin bends that threw me side to side. I must have fallen asleep if you can believe it. Lulled by a gentle rocking as though I was a baby back in my mother's arms. I really was losing all sense of reality here.
    The vehicle, which had to be a van as I was rolling around untethered without a proper seat, is no longer moving. Outside I hear the slamming of doors. A group of male voices shouting. In Italian.