Forced Assassin by Natalie Dae and Sam Crescent

stretched on.
    “Okay,” she said. “Seeing as you don’t want to answer a simple question, maybe you can answer another one that isn’t so difficult. Do you intend to kill me?”
    This question she really wanted to know the answer to. Her life was in danger and he was the person either putting her in that danger or, as he’d implied, taking her away from it and keeping her safe.
    “Please,” she said. “For fuck’s sake, imagine yourself in my position. If you were me, wouldn’t you want to know if you were going to die? Whether you would ever see your home again? Whether you’d get the chance to live because all of a damn sudden you’ve realised, after being kidnapped and fucked by a stranger, you’ve been living a shitty, boring life that makes you now want to live a more exciting one?”
    Bishop sighed. “I’ve no intention of killing you. But other people may want to if what you’ve told me about this holiday weekend shit is true.”
    Fallan took a deep breath. “Well, I guess you’d better take a chance on me, because I’m not into lying, especially in this kind of situation. If I have people looking for me, like that Freddie or Frankie, or whatever the fuck his name is, I need you to sort them out so I can find some other way to stall the bank on foreclosing.” She paused for a few seconds. “Because, if you’ve got the package, they’re not exactly going to be handing me that money now, are they!”
    God, she was so angry, so bewildered, so fucking scared all at the same time. What a goddamn mess!
    She heard the door open, then slam and the unmistakable sound of gravel as he moved round the vehicle to the back. He climbed in and grasped her knees—turning her to face him? She didn’t know. Couldn’t fucking see!
    “I’m going to unlock the cuffs,” he said. “ Don’t try anything.”
    Fallan sat and waited, although she wanted to lash out, and Bishop was the best choice, the only choice to lash out at. She resisted—what good would it do?—and he guided her out. She heard him shut and lock the door, then he cupped her shoulder.
    At his touch, all the anger she felt at her situation rushed through her. She pulled out of his grip, not to run but to turn to him and blindly smack out. She didn’t know how she managed to strike him but she did, and the slap to his face stung her hand. She bunched her hands and started hitting out at him—every part of his body she could slap and kick, she did.
    “You little bitch,” he growled, hauling her to him, her blindfold slipping down in the process.
    Fallan hesitated, letting her eyes adjust to the early morning glow of the sun. A shithole of a building stood to their right. The place looked as if it was about to fall down. The roof slate bowed in the middle, and the brickwork was mouldy and grey. The front door, aged and weathered, didn’t give her confidence that it would keep intruders out. All the front windows were covered in grime except one, which had a clean circle in the centre, made by someone’s sleeve cuff or a cloth, she imagined. All in all, things were going from worse to worse.
    Abruptly, Bishop lifted her over his shoulder and carried her along a gravel path leading to the cottage, scrubby grass bordering the walkway.
    “You bastard! You’re going to kill me in there, aren’t you?”
    She thumped his back and jabbed her knees, connecting with his smooth stomach. He let out a grunt but didn’t stop in his mission to get to the cottage.
    Fallan didn’t give up and continued her beating, even though her fists connected with hard, muscled flesh and yet her thumps didn’t appear to affect him.
    “Put me down!” she yelled, suddenly and startlingly aware that no one was coming and no one would care if she died.
    He ignored her, opened the door and carried her over the threshold. Fallan held still, otherwise she’d have smacked her head on the lintel.
    The dust hit her first and she sneezed. She lifted her head to look