Provoke by Missy Johnson Page B

the filthy strip of what I thought used to be a bedsheet. Then I saw the bottle lying next to it. I reached for it, sure my eyes were playing tricks on me.
    "Did you really just chloroform me?" I yelled, smashing my fists against the side window. I tried opening the door. Nothing. Damn childproof locks.
    "I had to do something. You wouldn’t listen," he replied quietly, not taking his eyes off the road.
    "So you chloroformed me?" I gasped, incredulous.
    "You're taking this way out of proportion, Leets. Calm the fuck down."
    “Stop the car right now, Mace, or I swear to God . . .” My voice trailed off. I wouldn’t do shit, and he knew it.
    “What? What are you gonna do—call the police?” He laughed, his dark eyes levelling on me through the rear-vision mirror. “You’re not going anywhere. Not yet. Not until you hear me out.”
    What do I do now? I could force my way into the front and risk us having an accident, or I could let him do whatever the hell it was he had planned. He wouldn’t hurt me . . . would he?
    My heart pounded as the videos ran through my head. Who knows what he was capable of? I could kid myself all I liked that it wasn’t him. But it all matched. The tattoos along his arm and above the nipple. God, even the tiny scar below his neck.
    “You can’t make me listen to you,” I muttered, scowling out of the window into the darkness.
    He snorted. “You’re right, but I can keep you until you give in. Who do you think is going to win that, huh?”
    “You’re an asshole.”
    He sighed. “I will explain everything, Leets, I promise. I just need to make sure you’re going to hear me out.”
    Hear him out? And the best way he could see to achieve that was to drug and kidnap me? Way to go, Mace, you top the class on the bright idea stakes.
    I slumped back down in the seat, determined not to respond. Yes, I was being childish, but I was so pissed off and I wanted him to know it. I'd defended him to my family and taken shit from my friends. Now, for the first time in our relationship I was wondering if they had been right all along.
    Nobody’s perfect, but some things just can't be forgiven . . . can they?
    #
    “So, what’s your plan?” I asked, my voice cool. “Keep me tied up here forever?”
    I tried again to free myself from the constraints holding me to the chair I was sitting on. I glanced around. We were in a motel, that much was obvious.
    Where? I had no fucking idea.
    He shot me a look and then squeezed his eyes shut, his hands clasped behind his head. It was like he had no fucking idea what to say or do. And it was a good thing, too, because I wasn’t in the mood to hear his bullshit.
    He finally stopped pacing and crouched down in front of me. I winced as he placed his hands on my knees. I jumped, for the first time not sure what he was capable of. Flashbacks of my relationship with Ben filled my head.
    “Are you scared of me?” He looked crestfallen as he stared at me, his eyes red. Defeated. He slouched back on his shoes, his shoulders slumped forward.
    I felt sorry for him. For the tiniest moment, I really did.
    He had kidnapped me after cheating on me, and I felt sorry for him? What the hell was my problem?
    It’s those eyes.
    Those damn eyes, full of so much emotion; I couldn’t look at them and not feel something. The betrayal hurt me more than anything else at the moment, which was ridiculous. He was a rapist, and I was upset because he’d cheated on me? But I couldn’t help it. I’d thought we had something.
    I just couldn’t understand where this had come from. I ran over things in my mind—times when we’d been together. Had there been things I should’ve been looking out for? Could I have somehow prevented this? Was it something I’d done . . . or not done that had made him want to go elsewhere?
    Snap out of it, Leeta. You will not blame yourself because he couldn’t keep his dick in his pants.
    “Yes, I’m scared of you, Mace. What do you expect?”
    He