Taken by Necessity

The moon hung low and indifferent over the city, silvering the cracked sidewalks outside Elena’s apartment building. Inside, she slept fitfully, sheets twisted around her legs, the old T-shirt she wore rucked high on her hips. Dreams tangled with memory: gunshots, blood on concrete, a gloved thumb dragging across her lip until she ached.

She never heard the lock pick.

The door opened without a sound. Three shadows slipped inside, Dominic’s best men, moving like smoke. Black gloves, black masks, no words. One carried zip ties and a syringe; the others carried her fate.

Elena stirred when the mattress dipped. Her eyes flew open to a gloved hand clamping over her mouth, firm, not cruel, but absolute. She bucked, a muffled cry vibrating against leather that smelled faintly of gun oil and something darker. Male.

“Shh, Ms. Ramirez,” a low voice murmured near her ear. “Boss’s orders. Don’t fight, and this stays easy.”

Boss.

Her body went rigid with understanding even as panic flooded her veins. Dominic. He was taking her.

Strong arms lifted her as if she weighed nothing. The thin T-shirt offered no protection; cool air kissed her bare thighs as the fabric rode higher. She kicked once, hard, connecting with a shin. A soft grunt, then a steely arm banded around her waist, pinning her back to a broad chest.

Another hand slid down her leg, clinical, efficient, securing her ankles with a zip tie. The plastic bit into her skin, a sharp, intimate restraint. She felt the heat of a body behind her, the accidental brush of hips against her ass as they adjusted their grip. Her pulse thundered in her ears, equal parts terror and something hotter she refused to name.

A black hood descended over her head, plunging her into darkness. The fabric smelled clean, expensive. His doing, she knew somehow.

Then movement... down the stairs, out into the night. The chill hit her exposed skin instantly, raising goosebumps, tightening her nipples against the cotton. She was carried like a bride or a captive, pressed against a chest hard with muscle. She could feel the steady thump of a heart that wasn’t racing like hers.

The car door opened. Leather seats, cold against the backs of her thighs as they settled her between two bodies. The seat belt clicked across her lap, the strap pulling tight between her breasts. Doors shut. The engine purred to life.

The drive lasted forever and no time at all.

When the car finally stopped, she was lifted again. Gravel crunched under boots. Wind carried the scent of pine and water, somewhere outside the city. Doors opened, closed. Warm air enveloped her, rich with polished wood and faint cigar smoke.

His scent.

Hands guided her forward, then stopped. The hood lifted.

She blinked against the sudden glare. The bedroom was massive, exuding a bold, masculine vibe with dark wood and deep gray accents throughout. A king-sized bed dominated one wall, its sheets pulled back in quiet invitation. Beyond the floor-to-ceiling windows lay an endless sweep of pitch-black forest.

And him.

Dominic stood ten feet away, near the fireplace, suit jacket gone, white shirt sleeves rolled to the elbow. The firelight painted gold across the sharp angles of his face and the corded strength of his forearms. His eyes, black, fathomless, locked on her instantly.

The men released her arms and retreated. The door closed with a heavy, final click. A bolt slid home from the outside.

They were alone.

Elena’s legs trembled. The T-shirt barely skimmed the tops of her thighs; the zip ties still bit into her ankles. She lifted her chin anyway, meeting his stare.

Dominic didn’t move. He simply looked slow, deliberate, like he was memorizing every inch the dim light revealed. The way the cotton clung to her breasts. The faint red marks on her ankles. The wild tangle of her hair. The flush riding high on her cheeks.

His gaze lingered longest between her thighs, where the shirt ended, and bare skin began. A muscle ticked in his jaw.

“You’re safe here,” he said finally, voice rough, low enough to stroke her skin.

She laughed short, sharp, disbelieving. “You kidnapped me.”

“Necessity.” He took one step closer. Not threatening. Just closing distance until the heat of the fire reached her. Until his heat reached her. “Lorenzo Moretti put a price on you tonight. Alive, preferably. So he could send me pieces.”

Her stomach flipped. She believed him.

He took another step. Close enough now that she could smell him. He smelled like whiskey, smoke, something uniquely male. Close enough that the air between them crackled.

“I brought you here to keep you breathing.” His eyes dropped to her mouth. “But make no mistake, Elena. The door locks from the outside. You don’t leave this room without my permission.”

Her breath hitched. The words should have terrified her. Instead, they slid over her like silk over steel.

He reached out slow enough that she could have moved away. She didn’t.

One finger hooked under the plastic tie at her ankles. A small utility blade appeared in his other hand. The flat of the cold metal pressed to her skin just above the restraint, making her gasp. Then a quick flick, and the tie fell away.

He didn’t step back.

His thumb brushed the red marks he’d revealed, a feather-light touch that sent fire racing up her legs. He watched her face the entire time, pupils blown wide.

“You’ll have everything you need,” he said quietly. “Clothes. Food. Books. But you stay inside these walls until I decide otherwise.”

Her voice came out huskier than she intended. “And if I don’t?”

His hand stilled on her skin. The look he gave her was pure predator—dark, hungry, barely leashed.

“Then I’ll tie you to that bed myself,” he murmured. “And we’ll see how long your defiance lasts when every breath you take is measured by my hand.”

The silence stretched, thick and electric.

He released her ankle and stepped back two steps, three until the distance felt like punishment. His chest rose and fell once, hard.

“Good night, Elena.”

He turned and walked to the door. It opened for him from the outside. Closed behind him with the same final bolt.

She stood frozen in the firelight, skin burning where he’d touched her, heart pounding so loud she was sure he could hear it through the walls.

On the other side of the door, Dominic leaned his forehead against the cool wood, fingers curled into fists to keep from going back in.

His cock was a steel bar against his zipper, throbbing in time with his pulse. The memory of her bare thighs, the soft heat of her skin under his thumb, the way her nipples had peaked when the cold air hit her, was branded into him now.

He adjusted himself roughly, biting back a groan.

This was a necessity, he told himself.

Protection.

But the truth was simpler and far more dangerous.

He’d just locked his obsession in a gilded cage.

And handed himself the only key.