Tempted By The Bodyguard. Elle James

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      Shelby Raye O’Hara rubbed the plastic zip tie that bound her wrists on the ragged edge of a broken brace she’d ripped from the wooden chair she sat on. Her wrists chafed and bled where she’d scraped them across the splintered wood. For fourteen days she’d been confined in the dark room, tallied by the number of meals she’d been granted and what was provided. Mornings were stale bagels and bottled water. In the late afternoons, she was given a bologna sandwich and more water.

      The men wearing masks who’d grabbed her on her way out of the Beth City University Library hadn’t spoken a word to her. They hadn’t explained why she’d been kidnapped and hadn’t given her a chance to change their minds.

      From what she could tell, she was being held in a basement, the concrete brick walls as solid as they came and no windows to let sunshine in. One light shone down on her when the men fed her or allowed her to use the facilities in a small corner bathroom. There, she’d managed to finger brush her teeth, wash her face with the single bar of soap and duck her head under the faucet to scrub her hair every other day. Spit baths were a blessing, but she’d give anything for a real soak in a hot tub.

      So far, they hadn’t used any violence against her, but the conditions were far from the Ritz and she was tired of being kept in the dark physically and mentally. And if she didn’t see another bologna sandwich in her lifetime, it would be too soon.

      What bothered her almost as much was knowing how frantic her grandfather would be by now. She’d promised to be home by midnight. Two weeks ago, she’d been researching case studies for a paper she was writing for her graduate degree in counseling.

      God, she’d be so far behind on her coursework if she got back.

      When she got back.

      She worked the plastic tie harder, refusing to give up, her skin slippery with her own blood. By the rumbling in her belly, it was close to dinnertime. One of her guards would be down with her meal soon. If she could get loose before he came…

      The zip tie snapped and her wrists flew apart, the pressure and pain lessening immediately.

      Hope surged, along with adrenaline.

      The lock on the door jiggled, heralding another visit from her silent jailors who would undoubtedly be bringing her the bottled water and bologna sandwich.

      Shelby hid the broken brace beneath her thigh and sat in the chair, slumped over, as if she’d fallen asleep.

      The door opened, and light shone down the stairs, the beam stopping short of where she waited. If she could get past one guard, she’d have a chance of getting out of the basement. The other guard would be waiting at the top of the stairs.

      She’d cross that bridge when she came to it. First, she’d take care of the bologna man.

      He wore his requisite mask and carried a flashlight in one hand and the sandwich and water in the other.

      When he reached the bottom of the stairs, he crossed to her, shining the bright beam across her face.

      Shelby feigned sleep, her head drooping low, her hair sweeping over her cheeks, shadowing her eyes. Her muscles tensed as she prepared to strike.

      Her guard bent to place the water bottle and sandwich on the floor by her feet.

      With all the force she could muster, she kicked her feet up, caught the guard on the chin and sent him tumbling backward onto his backside.

      The flashlight flew out of his hand toward the stairs.

      Shelby leaped over the man’s flailing legs, snatched the light and raced up the stairs.

      Bologna man shouted, “Get her!”

      By the time the second guard reached the doorway at the top of the stairs, Shelby was there. She swung the heavy metal flashlight with all her might, clipping the man in the temple. He staggered backward.

      Shelby ducked past him and ran for a door. She ripped it open and found a broom closet. Footsteps running up the stairs and muttered curses from the man behind her sent her scurrying to the next door. She pulled it open and ran down a long hallway into a kitchen.

      As she reached what looked like a heavy wooden exterior door, she was hit from behind with a flying tackle. She crashed to the floor, her head making contact with the hardwood planks and stars danced before her eyes. She fought not to give in to the gray fog creeping in on her peripheral vision. She couldn’t stop now. She’d come too far.

      The door opened in front of her and a man in a mask stared down at her. “Time to leave,” he said, his voice low and gruff.

      The man lying across her legs scrambled to his feet, pressing a foot into the middle of her back. “What about her?”

      “Leave her. And hurry. D’Angelis sang.”

      Shelby’s head ached, her vision blurred, but she held on, trying to grasp what they were talking about.

      “Torch the place,” said the man who’d given the order to leave.

      Her heart pounded, sending blood rushing through her system, chasing back the fog. Shelby forced herself to lie still, pretending to be out cold.

      “Good, the bitch deserves to die after what she did to me.”

      “And me.” A hand grabbed the back of her hair, jerked her head back and slammed her forehead into the floor. “That’s for kicking me in the teeth.”

      Pain knifed through her head, bringing with it a rush of darkness. As she fought to stay awake, her temples throbbing, she heard the man at the door say, “Come on, I hear sirens.”

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