The Kidnapping of Roan Sinclair

by Ashlyn Drewek

If he wasn’t a fucking kidnapper, I would have said he was hot. Lie. He was hot, even if he was a kidnapper. But he lost major points for being a criminal.

Tall, dark, and murdery were not admirable traits. He wasn’t even nice. Nice to look at, but not a nice person.

Sasha’s eyes may have been the color of ice, but all I felt was blazing lust when he looked at me. It radiated from his gaze, the hand in my hair, every thrust of his hips. No one had ever looked at me like that, like the sun rose and fucking set with me. It was thrilling, empowering. He wanted this — he wanted me. Bad.

“So you’re kidnapping me again?” He shot me a look out of the corner of his eye, smirking. “Think of it as… sleepover.” “You’re not funny,”

There were worse ways to hide from a pissed off Russian mob boss than with another hot-as-fuck Russian acting as your personal bodyguard.

“Make it hurt,”

The Wolf was off the leash and those motherfuckers had no idea what hell was coming for them.

“I kneel for no one,” I repeated, gazing up at Roan, “except the one I love.”