Kidnapped: A Criminal Deeds Novel Read online

  Kidnapped

  Criminal Deeds #1

  Kyle Autumn

  Copyright © 2019 by Kyle Autumn

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

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  Also by Kyle Autumn

  Men of Nat Ex (Package Handlers World)

  Favors, Strings, & Lies

  Desires, Sweets, & Secrets

  Choices, Loyalty, & Love

  Wishes, Babies, & Christmas

  Thirsty Thursday (Package Handlers World)

  The Billionaire’s Package

  The Executive’s Baby

  The Girlfriend’s Secret

  The Barista’s Wager

  The Voyeur Series

  The Voyeur Volumes 1-6

  The Voyeur Box Set with Volume 7

  Contents

  Part I

  1. Ali

  2. Keaton

  3. Ali

  4. Keaton

  5. Ali

  6. Keaton

  7. Ali

  8. Keaton

  9. Ali

  10. Keaton

  11. Ali

  12. Keaton

  13. Ali

  14. Keaton

  15. Ali

  16. Keaton

  17. Ali

  18. Keaton

  19. Ali

  20. Keaton

  21. Ali

  22. Keaton

  23. Ali

  24. Keaton

  25. Ali

  26. Keaton

  Part II

  One week later

  Four weeks after that

  Three months after that

  27. Ali

  28. Keaton

  29. Ali

  30. Keaton

  31. Ali

  32. Keaton

  33. Ali

  34. Keaton

  35. Ali

  Epilogue

  Sneak Peek of Book 2

  About the Author

  Part I

  1

  Ali

  I’ve always wanted to be kidnapped.

  No, not in a being-sold-for-ransom way. More in the sexual-fantasy way. The kind of way that sets my whole body on fire and shoots erotic tingles down south from just thinking about. That kind. The sexy kind. The cover-my-mouth-so-I-don’t-scream-but-I-still-know-who-you-are kind. Mmm.

  That probably says things about me. A psychiatrist would have a field day with my brain. I’d be an interesting specimen, I’m sure.

  But my friend Jane thinks I’m nuts.

  “You have daddy issues, don’t you?” she asks through the phone.

  I nearly drop my cell phone. This woman has no idea that truer words have never been spoken. Boy, do I ever have issues with Robert Franklin. But that’s not the reason for my fantasy.

  “Oh, no, girl,” she continues, thankfully ignoring my silence. “You are one crazy chick, Ali. I’d die. Straight up.”

  I laugh down the line and set the phone between my ear and my shoulder so I can finish the dishes before bed. “You asked! Don’t ask questions when you don’t want the answers.” I set a plate into the drying rack.

  “I didn’t say I didn’t want the answer,” she tells me. “I just don’t agree with your nutjob ways.” Then she giggles.

  Smiling, I rinse a bowl, set it to dry, and then turn the sink off. “Well, what’s your sexual fantasy, then? And it better be good.”

  Honestly, I can’t remember how we got on this conversation, but I’m glad we did. Every phone call with Jane is interesting and amusing. She may be one hundred miles away, but she’ll always be my best friend. I’m thankful we can stay in touch even after I moved away a few days ago.

  “Hmm. Let’s see,” she mumbles. After a few beats, she exclaims, “Oh! I know. I one hundred percent can get down with voyeurism.”

  That leaves me with a few questions as I try to picture my friend wanting something like that. “Okay, do you mean you want to watch or be watched?”

  “Both,” she replies instantly. “I want to watch people getting it on and I want people to watch me getting fucked. Either way.”

  I can imagine her dusting her fingernails on her shirt and then examining them. “Well, then. That’s a good one.”

  “Uh, yeah.” She makes a psh noise. “Way better than wanting to get railed by someone you don’t know.”

  “I didn’t say that, Jane,” I sigh, though I’m smiling. “It can be someone I know.”

  She sighs too. “Potato, potahto.”

  When I go to grab another dish, I nearly drop my phone into the sink. “Whoa!”

  “Ali? Everything okay?” Jane asks. “What’s going on?”

  “Sorry. Almost lost you there, so I should probably go. I have a few more things to do here before I head to bed.”

  “Okay. Good idea. I’m glad you’re settling into your new place!” she exclaims.

  “I am too,” I reply through a small smile. It’s kind of hopeful, which I haven’t allowed myself to be in a while. But I think this new start is just what I needed.

  “Good.” Then she pauses. It’s thick and filled with tension.

  I know what’s coming next.

  “You’re being safe, right? Taking all the necessary prec—”

  “Yes, Jane. I’ve done this for years,” I remind her as patiently as I can. Really, though, it’s nice that someone cares about me enough to ask those redundant questions.

  Jane is the one exception I’ve allowed myself—even though, if you ask her, she’d say it’s because she wouldn’t take no for an answer. Which is true, but I’ve also trained myself well to make no the final answer when needed.

  She sighs down the line. “I just worry. You’re my best friend. Even though we talk about ridiculous sex shit a lot, I’d hate to see anything…” This pause is sad, but a few beats later, she clears her throat and takes a different tone. “I’ll still see you in four days, right?”

  “Of course,” I tell her, a smile curling my lips. “Nothing’s keeping me from our regular Wednesday lunch. Not even distance.”

  “Good! See you then. And text me when—”

  “I will. Don’t worry. See you then,” I repeat before carefully ending the call with wet hands and setting the phone on the counter.

  With my forearm, I wipe my forehead to brush a stray hair away. Two more dishes and I’m finished with this chore. Thank goodness. I’ve only been here for a few days, but I certainly know how to use all the dishes I own. Without a working dishwasher, I have to do them all by hand. Which isn’t that bad. Just time consuming. I don’t have enough money to hire someone to fix it. Even if I did, though, I wouldn’t trust whoever it was to come into my house. So I’ll deal with it. Whatever.

  While rinsing the last one, I glance out the kitchen window when I notice movement and get my first glimpse of my new neighbor. I haven’t seen anyone come or go from the house next door since I moved in, and I’ve wondered about who lives there. What they’re like, what they do. But I’ve left it alone. I’m not the bake-cookies-and-introduce-myself type. Not at all. So I figured I’d meet them when I meet them.

  And here we are. Meeting for a brief moment between panes of glass and shadowy light.

  His chest is bare. Gloriously bare. His thick muscles tell stories of hard work and discipline. His arms defy nature in how buff and trained they look. Brilliant tattoos cover
so many inches of taut, tan skin. And a beard nearly touches the top of that gloriously bare chest. I can only imagine how amazing the rest of his body would be to look at. To feel gliding, slick with sweat, against my skin.

  God. It’s been far too long since I’ve been with a man. Far, far too long. Clearly, if I’m ready to jump my neighbor after having seen him for a moment. But that’s my life. Distrust and constantly being terrified will keep you from getting close to anyone like that.

  Only for a second, I meet his eyes. His seriously green eyes. Then he spins away and stalks off so I can no longer seem him. It wasn’t long enough to commit anything to memory, and I probably wouldn’t recognize him if I saw him on the street. But it was, however, long enough to see torture and mystery in his gaze. Distress in his stiff movements and tough posture.

  I’m not sure why, but something tells me that I need to stay away from that man. To ignore the tingle between my legs, which is screaming at me to head over to his house right this instant for a night I might never forget, and never get close to him. To focus on starting work again on Monday and never speak to my hot, new neighbor. Ever.

  It was likely his eyes that triggered these strong feelings. Those eyes, no matter how briefly I saw them, hold untold secrets—deep ones. Which makes me glad he looked away so quickly. If we’d held each other’s gazes for any longer than that, he would have seen that I have untold secrets too.

  Ones I can never, ever tell.

  2

  Keaton

  We make eye contact, but I have to look away. Nothing good comes from personal connection. Nothing good will come from getting to know that woman. No matter how much I’ve wanted to since the moment I saw her moving in.

  No, men like me don’t have relationships. We don’t have bonds or links to people who could complicate shit. It just doesn’t happen for men in my shoes.

  I’ve lived that way for a long time now. Three years, to be exact. I’ve stayed off the radar, kept my head down, and shut my dick up all the times it wanted to come out and play. I don’t have the time or the energy left for shit like that, so I’ve tamped it down and let it go.

  Until now.

  Something about my new neighbor is screaming at me. Something about her won’t let me stop thinking about her. The last three days have been torture. A mix of the need to fuck something and the need to fuck something up. I’ve wanted to punch every wall in my house for fate having put the sexiest woman I’ve ever seen in my path—right next to my house, no less. I’ve spent so much energy not doing anything about it that I pretty much want to rip my dick off so I won’t have to focus on this shit anymore.

  There’s just something about her. Something so fucking sexy that I can’t get her out of my head. The day she moved in, she was wearing a tank top and yoga pants that clung to her curves like a second skin. Her actual skin, tan and smooth, enticed me like nothing else ever had. Everything about her had me wanting to lick her from head to toe.

  And it still does. Just a small glimpse in the window has my dick harder than a rock. Fuck.

  But that’s probably more about my dry spell and less about the actual woman causing my hard-on. It’s just been too long. That’s all. The sight of any woman would have me feeling the same way. I’m sure of it.

  Well, I’m convincing myself that that’s the case, anyway. Fuck anything else that tries to tell me otherwise. I won’t listen. Because I can’t afford to. Partly because no one deserves to have to distrust and keep secrets like I have to. I don’t want to put anyone else through this shit. But also because mistakes happen when we listen to our hearts. Our hearts lie about bullshit like that, and I won’t be lied to ever again.

  Never, ever again.

  Instead, I do what I’ve done every night since she moved in. I drag my ass to the shower to beat my dick into submission. It’s the one thing I do allow myself because it’s the one thing that won’t get me into any trouble. It’s the one thing that gives me part of what I want while also keeping my secrets intact. So I go for it.

  Once the water is hotter than Hades, I step into the shower and let the near-boiling spray punish my skin. I stand under the needlelike beads of water and palm my dick. Grip it tight like I’m choking it. And I furiously pump my hand while images of my new neighbor flash before my eyes.

  Her on my bed, naked and slick with sweat, touching her pussy with a single finger.

  Her on my couch, bent over the arm of it, her ass in the air as I fuck her from behind.

  Her on my kitchen table, propped up with her arms behind her, her legs spread as far as they can go, her pussy dripping and waiting for me to lick it.

  Over and over, erotic snapshots take my brain over until I’m coming so hard that I can barely breathe. Between the torturous heat of the water and my intense orgasm, I nearly pass out. But I somehow manage to keep myself upright with one hand on the wall until the water runs cold and I’m thoroughly exhausted—and disgusted with myself.

  How my life came to this, I honestly don’t know. I allowed this bullshit into my life, so this is my life now. That much I can’t control. But I can, however, control what enters my life from now on. So this is it for me.

  With all the strength I have left, I pull myself out of the shower, put clothes on without bothering to dry off, and slip my shoes on. Then I head into my pitch-black backyard and around to the gate to make sure everything’s locked up tight.

  It’s always the last thing I do before I go to bed. Secrets need to be kept, and if anyone got back here, they’d find those secrets. So I tug on each lock—the one on the inside of the gate, the one on the shed, and the one on the box—before going back inside, satisfied that another day has passed without incident.

  One of these days, I’m sure I’ll find them here, digging around for the things I keep locked up. But they can’t have them. When a man like me promises to protect them with everything I have, you better believe I will. Over my dead body will they ever possess what I’m keeping safe.

  Which, as I lie in bed, makes me wonder. Did they send this sexy new neighbor to reel me in? To get me to let my guard down and trust again? To steal everything I hold close to the vest? To take everything right out from under me?

  This is exactly why I can trust no one. Not a single soul. I made an oath and I’ll die before I break it.

  After a deep, pissed-off exhale, I close my eyes. Somehow, in the chaos of the last few days, I find sleep. Or sleep finds me. Days spent in my garage gym, lifting more weight than ever before, leave me beyond exhausted by the time my head hits the pillow. So I drift off, and in the morning, I can’t separate the dreams I had as nightmares or memories of the past.

  3

  Ali

  Work starts tomorrow, and the jittery nerves of failure won’t let me sleep. I’ve worked freelance for a few years now, and even though I haven’t run out of graphic design projects to work on and web articles to write, I still constantly have that nagging what-if-the-work-stops feeling hanging over me. It’s scary, not always knowing how I’ll pay the bills. But what’s scarier is not pursuing a normal, healthy life. One that allows me to pick up and go if I have to.

  With my life, I sometimes have to. At a moment’s notice. That’s just how it is.

  When I manage to catch a few minutes of sleep, I remember that I just moved to this new house. That I could be found at any moment. That trouble might be on the way right now. Or I have a nightmare—about either the past or what the future might be like if I’m found. So, obviously, sleep is not in the cards right now.

  I grab my phone off the nightstand and pull up my text message thread with Jane. After sending her a Hi, I can’t sleep, so I’m going to go for a run text like I always do when this happens, I peel the covers away and get dressed. As I put on all-black clothing— baggy sweats and a hoodie to keep from getting cold during this crisp fall night—I make a mental reminder to buy some colorful or reflective clothing for runs in colder weather.

  I’ve never
needed it before, but I should have anticipated that. One hundred miles can make a huge difference in weather, and I chide myself for not having thought of it sooner. With everything that’s happened, being able to predict my future needs is at the top of the list. Being one step ahead of the game is a necessity. And I absolutely need to be able to protect myself. Wearing proper clothing when out for a run so I don’t die is part of protecting myself.

  Though I also don’t want to stand out, so the black has been a necessity too. This is one of those learning moments that I hope doesn’t bite me in the ass later. But I’m going to do something I don’t normally give myself enough rope to do: I’m going to take a chance. I also need to get to sleep tonight, and I won’t be able to if I don’t wear myself out. Clear my mind. Calm my body down.

  I down a glass of water to stay hydrated right before I tuck my brand-new ID into my pocket. The name Alex hits the right requirements, yet I don’t ever want to be called that. Ali works much better. Just like Cami did when I was Cameron and Leigh did when I was Charlie. Especially like Emma did when I was Emerson. That’s a name I’ll never go back to.