Read Call Her Mine for Free Online Page B

his
weight and she wondered if he was afraid of what the other man might do.
Refusing to give up, she burst out, “Please help me! He’s crazy. I don’t belong
here! He kidnapped me and thinks I’m his mate. You have to help me!”
    The man barely batted an
eyelash, seeming completely unmoved to get involved with her plight and
suddenly she was plucked off her feet and hoisted over Christian’s shoulder. “Oomph!”
    She kicked and screamed.
“Somebody help me! Put me down! Help!”
    He did nothing but haul
her back to the house she’d just fled. As they made the journey back, her mind
stumbled over the absurdity of her situation. She knew she’d someday die. It
was inevitable. But being held hostage by an Amish cult was about as
disappointing as choking to death on a piece of shrimp. It was improbable, yet
here she was.
    When they reached the
inside he carried her directly upstairs and plopped her on the bed. “Stay.”
    “What do I look like, a
fucking dog?”
    He sighed and shut the
door before she could get up. She jumped off the bed and went after him, but
the snick of a key in the lock drove her to a standstill. Her hand jiggled the
handle, but it was no use. The door wouldn’t budge.

 
    * * * *

 
    Delilah paced the plain
bedroom for a good twenty minutes, but her mood only soured. Passing the door
for the hundredth time she snapped and slammed her palms against the heavy
wood. “Let me out of here!”
    She drew her hands away
and stared. Impressions of her palms and fingers lay imbedded in the flat
surface. “What the…”
    She traced the grooves
with her thumb, knocked lightly on the wood. Hard. How had she done that? Her
fingers curled around the knob again and twisted. Definitely locked. She
grunted and twisted some more. The antique metal knob snapped and broke off the
spike connecting it to the knob on the other side of the door.
    Her brow creased as she
looked at the heavy metal handle in her hand. She tossed it aside. “Your house
is a piece of shit!”
    Her bare foot kicked the
door. Her toes formed the slightest splintered divot in the wood. She huffed and
returned to pacing.
    She paced for almost an
hour. Then she stared out the window. She really was on an Amish farm. In the
distance buggies passed and children dressed in black scampered, pushing bikes
without pedals—maybe they were scooters—along the sides of the road.
    Dust kicked up from a
field as an enormous horse drawn wagon thing was pulled into view. Six
Clydesdales were tied to the front. It looked like a beer commercial.
    “Here’s to you, Miss
Amish drug lord hostage…” she mumbled, but didn’t laugh.
    Her fingers pressed the
window frame, but it wouldn’t budge. Dropping her head to the cool glass, she
frowned. The drop would likely kill her anyway.
    Snooping through the few
drawers that were in the chest, she found little more than a couple shirts, all
the same, but varying in drab colors, and several pairs of black pants. One
drawer held women’s clothing, mostly chemises and pillow case things she
assumed were dated underwear. They would definitely not be touching her ass.
    Shirts hung from the
pegs on the wall. They smelled like him and she hated herself for liking the
smell. She tried on the black, flat brimmed hat—giving herself the impression
of the Calamity Jane sort—and decided to wear it.
    After retrieving the
water glass he’d offered her earlier, she refilled it with the room temperature
water in the pitcher. Her nose pressed to the rim and she sniffed. Dipping her
finger in, she sucked the drops off her skin and waited. It didn’t taste
poisoned, but who knew what he’d dissolved in it? Do not take the brown
acid…
    Her thirst out won her
better judgment and she drank it. The water was cool and soothing on her
throat, which was raw from shouting, so she poured another glass and guzzled
that one as well, and then another.
    A while later she was
pacing again in her new hat. She was keeping the