thecutedara

Kidnapped, Taken to a private island. I never thought this could happen to me. I never imagined one chance meeting on the eve of my eighteenth birthday could change my life so completely.

Now I belong to him. To Julian. To a man who is as ruthless as he is beautiful - a man whose touch makes me burn. A man whose tenderness I find more devastating than his cruelty.

My captor is an enigma. I don't know who he is or why he took me. There is a darkness inside him - a darkness that scares me even as it draws me in.

My name is Nora Leston, and this is my story.

Two Heart

"There are no other aliases you've heard him use?" Agent Bosovsky asks me for the third time, after their Interpol query comes back without any results.


"No," I say patiently. "I only knew him as Julian. The terrorists called him Esguerra."


Beth's guess about the identities of the men who stole us from Julian's clinic turned out to be correct. They were indeed part of a particularly dangerous Jihadist organization called Al-Quadar—that much the FBI had been able to find out.


"This just doesn't make sense," Agent Wilson says, his round cheeks quivering with frustration. "Anyone with that kind of clout should have been on our radar. If he was head of an illegal organization that manufactured and distributed cutting-edge weapons, how is it possible that not a single government agency is aware of his existence?"


I don't know what to tell him, so I just shrug in response. The private investigators my parents hired hadn't been able to find out anything about him either.


My parents and I had debated telling the FBI about Julian's money, but ultimately decided against it. Revealing this information so late in the game would only get my parents in trouble and could potentially cause the FBI to think that I had been Julian's accessory. After all, what kidnapper sends money to his victim's family?


By the time we get home, I am exhausted. I'm tired of my parents hovering over me all the time, and I'm sick of the FBI coming to me with a million questions that I can't answer. Most of all, I'm tired of being around so many people. After more than a year with minimal human contact, I feel overwhelmed by the airport crowds.


I find my old room in my parents' house virtually untouched. "We always hoped you'd be back," my mom explains, her face glowing with happiness. I smile and give her a hug before gently ushering her out of the room. More than anything, I need to be alone right now—because I don't know how long I can keep up my 'normal' facade.


That night, as I take a shower in my old childhood bathroom, I finally give in to my grief and cry.


Two weeks after my arrival home, I move out of my parents' house. They try to talk me out of it, but I convince them that I need this—that I have to be on my own and independent. The truth of the matter is, as much as I love my parents, I can't be around them twenty-four-seven. I'm no longer that carefree girl they remember, and I find it too draining to pretend to be her.


Chapter 62