Elena's P.O.V
If kidnapping were a sport, Mr. Valiente would’ve taken gold.
One minute we were outside the bar. The next, my feet left the ground, my shoulder jammed into his side like a sack of potatoes.
I pounded a fist against his back. “You can’t just—”
“Yes, I can.”
His voice remained calm like my opinion was a pretty ornament—nice to look at, useless in practice.
City lights blurred past as he carried me to a black SUV. The driver didn’t even blink—just opened the door and shut it behind us like this was a normal day for him.
“Put me down. I have a life to get back to.”
“No. You have me to get back to.”
The arrogance was suffocating. I opened my mouth to argue but stopped when his gaze caught mine.
That look—like I was already undressed—burned straight
